


Invisible Ties

by metalloverben



Series: Invisible Ties Series [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Adaptation, F/M, Novelization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 00:31:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 67
Words: 638,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13376328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metalloverben/pseuds/metalloverben
Summary: AU. When Robin wakes in the middle of a field with no memory of his past nothing could prepare him for the adventure that awaits. With the Prince of the kingdom of Ylisse Chrom and his faithful band of Shepherds, Robin rises from a humble tactician to one of the saviors of the world. A loose (very loose) adaptation of Nintendo's thirteenth Fire Emblem game - Awakening.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story, Fire Emblem Awakening: Invisible Ties is a (at certain points very) loose adaptation of the story of Nintendo’s amazing tactical-role-playing-game, Fire Emblem Awakening. That being said, I wrote this story with the intention that people not familiar with the universe of Fire Emblem could enjoy it as a stand-alone piece. Please be aware, though, that this story is quite old. I’m reposting it here because fanfiction.net isn’t as reliable as it used to be. So I hope you all enjoy it.

_Heavy, gasping breaths echoed around two men as they dashed through the desert landscape towards the looming temple before them. One of the men, the smaller of the two, was wearing a hooded black coat that covered the majority of his face. The other, a regal-looking man in silver armour that ran with a limp continually looked over his shoulder as they ran._

_“What about the others?” the first, a blue-haired man on the wrong end of thirty asked as he glanced back again._

_“They’ll be fine, Chrom,” the other responded coldly. “Flavia’s leading them. I’m honestly more worried about us.”_

_“We’ll be fine, too,” the bigger man, Chrom, said with a reassuring grin._

_The hooded man skidded to a stop at the base of the great staircase to the temple, looking down at the ground. Chrom actually made it a few steps up before he realised his partner had stopped._

_“What’s wrong?” he asked impatiently._

_“I can’t go in there,” the hooded man said quietly._

_“We don’t have time for this!” Chrom snapped. “We can end this horror here and now, but we need to move-”_

_“Chrom, if I go in there, only one of us is walking out!” the hooded man snapped, shouting over his partner._

_The bigger man’s face softened as he stepped down to the other’s level, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder._

_“We’ll be fine,” he repeated. “We can do this, together. Validar holds no power over you. Now let’s go and create our own destiny. For our daughters.”_

_With that, Chrom dashed up the steps, leaving the hooded man standing and clenching his fists as he glared at the ground._

_“You’re wrong, Chrom,” he whispered as he took a tentative step up. “You don’t fight destiny. You don’t write your own. It’s… infallible. We’re both going to die in this place. I’ve seen it…”_

_He shook the maudlin thoughts from his head before following the limping man, who still moved infuriatingly faster than the hooded man._

_They passed through the abandoned temple, ignoring the treasures and relics of the Grimleal religion as they passed, aiming solely for the temple’s Inner Sanctum._

_The hooded man had to stop and grip his forehead a few times, assailed by migraines powerful enough to blur his vision and almost bring him to his knees. He pushed on, though, wary of worrying Chrom in this most important time. He hadn’t lied when he’d said only one of them was walking out of that temple; and he’d make damn sure it was his friend._

_They burst into the Inner Sanctum, a wind spell from the hooded man blowing the huge doors in, before full-pelt running towards the enemy standing in front of the sacrificial altar waiting for them; a tall, skinny sorcerer, blazing with dark power, purple flames dancing off his flesh._

_No time was wasted on idle chatter. Both parties knew where they stood. All that was left was to fight to see who was in the right. Life or destruction._

_The hooded man darted forward fist, flipping through his spellbook as he ran. Chrom had his sacred blade held horizontally in a two handed grip while he followed the other man, his cape flapping around heroically in the draft created by the hooded man’s wind spell._

_Validar… the sorcerer trying to kill them, his name was Validar. The hooded man remembered that as his head throbbed, bits and pieces beginning to escape from his mind._

_Blasts of dark energy erupted between the two, and Chrom rolled left as the other rolled right. With a burst of yellow light the hooded other let loose three bolts of lightning when he came up, two of which hit their mark and caused Validar to stumble. Chrom took the opportunity, charging up the middle and without a second of hesitation running the sorcerer through with his divine blade, Falchion._

_Chrom leapt back as Validar burst into dark flames and fell to his knees, slumping forwards as blood pooled around his knees. With a wet thud, the body hit the ground. One sorcerer against the two greatest warriors in Ylisse meant nothing, even if he was the head of the Grimleal. All the magical power he wielded meant nothing to a sword, in the end._

_Chrom was laughing, smiling as he turned away from the cooling corpse. “We did it! Thanks to you we carried the day!”_

_He made his way to the other, clapping him on the shoulder. “We did it.”_

_The hooded man couldn’t help but grin in response. It had been so long since he’d seen Chrom smile like this; not since the blue-haired man’s second daughter had been born, in fact._

_Just as he was about to voice his own relief that their deaths had been avoided the blood froze in his veins. There, floating above the altar, was the energy Validar had gathered. It wasn’t dissipating. The sorcerer wasn’t dead yet._

_The other’s warning shout stopped in his throat as a roar of defiance shattered their short-lived celebration._

_“No!” Validar shrieked, voice cracking and forcing himself back to his knees. “No! This is not over! Damn you! Damn you both!”_

_With one final shout, Validar sent a monumental wave of the dark purple flames at Chrom and the other before turning to ashes. Chrom reacted a second too slowly, spinning to face the unexpected retaliation; the other saw everything in slow motion, and acting on instinct he shoved Chrom to the side, taking the full force of the attack and screaming in pain as he smelt burnt cloth and flesh._

_“No!” Chrom shouted as the other collapsed to one knee, hand reflexively opening and dropping his own spellbook. “Hold on!”_

_The hooded man looked up as Chrom skidded to his knees next to him, holding him up with one arm as the man checked his wounds._

_“Hey! Are you okay?”_

_The hooded man grit his teeth as he was assailed by another migraine, the worst one yet. He wanted to vomit, he wanted to curl up and just die already… His vision went white as further, excruciating pain exploded behind his eyes that had nothing to do with the spell he’d just been hit by._

_Before Chrom could speak again his eyes went wide, and he stumbled to his feet clutching the small, purple-bladed dagger in his chest._

_The other was shocked. He looked down at the empty scabbard on his hip where the dagger Raziel usually sat, before looking back to Chrom, fear and revulsion written on his face at what he’d done._

_He had killed his best friend. He had killed Ylisse’s Exalt._

_He had killed the last hope for the world of man._

_Their roles from seconds before were reversed, the other holding Chrom’s shoulders as the bigger man collapsed backwards. Their eyes met, and Chrom smiled the same easy smile that put everyone at ease._

_“This isn’t… Isn’t your fault…” Chrom gasped, blood welling up between his smiling lips. “Promise me… Promise me you’ll escape from here… Promise… Me…”_

_And with that final plea, the light faded from Chrom’s eyes, smile never wavering from his face, even after his eyes closed a final time._

_The other took a deep breath before clicking his tongue._

_“Of course it wasn’t my fault. What did I tell you?” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “I told you… in the end… only one of us would be walking out of here…”_

_He gently laid Chrom’s body down before shrugging off his coat, laying over his fallen friend in a mark of respect. He didn’t even let his wife or daughter touch his coat, but he and Chrom had worked together for years, decades now. Even if they rarely got along like they used to, the man still owed his old friend that respect._

_He looked up, brown eyes narrowing coldly as he put the latest death out of his mind. It was just one more among many. It didn’t even matter anymore, anyway._

_He could actually see the fell energy swirling above the altar now, a sickening red orb of pure corrupt mana. He could feel it calling to him. Grima’s life-force, the energy that would give birth to darkness incarnate, called to him._

_He could hear it in his mind, his destiny that he’d denied for years, almost as long as he’d worked for Chrom._

_He realised then that he could contain the fell dragon’s essence within him. He could seal it, and if he were to die it would die with him. It made perfect sense. He could be the hero for a change, rather than Chrom. All he needed to do was add a little more blood…_

_With shuddering breaths as he was wracked by blinding pain in his head, the other made his way to the altar. It was starting to get hard to think… All it needed was a little more blood to complete the rite. What else did he have left? His companions would never accept him back now that he’d killed Chrom anyway, and the darkness had already proved it still held sway over him. There was only one option; contain the damage._

_He wiped his hand, still slick with Chrom’s blood, on the altar, completing the rite, tears of pain now running down his face._

_His eyes went wide as comprehension hit him all at once._

_What… what in Naga’s name was he doing!? What had he done!?_

_Laughter echoed around him as he realised that, in the end, he’d been played the fool._

_“Chrom… I’m so sorry… Say’ri… Morgan… Forgive me.”_

_He screamed in pain as the darkness flooded his veins. Purple lines of tainted, fell mana snaked beneath his skin, tearing him apart from within and rebuilding him as they went. His eyes blazed black as excess mana looked for any escape point it could find. Blood and bile splattered to the ground beneath his feet as the fell energy created a magic circle over and through his stomach._

_In that moment he was destroyed and remade in the Dark Dragon’s image._

_His destiny, after fighting it for so long, had been achieved._

_Above him the darkness laughed at his pain as it took shape, six baleful eyes staring down at him and-_

*

“Well? What do we do?”

_Urgh. Go away. Let me sleep. I need to see the rest of this dream._

“What do you mean?”

_Huh. That voice sounds familiar. But… where have I heard it before?_

“Well we can’t just leave him here!”

_Ugh… That girl is unnecessarily loud. Can’t she see my head is killing me?_

With reluctance, he forced his eyes to open. The first thing he realised was that he was on his back looking up at two strangers as they bent over him; two eerily familiar strangers. One was a blue haired man, obviously the older of the two, but he couldn’t be older that twenty-one or twenty-two. The other was a much younger blonde woman, still in her late teens, eyes widening as he opened his own.

“Oh!” the young blonde said, as she leaned closer, the familiarity rubbing the man the wrong way. “Hi there!”

“There are better places to take a nap, friend,” the blue haired man said with an all too eerily familiar smile.

“Here,” the man added, offering his hand to help him up.

The man took the blue haired youth’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled up. He absently noticed the six eyed symbol tattooed on the back of his hand, but didn’t dwell on it; why he had a funny-looking tattoo was the least of his issues at present he reasoned, desperately clinging to the last remnants of his weird dream.

“You all right?” the blue haired man asked.

_Chrom? That’s his name!_

“Yeah. Thanks, Chrom.”

Chrom’s eyebrow shot up.

“Ah. So you know who I am, then?”

_Wait… what?_

“Uh… No, actually. It just sort of came… to me… Weird…”

He trailed off, panic running through his mind, the strange dream he had just had still waring for his attention.

_Why do I know his name and not my own?_

“Oh?” Chrom asked, bemused. “So what are you doing all the way out here? Passed out. In a field.”

The man cleared his throat nervously, pain shooting through his head as his mind drew blanks.

“You know, I’m not a hundred percent on that one, either.”

“Well, what’s your name? Let’s start with that, then.”

The man shrugged helplessly.

“No idea.”

Chrom’s eyebrow went back up as he crossed his arms.

“Oh?”

The blonde woman spoke up excitedly.

“Oh! I’ve heard of this! It’s called amnesia!”

The third member of the group in front of the man, who had gone unnoticed until then, scoffed.

“It’s called a load of Pegasus crap. We’re supposed to believe that you remember milord’s name and not your own?”

The third stranger was bigger than the other two, and wearing heavy blue and white plate armour; obviously a knight of some sort, considering he was holding the reins to a large brown war-horse wearing plates of similar armour. How the man had missed him was a mystery for later, though; the man was obviously unimpressed with the stranger’s attitude, giving the man a modicum of confidence he didn’t have a moment ago.

“Well it’s true,” the man said, annoyed.

Before the plate-wearing stranger could retort, Chrom interceded.

“What if it is true, Fredrick? We can’t leave him out here alone and confused. What kind of Shepherds would we be if we did?”

The blonde woman was nodding empathetically in agreement, eagerness oozing off of her. The man decided he liked her and Chrom more than Fredrick.

Fredrick looked about to object further before he nodded as if the very motion caused him pain, his glare at the man capable of melting steel.

“Very well, milord; but I would advise caution all the same,” the grumpy man said reluctantly, glaring the whole time.

“It’s settled then!” Chrom said, apparently not noticing the knight’s displeasure or choosing to ignore it. “We’ll take him to the closest town. Someone will be able to help steer us in the right direction there.”

The blonde woman jumped up and down excitedly, agreeing with Chrom. Fredrick grunted his assent as he mounted his horse, taking up his lance as he did so.

_Er… what? Hold on…_ the amnesiac man thought, waiting for his thoughts to catch up with him.

“Wait,” the man said, holding up his hands. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

“Nope,” the blonde woman chimed, smiling innocently.

“Don’t worry,” Chrom laughed, clapping the man on his shoulder. “Once we get to town we’ll hear you out; there are better places than open fields to talk.”

The amnesiac man resisted the urge to groan, following him and the girl as they led him down the road. With a guilty pang the amnesiac realised he’d forgotten to ask the girl’s name.

He sighed as they walked, realising that he’d completely forgotten the dream he’d been having.

*

The man walked along behind Chrom and the blonde girl, who the man had heard referred to as Lissa a few times now, taking in the scenery, drinking from the waterskin they had given him. Dwelling on his lost memories was proving a pointless endeavour; all it was doing was giving him a headache. The funny mark on the back of his hand had disappeared, too; he was willing to chalk it up to a lingering hallucinatory effect of the dream.

The country they were walking through was beautiful; long flowing grass rippling in the wind was on either side of the road, trees dotted the fields here and there, breaking up the carpet of grass that covered the rolling landscape of light hills. It was picturesque in a way that, for some reason, the man realised he’d never seen before.

_I’m kind of hungry_ he decided idly, putting the waterskin back in the empty pouch at his hip. Wait. Not empty, after all. There was a thick book in there, too.

_How did I miss that before? Man, I’m really off my game today. Well, I mean, I guess I am. Got to figure out what exactly my ‘game’ is before I can say I’m off it._

The man turned his attention to the two walking in front of him. Lissa and Chrom walked calmly enough, completely at ease with the stranger following them and their wild surroundings. He didn’t have to look back to know Fredrick was still glaring at his back, too; he could feel it like the knight’s gaze was poking him with the lance in his hand.

He was still unsure as to what they were going to do with him, though.

“So am I your prisoner now?” he asked tentatively.

Chrom laughed heartily. “Of course not! Once we establish you’re not an enemy of Ylisse you’ll be free to go.”

The man scratched his head. “Ylisse? Is that where we are?”

Fredrick scoffed from atop his horse.

“Someone give this actor a reward; he plays quite the fool. Very convincing, even down to the furrow in his brow,” the knight said, sarcasm fairly dripping from his voice.

Chrom stopped walking, turning and rolling his eyes. “Please, Fredrick. If you didn’t mistrust everyone we meet, you’d never speak a word to any but the other Shepherds.”

Then to the man he started explaining. “We’re currently in the Haildom of Ylisse. Our leader is the Exalt; her name is Emmeryn. I guess proper introductions are in order. I’m Chrom, but you already know that.”

He gestured to the blonde girl at his side. “The delicate one here is my sister, Lissa.”

Lissa stuck her tongue out at Chrom.

“I am not delicate,” she protested, before turning a smile on the man. “Excuse my brother. He’s the thick one in the family. You should be grateful that the Shepherds found you; if the local bandits had found you, your morning would have been much less fun.”

_Oh sure,_ the man thought, _waking up with no memory and being forced into marching with three complete strangers has been so fun. Wait… bandits are a bad thing. Okay, I’m slightly more grateful now._

Instead he said “That’s the third time you’ve mentioned being Shepherds. You tend… Sheep? In full armour? With… weapons like that? What kind of wolves do you guys _have_ in this country?”

Not counting Fredrick’s full plate armour, Chrom was wearing what appeared to be leather plates under his clothes, one arm bare, and the other with a gleaming white shoulder pad. Lissa, though was wearing a simple yellow dress and carrying an ornate staff with a large blue gem atop it. A healing staff, the man realized without knowing why he knew that information. From her waist down she had some sort of steel cage contraption that the man guessed was some sort of armour. The ‘Shepherds’ were obviously not poor farmers.

Chrom chuckled depreciatively. “It’s a dangerous job. Just ask Fredrick the Wary, here.”

Fredrick rolled his eyes, muttering. “Because Naga forbid one of us shows even a modicum of caution…”

The man grinned up at the knight, deciding to get in on the teasing. “I’m sure being the watchman for such a noble group is very rewarding, though.”

Before Fredrick could respond the man turned back to Chrom, a memory striking him like lightning as he stuck his hand out.

“Well, my name’s Robin.”

Lissa and Chrom looked at him curiously.

“I… just remembered that,” he mumbled, dropping his hand again. “Odd…”

“Oh, I’m sure you did,” Fredrick deadpanned from behind him.

Chrom chuckled.

“Fredrick, put the lance down. We’re almost in town, anyway. Once we get there we can talk properly.”

_So my name is Robin, huh?_ Robin thought to himself as the group started moving again. _Strange. Maybe the rest of my memories will come back piece by piece, too if I’m patient. Makes me wonder if I was always such an optimist._

They walked up the last small hill before the town. Chrom and Lissa were still ahead of Robin, and as they crested the hill he heard Lissa gasp.

“No! Chrom, the town!”

Robin made it to the top of the hill and looked down on the town; a few small buildings, most likely houses for the families that worked in the bigger ones; a blacksmith, an inn, a grocer. In the centre of the town at one end of a large square was a large stone church, its plate glass window in the large tower above the entrance reflecting the afternoon sun lazily. The square in front of the church was paved, although the majority of the roads in the town were compacted dirt. Farming implements lay in piles outside of houses, and the smell of grain and soil pervaded everything.

It looked like Robin imagined any other town would, except for the bandits running through it lighting various buildings on fire and looting whatever they could carry.

“Damn it all, I’ll bet it was those bandits we’ve been chasing around the countryside all week,” Chrom growled, beginning towards the town at a much quicker pace, no hint of hesitation in his stride. “Lissa, Fredrick, let’s go. Robin, stay here until its safe.”

With that, the trio left Robin standing alone on the hill overlooking the town without so much as a backwards glance.

Robin watched them leave, hand unconsciously moving to the book in his pouch. It was old and well worn, obviously heavily read, with a dark leather cover. Robin flipped through it quickly, not making any sense of the complex figures and symbols, but at the front of the book something caught his eye.

“Lightning?” he asked the air as he looked closely at the familiar symbols on the page, being rewarded with a tingling sensation in his fingertips.

_This is a spellbook? Am I a mage?_

Robin read the incantations in the book, gestured his hand and was rewarded with a weak bolt of lightning jumping from his hand to the tree he had gestured at, leaving a decent sized scorch mark.

Satisfied, Robin clapped the book closed and hurried to catch up with Chrom and the others.

_Best not dwell on why I’m doing this,_ Robin thought, racing as fast as he could. _I’ll just give myself another headache._

Before long he was racing through the outer residences of the town, his boots clapping on the dirt road between the buildings. Rounding a corner he found Chrom duelling with one of the bandits, Lissa crouched behind a barrel off to the side, watching diligently, a staff in her hands. As Robin approached he saw Fredrick ride between buildings, striking left and right with blinding speed at bandits as he went, his lance whistling through the air.

Chrom was so intent on the enemy in front of him, though, that he didn’t see the bandit sneaking up behind him.

“Chrom, look out!” Robin warned, concentrating on the spell in his mind and extending his hand.

Both of the bandits and the Shepherd looked up at Robin’s warning as a much larger bolt of lightning arced from Robin’s hand and hit the bandit behind Chrom square in the chest, throwing him off his feet with its force. Taking advantage of his enemy’s distraction, Chrom spun and with three swift strokes had felled the bandit in front of him.

Robin blinked as he approached the other two, looking down at the hand that had launched the spell with newfound appreciation.

“Robin!” Lissa cheered as he crossed the last of the distance to the others.

“What are you doing here?” Chrom asked, resting his large ornate sword on one shoulder.

Robin shrugged. “Honestly, I have no idea; it seemed like a good idea at the time. But apparently I can use magic, and there’s an old adage about safety in numbers that comes to mind.”

Chrom chuckled as Fredrick rode up to them, blood dripping from the end of his lance, despite the fact that his armour was still pristine.

“Well I won’t begrudge an extra set of hands, especially ones as obviously skilled as yours.”

“Milord,” Fredrick interrupted, taking Chrom’s attention. “The bandit’s leader is making his stand outside the church with a few others.”

Chrom nodded, all business. “Very well, who are we to deny them their last stand?”

A thought struck Robin as they began to move towards the centre of town, again without any realization of why he would have this knowledge.

“Is there a way to get around the buildings and to the church from the side?”

“Yes,” Fredrick answered after a moment of thought.

Robin clapped his hands together. “Well, if you two want to hit them from the front, I’ll sneak around and flank them.”

Chrom smiled again, but this time it was different, predatory. “I like the sound of that. Go on then, but don’t keep us waiting too long.”

Robin nodded and was off, skirting buildings and moving through the town. A few bandits got in his way and tried to stop him, but the lightning spell he had been using seemed to be particularly strong or easy to remember, and he made short work of them. Before long he was looking at the square outside the church, watching Chrom and Fredrick trying to reason with the bandit leader.

“Here sheepy-sheepy!” the leader was shouting, obviously rabid. “Come to the slaughter!”

Robin shook his head, assessing the enemy’s position. Two archers were standing to one side, arrows already nocked and pointed at Chrom and Fredrick; three other bandits with swords or axes stood between the Shepherds and the bandit leader. Robin decided to take the more serious of the threats and deal with the archers first.

With a thought and a hand gesture Robin sent a bolt of lightning at the further of the two archers, Chrom and Fredrick using the momentary distraction it caused as their cue to strike. Robin readied to strike again, but the second archer was faster, and he found himself dodging to the side as an arrow carved a furrow in his arm. Hissing with pain, Robin moved, low to the ground as arrows peppered the space he’d been in a second ago. The archer was good; magic wasn’t going to surprise him again. Robin scooped up a ratty old sword from the corpse of one of the other bandits Fredrick had obviously dealt with earlier, and charged the archer. Another near miss from the archer took a chunk out of Robin’s leg, but then he was before the archer with his borrowed sword, and with a finesse he didn’t know he possessed Robin spun and ran the archer through.

Turning quickly, Robin watched as Fredrick and Chrom dealt with the last of their foes, Fredrick planting his boot on the shoulder of one bandit to pull his lance back from the man’s chest.

_Wait, where’s the leader?_ Robin thought with a spike of alarm.

Lissa screamed behind them, and the three men spun at once to see the leader, one hand wrapped around Lissa’s wrist dragging her back towards the town, the other one waving an axe in their direction. The entire tactic stank of desperation on the leader’s part, and it put a bad taste in the back of Robin’s mouth.

“She’ll bring some nice coin, she will,” the leader grunted, waving his axe erratically, eyes wide.

“No she will not,” Chrom said empathetically, charging the leader, Robin in tow.

The leader dropped Lissa, snarling and desperately gripping his axe in both hands.

Chrom rolled left, avoiding the leader’s axe, as Robin rolled right. The two men brought their swords up at the same time, striking opposite sides of the bandit leader’s chest simultaneously. The bandit dropped with a wet gurgle, Robin looking down at the corpse aloofly. For some reason he didn’t even feel an inkling of guilt for killing the man…

Chrom looked as surprised as Robin at his abrupt change from magic to swordsmanship, but smiled as his sister stood up and threw her arms around his neck.

Stepping back from her brother, Lissa looked at Robin with awe.

“Wow, Robin, you’re amazing. Magic, tactics _and_ swords?”

“Yeah, apparently I’m quite the package,” Robin said, looking down at the worn old sword still gripped in his hand.

It had just come naturally, even easier than the magic had. That spoke of rigorous training with a blade, if his muscles had automatically taken the weapon up. Robin wondered what exactly he had been before he lost his memories. He could feel tight muscles underneath his clothes moving effortlessly as he gave the sword a few practise swings; not as large as Chrom or Fredrick’s, but definitely used to handling a blade. It was just a bronze short-sword, a piece of junk, really, but Robin felt better having it, and tucked it into his belt on the opposite hip that held his pouch.

“Milord,” Fredrick called, bringing his horse to a stop near the other three. “Did you notice that the bandits spoke with a Plegian accent?”

Robin noticed with a slight tic that the knight’s armour was still spotless, despite the dirt and blood he and Chrom were now covered in. Quelling the urge to ask for a bath, Robin looked to Chrom for the answers he was lacking.

“I assume Plegia is some rival state of Ylisse?” Robin asked, warily eyeing the villagers as they came out of their hiding places now that the threat was obviously dealt with.

Chrom laughed again, sheathing his broadsword. “Plegia is the Western neighbour of Ylisse. They like to ‘unofficially’ send raiding parties into our territory to try and provoke us. There’s a lot of history between the two countries, mostly bad blood between the ruling families.”

Lissa looked around at the devastation that had been wrought by the quick encounter with a stricken expression.

“And it’s always the poor villagers that end up suffering for it,” she sighed.

The villagers were beginning to get the small fires under control now, Robin noted with satisfaction; bucket lines formed as others with the knowledge began to tend the wounded. He had to credit the Ylisseans, they certainly weren’t lacking in community spirit.

Fredrick stepped down from his horse, smiling reassuringly at Lissa.

“Milady, all due respect, but that’s what we are for,” he said in a voice much softer than Robin had heard from the man so far. “Shepherds to protect the sheep. Don’t dwell on matters such as these.”

“I know, I know,” Lissa said with forced cheer, smiling up at the knight. “Thank you, Fredrick.”

Robin noticed a little bit much familiarity between the two. He turned to Chrom, raising an eyebrow in question, and was rewarded by the other man giving a knowing smile and shrugging.

“Milords! Milords!” One of the villagers was shouting, running up to them. “Please milords, we’re a simple village, but we would be honoured to host you tonight! Give us a few hours and we can have a royal feast prepared for you all as thanks!”

Fredrick shook his head. “While we appreciate the offer, we really must continue on to our destination with all due haste.”

Lissa, however, had other plans.

“Dark meat for me, please, medium-well done, no salt in the soup… Wait, Fredrick, what?”

Chrom, Fredrick and Robin chuckled at the crestfallen look on Lissa’s face.

“But it’ll be _dark_ soon!” she protested.

“And when it gets dark we’ll camp the way we always do,” Fredrick said, not unkindly. “Remember, milady, you’re the one that insisted on joining us.”

Lissa glared at the knight. “Fredrick? Sometimes I hate you.”

Their laughter rang through the village as the quartet left, accepting thanks from the villagers as they went.

*

“Okay, I think we’ll break here for the evening,” Chrom announced.

The man stepped off the road, leading the quartet into the light forest that ran alongside it. A few thin trees created shadows, their canopy blocking the last dying rays of the sun and sinking Robin into a premature twilight. Lissa and Frederick both dropped their packs, the big Knight going about stripping his saddle from his mount for the evening.

Chrom nudged Robin with his elbow, giving him a wink.

“Okay, we’ll go and find some dinner,” the blue-haired man announced. “You two can set up the campfire.”

Lissa perked up at the prospect of food, Frederick stoically going about his duty of collecting firewood as Chrom led Robin further into the forest.

“Game is pretty plentiful around these parts,” Chrom said as they weaved through the trees. “We shouldn’t have to go far, unless those bandits scared everything off.”

Robin made a face as he stepped in something squishy and yielding, groaning and trying to shake the deer-dung off his boot.

“Yeah, I don’t think we’ll have to look long,” the man groaned.

Chrom snickered and shook his head, crouching down to inspect the tracks near the droppings.

“These seem pretty fresh,” the man said, standing excitedly. “It should still be close.”

“Yeah, that was still fresh, too,” Robin muttered, dragging his soiled boot through the grass as he followed Chrom.

They snuck through the woods for a few more minutes, Robin moving as silently as he could. He was keenly aware of every excess sound he made compared to the man moving ahead of him; apparently Chrom was an experienced hunter.

A strange metallic scent reached Robin’s nose as they came upon a small clearing. In the twilight it looked like a pile of thick vegetation was moving in one corner of the clearing, until the bear reared up and blinked at them in confusion. Beneath the massive ursine form was the corpse of the deer they had been tracking, already half-eaten.

“Back… away… slowly…” Chrom whispered, hand drifting to his sword as he followed his own instructions.

Robin silently nodded, slowly reaching into his pouch and gripping his spellbook as he moved alongside the blue-haired man.

The bear let out a low growl, falling forward onto all fours and taking a few ponderous steps towards them. Despite the low light Robin could clearly make out the glint of the creature’s long black claws and its wicked teeth. The blood matting the fur around the bear’s muzzle from its fresh kill just made the animal seem all the more nightmarish to him.

With a bone-shaking roar the bear charged, and Chrom and Robin both dodged to the side of the creature. Chrom drew his sword as he rose, stabbing out at the creature as Robin came up onto one knee, flipping through his spellbook desperately looking for…

“Fire!” the amnesiac shouted, slapping the page with the spell he was looking for and then indicating at the bear.

Balls of fire the size of Robin’s head shot out, hitting the bear’s flank and filling the clearing with the stink of burned fur. The creature roared again, its voice taking on an unmistakable tone of pain, as it rounded on Robin. The new target of the bear’s ire leapt backwards as it reared up on its hind legs, paws reaching to the sky. Flipping through his book again Robin’s eyes settled on a new spell.

The bear advanced on him as he muttered the incantations, waving his fingers through the air. Chrom shouted as he hacked at the bear’s wounded flank, trying to get its attention again but only succeeding in being swatted clear across the clearing by a lazy backhand. Robin looked up at the predator as it loomed over him and finished his spell.

“Elthunder!” he announced, throwing his hand back.

A dazzling bolt of lightning jumped from Robin’s hand into the bear’s face, lighting up the clearing. The creature moaned as the electricity ran through its body, swaying back and forth before finally collapsing backwards. Chrom emerged from the bushes he’d been thrown into, grinning madly as he surveyed Robin’s handiwork.

“I am so glad we picked you up!” the bigger man laughed as he clapped Robin on the shoulder.

*

An hour later Lissa looked forlornly at the meat sitting on the wooden plate in front of her.

“Bear? Really?”

Chrom looked up over the roaring campfire from where he was eating his own piece of roasted bear meat.

“What’s wrong with bear meat? I like bear; it feels like it’s been forever since I’ve eaten it.”

The four travellers had set up their small camp in another small clearing in the light woodland just off the north road, and it hadn’t taken much for them to get comfortable. The woodland was dry at this time of year, so firewood had been abundant, and Frederick had apparently had a roaring fire going in no time.

“There’s a good reason for that!” Lissa persisted. “You couldn’t find something that normal people might eat? Like deer, or a hare or something? This is messing with the food chain, brother! Right, Robin?”

Robin looked up from where he was stuffing as much of the roasted meat into his face as possible, managing a strangled sound of curiosity in Lissa’s direction.

“Urgh, forget it,” Lissa moaned, poking at the lump of meat on the rough wooden plate in front of her. “Birds of a feather…”

“Come now, milady,” Fredrick laughed, sitting next to her. “It’s really not that bad.”

“So why aren’t you eating any?” Lissa asked, a vicious grin rising to her face.

“I… uh… had a big lunch? Yes, a big lunch and now my appetite fails me!” Frederick spluttered quickly.

_Whatever, more for me,_ Robin reasoned. _Maybe we should have taken back some of that deer for her, too…_

Lissa didn’t look at all convinced by Fredrick’s lame excuse, but before she could call him out Robin began to choke, dropping the chunk of meat he’d been inhaling and gripping his throat as he turned blue.

“You shouldn’t be eating so fast, Robin,” Chrom said mirthfully, slapping the other man on the back.

“I told you I was hungry,” Robin rasped, sucking from the spare waterskin that Lissa had given him.

Lissa huffed. “I suppose anyone would enjoy eating this after starving for days.”

“It’s really not that bad,” Robin said, placing a much smaller portion of meat in his mouth. “You just pretend that instead of the texture of boots and tasting like leather that the meat tastes like… you know. Meat.”

The three Shepherds, including Fredrick, burst out laughing, followed closely by Robin.

If this was to be one of the earliest memories Robin retained, at least it was a good one; the forest ringing with their laughter as they relaxed and chatted after saving the village. Just the thought made Robin feel content as the distasteful meat slid down his throat.


	2. Chapter 2

Chrom woke with a start, the momentary panic of waking in a strange new place setting in until he remembered where he was.

He had been dreaming, but the dream had slipped from his mind as soon as he had awoken; a crucial battle beside a close friend, close as blood. With a sigh he gave up on clinging to the last vestiges of his dream and shook the last of the sleep out of his mind.

The fire had long since burned itself out, the embers offering little illumination to the night. Moonlight pierced through the canopy of leaves they were camped under like small spotlights, illuminating small patches of the forest floor around them. Some of the light reflecting off of Fredrick’s armour caught his attention out of the corner of his eye and made him look back at their little ‘camp’.

Fredrick was lying on his back, the most comfortable position he could be in and still wearing his armour. The man was nothing if not dedicated; Chrom could hardly stand sleeping in his leather training gear, let alone the ornate silver armour stored in his chambers in Ylisse. Lissa was curled up in her sleeping roll, using his own as her pillow. She had been through enough hardship for one day; Chrom had thought to ease his little sister’s burden at least a little. Besides, he had his cape; that was usually more than enough. No doubt Sully and Vaike would have given him grief about being such a doting brother if they were present, but at the moment he was safe to indulge his sister. The newest member of their little group was resting on his side, arm being used as a pillow on the opposite side of the fire. Robin had insisted that the night had been warm enough, and even then he had his thick coat to keep him warm.

Chrom sat watching the sleeping stranger for a moment. His brow furrowed as he slept, and Chrom found himself thinking idly that perhaps Robin was plagued by bad dreams, too. For a brief instant Chrom thought of waking the man for some companionship, after all the two of them had clicked almost instantly during the day, but thought better of it. Robin, too, had had a hard day and deserved uninterrupted sleep.

Chrom chuckled silently to himself, imagining Robin dreaming of battlefield tactics.

After the meal, Robin had impressed the three Shepherds with a surprising amount of tactical knowledge that seemed to spring up out of the amnesiac’s mind almost instantly. He, Chrom and Fredrick had spoken at length on the subject, Robin demonstrating a keen mind, as Lissa sat quietly and looked on uncomprehendingly. There were many tacticians in the service of the Ylissean military, not to mention the freelance ones that worked for mercenary companies and merchant guilds as consultants, but every one of them Chrom had met rubbed him the wrong way. They were, as a rule, usually unfit from a lifetime spent studying and drafting plans. They also gave off an insufferable air of superiority, far too similar to the average noblemen than Chrom wanted to be around. He was already formulating a way to ask the man to serve as the Shepherd’s official tactician; gods knew they sorely needed one, not to mention the man was skilled with a blade; and a mage as well!

_No_ , Chrom thought. _Naga sent you to us for a reason._

Interrupting Chrom’s musings on the future of his little troupe, something in the forest caught his attention; a sound, almost like ripping fabric.

Quietly so as not to wake the others, Chrom stood and took up his broadsword, Falchion.

The divine blade had served him well since his father had passed during his youth; he and the blade had been nigh inseparable. Falchion; the blade that had felled the dark dragon Medeus in the hands of the fabled hero-king Marth, from who the exalted line of Ylisse was descended. The blade had also been used by his ancestor the First Exalt to fell the dark dragon Grima, centuries later. It was a big legacy to live up to, an important legacy, especially as the one actually carrying the sword around all day.

Chrom squinted into the dark as the sound repeated, louder and closer this time. He took two steps before Lissa stirred, mumbling sleepily.

“Chrom? Where are you going?”

“Nowhere, sister. Just going for a walk.”

“Well let me come with you; I’m stiff from sleeping on the ground.”

Chrom sighed inwardly; Lissa had always been one of those annoying people that went from dead asleep to wide awake the instant her eyes opened, unlike him. So much for quickly investigating the noise on his own.

The brother and sister moved quietly out into the forest, away from where Fredrick and Robin were still sleeping and in the general direction of the noises Chrom had heard. Lissa was looking around, taking in the unfamiliar sights and sounds of the forest in the pre-dawn hours. Night birds were calling to each other quietly as the other animals slept; Chrom had always liked the world in the small hours of the morning, the quiet sense of peace that pervaded everything. Not to say he wasn’t fond of the chaos of daily life in Ylisse, but the early morning just before the sun rose in a forest was almost magical in its own way.

Chrom cringed at his poetic side, cursing his momentary distraction; what if he’d missed something while they’d been walking? This was why he hated operations at night.

Lissa was completely oblivious, though; simply enjoying what she obviously assumed was just a stroll through the woods, stretching and yawning, her back popping as she did.

They walked a few more feet to a large clearing before Chrom stopped, shaking his head. Aside from the Shepherds the forest was abandoned; completely abandoned, even the night birds had gone silent.

_Wait,_ Chrom thought, his tired mind catching up. _Birds silent is bad._

“Chrom? What happened to all the animals?” Lissa asked, looking around warily, the atmosphere finally sinking in on her.

Before Chrom could answer, the he heard the sound again; a ripping, tearing sound more like flesh being torn rather than cloth this time.

From the look on Lissa’s face she obviously heard it this time, too. The ground suddenly shook, a violent upheaval that almost managed to throw Chrom flat. As Lissa grabbed hold of her brother to avoid falling over the trees waved wildly, some even falling with loud crashes, uprooted completely by the quake.

This was wrong; the southern region of Ylisse never suffered from earthquakes. Further north, near the border, they were commonplace, but never of this magnitude. Chrom looked up, his eyes widening as he beheld the fiery light of ruin.

“Lissa,” Chrom said, his voice calm but firm. “Run.”

The girl looked up at him, confused, before she saw what he saw; dread settling in the pit of her stomach as her face became illuminated in the darkness.

Racing towards them was a wall of fire, tearing up the ground and burning the forest as it went. Trees twice as big around as some of the columns in the grand hall of the Ylissean palace went flying from the flames, as smaller fireballs fell from the sky ahead of the wave, causing destruction where they fell. The earth itself groaned and split as the fire reached it, huge cracks forming and massive slabs of ground heaving upwards meters into the sky, the landscape altering around them in seconds.

“Run!” He shouted again, giving her a shove to accentuate his point.

They raced as fast as they could through the forest in an almost blind panic, Lissa doing her best to keep up with the much fitter Chrom as he charged ahead. He veered to the left suddenly as a tree fell across their path, and Lissa stumbled, catching herself quickly and pressing on.

_What nightmare is this?_ Chrom thought wildly, dodging trees as the ground quaked beneath his feet.

With a great crash the ground beneath Chrom and Lissa jumped up, sending them sprawling in a clearing at the base of a newly formed cliff.

*

Robin snorted himself awake, looking around as he wiped the drool away from the corner of his mouth. A strange noise had woken him from another dream…

“Chrom?” he asked, looking around.

The amnesiac found himself alone with a slumbering Frederick, the knight’s breathing calm and regular in the darkness.

Robin stood, stretching his arms above his head and letting out a little groan. Maybe Chrom had just taken his sister for a-

Robin fell flat on his back as the earth shifted and bounced beneath him, Frederick’s horse whinnying and doing its best to escape the rope tying it to the tree. The horse’s owner was on his feet instantly, even before the ground had stopped shaking.

“What’s going on!?” the knight shouted, looking around. “Where is milord and lady!?”

“How should I know!?” Robin shouted back, waiting for the ground to stop trembling so he could stand again.

As the shaking stopped Frederick dashed to his mount’s side, already hefting the heavy saddle back into place. Robin was about to say something else, but stopped when the scent of smoke reached him.

“Frederick, we need to find Chrom and Lissa now,” he said, standing and looking towards the forest.

The night sky was ablaze, literally, as flames danced through and above the forest. Just above them Robin could make out a vaguely human shape, but he couldn’t see more through the smoke and heat-haze rising from the burning forest.

“Get on!” the knight shouted, already in his saddle.

Robin shrugged, jumping up onto the back with little effort and gripping the back of Frederick’s plates. Without further warning the big knight kicked his horse into motion, racing off towards the flames.

Robin looked up again, straining his eyes to see if he could spot the human-shaped figure again, but the sky was empty.

*

“What’s going on!?” Lissa cried, getting unsteadily to her feet.

Chrom didn’t answer, instead looking in horror up to the sky.

The sky looked back; a giant, crystalline blue eye with a slit pupil like that of a snake or other reptile stared balefully down at the two Shepherds.

As the two looked on speechless, forms began to coalesce in the eye, taking vaguely human shapes, before reaching through its surface, and falling twenty feet to the forest floor. With inhuman slowness and malice, the two dark forms picked themselves up. They were wearing identical dark leather armour and masks, glowing red eyes staring with hate from eye slits and black miasma leaking from joints in the suits. To Chrom’s further dismay, they both held large, wickedly sharp looking axes.

“Lissa, stay behind me,” Chrom ordered in a voice much calmer than he felt.

Falchion was reassuring in his grip as he rushed the first of the creatures, an incoherent war cry escaping his lips as he slashed horizontally in a blow that should have neatly bisected the creature. It simply grunted, more black fog pouring from the wound, and swung its axe with impossible strength and speed. Chrom caught the weapon on his blade, grunting with the effort. Acting quickly, he transferred his weight, throwing the monster back and striking its head with Falchion’s pommel, before beheading it with his backswing. The monster turned to purple ash and smoke almost instantly, dissipating on the night wind.

All of this had only taken a few seconds, but as he turned to face the other foe Chrom heard his sister cry out. The other thing had crossed the distance faster than he had, and held its axe above its head, ready to strike. Lissa had fallen back, and held a tree branch in front of her defensively. Chrom’s gut lurched as he realized that he’d never cross the distance in time.

Calling his sister’s name, he tried anyway.

Lissa screamed as the creature brought down the axe. Chrom wasn’t sure how, but instead of his sister, a new man had interposed himself between her and the creature, holding the axe away from his back with a broadsword balanced on his shoulder. In the second Chrom stopped to process this, the new man turned his head and shouted for help as the creature pressed on the blade with all of its inhuman strength, forcing the man to one knee. Chrom acted instantly, slashing horizontally again, beheading the creature as the other man rose, slashing the opposite direction at its waist, making it disappear into purple mist like the first had.

The new man steadied himself, sheathing his broadsword, turning slightly as he did. Chrom was surprised to see the man wearing an ornate blue mask with slits for eyes; it appeared as if this was a day for mysterious strangers to enter his life.

More growls and grunts were coming from behind Chrom, and as he looked he saw more of the creatures beginning to converge out of the woods, but above the sounds of more of the strange creatures Chrom could hear the welcome sound of a horse at full gallop charging through the trees.

“Captain Chrom!”

Chrom spun, expecting to see Fredrick riding to their rescue, but instead was met by a woman in white-edged red armour, large muscular arms bare, swinging a lance left and right like a madwoman, the strange shadowy creatures recoiling from her wrath. The silver-blue haired, absurdly well-dressed man behind her was clinging one-handed to her waist like a drowning man to a life preserver, his bow held out in the other hand in an obvious attempt to try and maintain balance, all semblance of his usual dignity gone.

The knight in red reigned her horse in close to where Chrom, Lissa and the masked stranger stood, allowing the archer to dismount.

“All right, ya ash-faced freaks! Who wants some first!?” she challenged, brandishing her lance at the encroaching creatures.

“Sully! Good timing,” Chrom said in way of greeting.

The female knight turned to look at him sideways, grinning wildly.

“And you said ‘stay at the barracks, this’ll be a quiet mission.’ This tears it, I’m never letting you and Fredrick out of my sight again; I always miss all the fun.”

“This is what you consider fun?” the archer Virion said, aghast at the number of the creatures advancing warily on them.

Chrom grimaced. There were at least two dozen of them now, all sporting axes or swords, and a few almost naked, sallow skinned creatures with elongated arms and cloth hoods armed with nothing but wicked looking claws, all shambling like the dead. If the other two were any indication, though, the shambling gait wouldn’t last. Their odds weren’t good.

Chrom revaluated their position as Fredrick barrelled through the crowd astride his warhorse like a bull charging a matador, Robin leaping from behind him as they came closer.

“Sully, with me!” Fredrick shouted, gesturing to the horde with one hand as he tossed Lissa’s staff to her with the other.

Without further prompting or comment, Sully levelled her lance and kicked her horse into action at the same time as Fredrick, the two of them charging back through the creatures, capturing their attention immediately as they tore through the enemy ranks.

“That’ll buy us some time,” Robin said, approaching Chrom and the others. “Are you unharmed?”

“We’re fine,” Chrom told the other man, sparing a still pale Lissa a glance to be sure.

She was standing her ground, staff clenched in shaking fists, but she nodded once to Chrom. He had to grin at his little sister’s determination to be a Shepherd. It was almost inspiring, in a way.

The masked man was standing stock still behind her, facing away and obviously evaluating the battlefield.

“Right then,” Robin said, turning and doing the same. “Fredrick and the other knight will clear the creatures and then hit their back ranks. We push through the front, and meet in the middle. Lissa, you and the archer stay back, but don’t fall behind or let yourselves get separated from us. Chrom; you, me and mister-mask over there are the frontline. Everybody clear?”

Chrom nodded, impressed by Robin’s tactical mind. Barely a minute to evaluate the scene, even after all the destruction that had unnerved him so, and he had a plan. His resolve to make the man the Shepherd’s new tactician grew stronger.

The masked man hesitated, almost looking about to object, before nodding assent, drawing his sword and turning to hide the bulk of the blade away from Chrom and the others; a curious action that could wait for explanation later, when strange creatures that had fallen out of the sky weren’t trying to kill them all.

 Virion, however, simply couldn’t resist making his introductions to Robin, though.

“The ‘archer’?” he asked, feigning insult. “Sir, I’ll have you know I am the ‘archest-of-archers’! I am Virion, the man who strides large across history’s stage!”

Before he could continue, Robin shot him a glare.

“Can it, ruffles, and make with the shooty-shooty.”

“Ruffles?” Virion mumbled, deflated as he reached for an arrow from the full quiver on his back. “I swoop to the rescue and in return am scoffed and scorned…”

He kept muttering to himself but Chrom stopped listening, readying Falchion and forming an ad-hoc line with Robin and the masked stranger. The creatures had come much closer now, the momentary distraction of Sully and Fredrick’s charge forgotten, close enough that Chrom could hear their ragged breathing and make out the details of their masks and hoods.

The world seemed to slow to a stop as the two opposing forces faced each other, the creatures seemingly unsure of how to deal with a group that had so quickly gone from separate prey to a serious threat. All thanks to Robin’s quick thinking, Chrom mentally added, his opinion of the man steadily growing.

With shouted battle cries Fredrick and Sully smashed into the back of their foes at full speed, scattering enemies or crushing them underfoot.

“Now!” Robin shouted, charging into the creatures, sword at the ready.

Chrom and the masked man followed instantly, as Virion let loose his first arrow, dropping one of the creatures with a precision shot through the eye slit of its mask. At least the man wasn’t all talk, Chrom grimly thought as two more arrows in quick succession found targets.

Lissa stayed close to Virion, trying hard to be inconspicuous as they passed fallen creatures.

Chrom hacked left and right, style and form quickly being lost in the general melee, creatures falling away from him as he went. Robin and the masked man were doing the same, slashing and hacking at creatures that came within range, Virion shooting a steady stream of arrows into creatures, staggering them for the others to drop, or else simply dropping them himself with well-placed shots.

One of the creatures, bigger than the others, suddenly loomed above Robin, axe held high in challenge. Robin noticed the creature, reaching into his pouch, producing the spellbook he had used earlier. With quick had gestures he sent three bolts of lightning at the creature, striking it squarely and piercing its leather armour, black mist pouring from the wounds.

With a feral roar the creature closed the last of the distance, swinging at Robin. The tactician was too slow moving from its path, taking a glancing blow on his side through the thick cloak he wore.

Shouting in pain and shock he retreated a few steps, returning the spellbook to his pouch and readying his blade in a two handed grip.

Chrom fought desperately to reach him, the dark creatures falling before him. For the second time in so many minutes, though, he found himself too slow as the huge creature struck at Robin again.

Blows rained down on the tactician, forcing him back as he skilfully dodged or parried each attack.

Three arrows struck the creature in the chest and shoulder, Virion giving a sound of success that was very un-noble-like, before turning on the other creatures encroaching on him and Lissa as she shouted warning.

Robin took the opportunity to duck below the creature’s guard, stabbing upwards into its chest. The creature roared again, knocking Robin back with its free arm, sending the injured man sprawling, his blade still stuck fast in its chest.

The creature reached down with its free hand, and instead of pulling the sword out, snapped the blade off from where it protruded, tossing the broken pommel and half the sword aside.

Chrom watched in desperate glances, risking himself by taking his eyes off his own opponents. The creatures before him simply wouldn’t die, or when they did they were replaced by even more of the identical things.

Chrom shouted defiance, slashing horizontally, forgoing all thoughts of defence. The larger creature was closing on Robin, obviously wounded but still shuffling menacingly, almost like it was taking its time, savouring the coming kill.

Chrom’s wild swings were rewarded when one of the axe-wielding creatures fell, turning to the familiar black mist, but the other sword-wielding creature before him pressed its attack with more of the inhuman speed and strength they seemed to possess.

Chrom backpedalled, parrying desperately, sweat pouring down his face.

The bigger creature had reached Robin, who was desperately crawling backwards from his foe, holding the wound in his side. The bigger creature stomped down hard on the tactician’s chest, pinning him as it raised its axe, Robin crying out in pain.

Chrom cried out as the tactician closed his eyes, bracing for the killing blow.

Before the creature could land the blow, the masked man was on it, swinging his sword upwards and severing its arm at the elbow, arm and axe falling to the side in a stream of black mist, before he pirouetted and cut the creatures head clean from its shoulders. The head fell to the forest floor, bouncing once before dissipating to mist.

The other creatures became slower and seemed confused without their leader, and Chrom cut down the sword-wielding one pressing in on him without difficulty.

Doing a quick once over of the battlefield, Chrom was glad to see that the last few of the creatures were being rounded up by Sully and Fredrick, who weren’t seeming to have any more difficulty with them.

Chrom ran to his new friend, who had sat up, but was coughing violently.

“That hurt,” he wheezed between coughs. “That thing was ungodly heavy.”

The captain of the Shepherds couldn’t help but laugh in relief at the tactician’s poor attempt at humour.

“Just sit and bask in our victory,” Chrom told the man as Lissa and Virion approached.

Lissa set to work instantly with her staff, healing Robin’s wounds. The tactician, for that was all Chrom could think of him as now, sighed in relief as the healing magics did their work.

“Oh, I’m basking, all right,” Robin grumbled, forcing himself to his feet and thanking Lissa. “Basking in playing the insect underfoot. I will never step on another bug as long as I live.”

Favouring his injured side he limped over to Chrom as Sully and Fredrick pulled up. Sully was covered in small wounds and nicks in her armour, but Fredrick still looked resplendent like he was in a parade. Robin was beginning to notice a pattern with the knight.

“That appears to be all of them, milord,” the male knight said, surveying the battlefield.

The only evidence of the creatures was the scattered and broken weapons lying about; the creatures themselves had turned to mist and vanished once felled.

Virion was busy congratulating Robin’s tactical brilliance, complaining about the battle mussing his perfect hair and hitting on Sully all at once; Sully, for her part, had climbed down from her horse and was trying her best to ignore the man as Lissa worked on her wounds. Robin, Fredrick and Chrom all turned on the masked man, who was standing silently apart from the others; even with the mask, though, it was plain that he was staring at Chrom.

“So…” Robin started, drawing out the word as he limped to the masked man. “Thanks for saving me.”

The man nodded in Robin’s direction.

“Me too!” Lissa said, finishing with Sully and joining them. “I mean, for saving me. Thanks. For saving me.”

The masked man seemed to be trying to hide a smile at her words, and nodded again.

“You saved my sister’s life, and the life of my friend,” Chrom said after an awkward silence. “Not to mention you stood by our sides and fought bravely against those things. My name is Chrom. May I ask yours?”

The man was silent a moment, before nodding a third time.

“You may call me Marth.”

“Marth?” Chrom repeated. “As in the hero-king of old?”

Another nod.

“Well, you certainly fight like a hero, I’ll grant you that,” Chrom said with his best easy-going smile, trying to be friendly. “Where did you learn to handle a sword like that?”

The man sniffed. “I’m not here to talk about me. This world teeters at the edge of darkness; what you saw tonight was merely a prelude to the greater disaster yet to come. The warning has been delivered.”

With his piece said, the masked man turned and strode purposefully into the dark forest, leaving the five confused Shepherds and Robin standing, confused. It had sounded like the man’s voice had broken slightly at the end of the sentence.

“Well,” Robin said after the man had disappeared into the night. “That was… strange.”

“You didn’t see him fall out of the sky,” Lissa said tiredly, her unshakable cheer returning slightly.

“He fell out of the sky, too?” Chrom asked his sister incredulously.

“Not much for conversation, is he?” Virion said, twirling an arrow between his fingers.

“His skills obviously lie elsewhere,” Fredrick said, watching the forest where the mysterious masked man had disappeared. “I don’t doubt our paths will cross again.”

Chrom nodded agreement.

“We should make haste to ensure that the capital hasn’t befallen the same fate as this forest,” Fredrick said after a moment.

Chrom couldn’t help but agree. Now that the battle was over he realised that if the Capital had been affected by the same catastrophe as the forest had, then their skills would be sorely needed.

“Well? What’re we waiting for?” Robin asked no one in particular, setting off in a random direction, before stopping after a few steps.

“On second thought, I have no idea where I’m going. Does somebody else want to lead?”

Chrom rolled his eyes, patting the man on the shoulder as he passed him.

“Great with tactics; obviously not so much with directions,” Robin said cheerily as the first of the sun’s rays broke over the forest. “Hey, wait up! I’m still wounded, here!”


	3. Chapter 3

Robin limped lightly along beside Chrom through the busy streets of Ylisstol, the capital city of Ylisse, and apparently where the Shepherds were based, his ribs still sore from the battle that morning despite Lissa’s best efforts. The streets were packed, but the air in the city was one of every-day life, not of ‘Oh gods there’s fire and monsters falling out of the sky!’ like they had been expecting. Despite their initial relief, though, Chrom had still set a punishing pace through the city towards the palace.

“It seems that the capital was spared the destruction that passed last night,” Robin remarked to Chrom.

The tactician nimbly side-stepped a lady carrying a tray of bread who was hurrying off to… well wherever ladies carrying trays of bread in the morning went. Hs eyes followed the steaming loaves, his mouth practically watering as the scent tickled his nose and his stomach growled.

He, Chrom, Lissa and Fredrick were off to the palace with the intention of warning the local ruler; Virion and Sully had returned to the Shepherd’s barracks somewhere in the city. Virion was still doing his best to chat the young knight up the entire way, Robin listening in until their voices faded into the crowd. Virion’s voice had faded first, of course; he could continue hearing Sully’s shouted rebukes, threats and curses much longer.

Robin could see why Virion was so infatuated, though; Sully had a certain vital charm about her and was surely easy to look at, even if her masculinity was a little off-putting. She had arms bigger than Robin’s legs, if he were honest. The tactician definitely respected Virion’s daring and commitment.

“Yes, thank Naga,” Chrom said, relieved, but clearly tired from the pre-dawn battle.

The blue haired Captain had pushed the group relentlessly, only slowing once the capital was in sight and they had confirmed it hadn’t burned down or suffered any other destructive fate. Fortunately no more of the mysterious creatures had assaulted them either, and they had reached their destination unmolested by mid-morning. Of course, there had been no sign of ‘Marth’, either.

Fredrick had dismounted and allowed Lissa to ride his horse after the battle. The poor girl had been close to dropping like a stone after she had healed both Robin and Sully; she had apologized profusely at not being able to completely heal Robin’s wounds, but he waved her off, hopping on one leg to show her he was well enough to travel. Once they had entered the city proper, though, Fredrick had helped Lissa from the horse, and Sully had taken its reins and promised to lead it to the Shepherd’s stables. Robin assumed it was near their barracks; wherever that was.

Ylisstol was a massive, sprawling city. The buildings had eventually spilled from within the high walls of the original castle town, and many different wards and residential districts expanded around the circular wall in all directions.

The crowd became thinner as they passed into the more wealthy area of the city near its heart. They passed a grand cathedral, a towering building with four large belltowers that Robin somehow knew without memory was a church dedicated to the Divine Dragon, Naga. They passed by it, Fredrick holding his hand to his brow and then his heart as a sign of devotion to the church as they passed. Robin could see the towers of the Exalt’s palace rising above the surrounding buildings now, pegasi coming and going from the largest of the towers, which was obviously where their roost was.

“So who is this Exalt?” Robin asked conversationally, matching Chrom’s pace so they could talk. “Should I be aware of any courtly-manner-things that might get me executed for screwing up?”

“What?” Chrom laughed, his worried expression melting into a smile. “No, nothing like that. Exalt Emmeryn is a kind-hearted ruler; she’d more than likely sit you down and explain the rules of the court to you than have you executed; I’ve been on the receiving end of one of those, though, and execution might be the preferable option to that boredom. She cares more about her subjects than any other ruler we’ve ever had, our Father included.”

“Huh,” Robin said. “She sounds truly benevolent.”

“Yeah, and she’s the best big sister anyone could ever ask for,” Lissa chimed in from behind them as the quartet reached the palace steps.

“Yeah, I’m sure she would be,” Robin said distractedly, studying the palace’s architecture and being simply awed by the elegant simplicity in its design. It seemed like the palace would also double as a heavily fortifiable stronghold in the event of a siege, especially if…

“Wait, did you say ‘big sister’? And… ‘Father’?”

Lissa giggled as she and Fredrick overtook Robin, who had stopped dead, mouth hanging agape.

“You mean you and Chrom are…?”

“Yes,” Chrom said after laughing at Robin’s gobsmacked expression. “The prince and princess of Ylisse.”

Wheels turned in his head for a few seconds as Robin tried to process this unexpected information, deciding on automatically dropping to one knee, head held low as he begged for forgiveness.

“Milord, milady, please, forgive my dreadful manners!”

The other three burst out laughing, even Fredrick. Robin glanced up timidly, hoping he wasn’t about to be shackled and led off to the dungeon for being so irreverent.

“You mean to tell us you remember milord’s name but not his title?” the Knight asked, his ever-present suspicion returning after the laughter subsided.

Chrom reached down, pulling Robin up by one arm.

“Please, Robin, Emm isn’t the only one that hates courtly manners and the like. I’m just Chrom to you.”

Robin looked up, making eye contact again and nodding, still slightly nervous.

Chrom nodded, satisfied. “Come on. We shouldn’t linger; Emm needs to hear about what happened last night.”

*

They were met at the great oak doors to the main hall by an older man in plate armour similar to Fredrick’s, but much more ornate, with a blue tabard over the top depicting what Robin assumed to be the symbol of Ylisse and a matching blue cape fanned out behind him. He had a great red beard which was on its way to grey, and a receding hairline pulled back in a ponytail that hung to the collar of his armour. Robin didn’t doubt he was probably one of the most deadly warriors he’d ever come face to face with, judging merely from the way he held himself.

“Knight-Commander Cullen!” Chrom greeted the man, shaking his hand.

“Prince Chrom. Princess Lissa,” the Knight-Commander greeted the two seriously, offering a nod to Fredrick. “Please, follow me. The Exalt is waiting for you.”

Chrom fell into stride beside the man, Fredrick close behind. Robin followed feeling ignored, Lissa matching his speed as the tactician looked around in wonder.

The Great Hall lived up to its name; it was a cavernous space with a ceiling that seemed to reach the heavens, held up by great carved marble pillars, each intricately detailed with mosaics of Ylissean royalty and victories. Paintings and statues lined the walls, spoils of war or simply commissions for the royal family, Robin couldn’t tell. In the centre of the hall, reaching almost to the high ceiling was a massive statue of what Robin assumed to be the hero-king Marth; the statue staring benevolently into the distance, sword held point down at rest in front of him. The beautiful throne at the end of the hall sat empty, the Exalt no doubt waiting for them further inside the palace.

“That’s the Knight-Commander,” Lissa whispered explanatorily, seeing Robin’s gaze linger on the older warrior. “He served our father during the war with Plegia, and watched over us when we were children after Father died. He also commands the ground forces in the Ylissean army, which is split equally down the middle of ground and aerial units because Pegasi breed so well in Ylisse. The leader of the aerial group is…”

“Wing-Commander Phila!” Chrom called out in greeting to a stern looking woman in lighter armour standing at the rear of the great hall.

She had harsh, angular features offset by a black beauty spot under her right eye and steel coloured hair pulled back in a tight bun at the back of her head. Her armour was a deep polished bronze colour, ornate like Cullen’s. She was a slight woman, much smaller than her male counterpart; obviously a veteran flier from her lighter armour and bowed legs. Again, Robin didn’t doubt she’d have no problem wiping the floor with him if they were to duel. She bowed slightly from the waist in greeting to the Prince and Princess before ushering the group into a smaller back room, giving Robin a curious look. Robin simply shrugged and followed Chrom and Lissa, Fredrick behind them.

Cullen led them through a series of passageways, past more soldiers wearing variations on Cullen’s or Phila’s armour, the Knight-Commander leading, the Wing-Commander taking rearguard. It was a sound strategy, Robin noted, and bespoke of lifetime soldiers that slipped into battlefield tactics off the field out of habit.

At one point they had to press themselves against the wall as a squad of pegasi knights trooped past in full battle-kit. They were obviously veterans by their more ornate armour and heavier weapons, and Robin noted the way their legs were bowed, too, from sitting astride their mounts for so long. They passed by, the others of their group waiting patiently, Cullen explaining to Chrom that they were sending scout-parties out to watch the Plegian borders.

Robin noticed absently the way the youngest looking of the squad’s eyes lingered on Chrom before the tactician did a double-take.

The youngest member of the squad was _gorgeous_ ; long, lustrous red hair, a slim figure, regal bearing, soft features, long, lithe legs, ample breastplate… The sun was behind her, casting a halo about her, making her red hair almost seem like flames, dancing as she averted her gaze when Chrom looked her way.

Robin tore his eyes away before the others noticed him staring, almost certain he’d been drooling. Judging by the way Lissa was trying and failing to stifle a fit of giggles, he had failed. At least none of the _other_ others had noticed…

_If the concentration of attractive women around here remains so high, I could definitely see myself hanging around a while,_ Robin thought to himself as the group started moving again, Fredrick and Phila looking confused, probably trying to figure out why Lissa was giggling so hard.

Chrom hadn’t noticed; instead too busy talking to Cullen about something in hushed tones. Frederick just shot them both a dirty glance as he walked alongside a softly grinning Phila.

They passed through what was obviously the palace’s barracks and through an almost empty courtyard, a young mage that was more hat than anything else practicing with his wind magic alone against wooden practice dummies. The mage offered the group a cheery wave, which was only returned by Lissa. They went up a staircase and passed two guards that saluted smartly as Chrom and the Commanders passed; the younger of the two guards in forest green armour offering a wink as Lissa walked by.

They were obviously in one of the royal apartments now, Robin guessed as Cullen told them to sit and wait; it was a comfortable sitting room, not at all like Robin had been expecting. Soft looking couches sat around a low table with a crystal pitcher of water and a bowl of fresh fruit on it, and bookshelves lined one wall, all crammed to bursting. A fireplace sat empty on the wall opposite the shelves, but it looked clean and well-maintained; the whole palace had.

Lissa flopped onto one of the couches in a relaxed, un-princess-like manner as Chrom sat with a relieved sigh and helped himself to some of the water. Fredrick and Phila stood flanking the door they had come through, all military precision.

Robin couldn’t help but feel like he stood out, Chrom glancing up at the still-standing man and grinning.

“I told you not to worry, Robin; she’s not as scary as all the knights and the big palace make her seem.”

Fredrick ‘humphed’ at the Prince’s comment, but Phila remained silent.

Robin gingerly made his way to the sofa and, after ensuring the back of his coat was clean and dust free, sat down. Chrom offered him a glass of water, which he took, cradling the fine crystal glass with both hands, terrified of dropping something so clearly valuable.

“I am so out of place here,” he muttered to the prince, eying the knights at the door.

“Believe me when I say I feel the exact same way,” Chrom muttered back conspiratorially, grinning as he did so.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Chrom staring wistfully into the empty fireplace, Lissa on the verge of falling asleep on the sofa, and Robin taking in the surroundings.

“This was my parent’s apartment, once,” Chrom said quietly so only Robin would hear. “I have fond memories of sitting in front of that fireplace with them when I was younger; my father would read us stories while my mother would teach Emm to sew. They were better times.”

Robin nodded melancholy.

“At least you have memories,” he said, his voice low but full of as much forced cheer as he could muster. “My oldest memory is thinking ‘gee that girl is loud’ a day and a half ago!”

“I heard that,” Lissa mumbled from the other sofa, making Chrom and Robin try to laugh in hushed tones.

Fredrick looked none too pleased, but Phila seemed to be trying to hide a smile.

Robin assumed that the Wing-Commander was another of the people that had watched over the young royals when their parents had died and come to care deeply for them.

Luckily, before Chrom could slip into further memories, Cullen opened the doors opposite from the ones Phila and Fredrick stood at; both of whom snapped to attention.

“Presenting the Exalt, her highness Emmeryn,” Cullen said with an air of someone who was proud to be able to announce such a thing.

Emmeryn strode gracefully out of the other room, her cream and beige robes rustling regally as she moved, long blonde hair not unlike Lissa’s done up in braids and plaits that framed her face. She was definitely related to the other two, seemingly combining the best features of Chrom and Lissa’s faces for her own. The thing that Robin noticed most, though, was the symbol on her forehead the colour of scar tissue; the same symbol on Chrom’s bare shoulder and central to the Ylissean coat of arms he had seen all over the palace. He resolved to ask someone about it when the chance came.

“Please Cullen,” Emmeryn beamed, her voice soft but still filling the whole room like the chimes of a bell. “We are all friends here; there is no need for formalities.”

“Sorry, your grace,” Cullen said, bowing low, his cheeks darkening slightly. “Force of habit.”

Emmeryn smiled as Lissa shot up and exclaimed “Emm!” and ran to her sister, throwing her arms around the older woman’s shoulders.

“Hello, Lissa,” Emmeryn said, laughter in her gentle voice. “I trust camping with Chrom and Fredrick was fun?”

“Yeah!” Lissa said enthusiastically, before sobering. “Well, it was until the whole attacked by monsters thing happened.”

Emmeryn seemed to expect this, and stroked her sister’s hair.

“It’s okay; there will be a war council as soon as this greeting is over to determine how best to deal with this new threat.”

Chrom approached his sister, giving her a light hug.

“Hello, Emm.”

Emmeryn smiled at her brother, who was slightly taller than her, Robin noticed, before turning on the tactician.

“I do not believe we have met.”

Cullen seemed to take notice of Robin for the first time, too, and his bushy eyebrows shot up in surprise.

_Probably wondering what kind of baseborn fool is stupid enough to invite himself into the royal chambers… Gah! I’m so stupid!_

“This is Robin,” Chrom said for his new friend. “We found him… well, we found him passed out in a field with amnesia.”

Emmeryn’s perfect eyebrows shot up in surprise, but her smile never faltered.

“However,” Chrom continued, ignoring the perplexed faces on his sister and the Knight-Commander, “He’s fought valiantly by our sides to see us returned to Ylisstol and has earned my respect with his martial skills and knowledge of tactics; in fact I intended to ask him to be the Shepherd’s official tactician after the war council.”

“Your grace,” Robin said, doing his best imitation of a courtly bow before what Chrom said sunk in.

_What!? Tactician!?_

He snapped up, confusion in his eyes as Chrom smiled apologetically at him. It was the same sort of beneficent smile his sister had, Robin noted absently.

“Your Grace,” Fredrick spoke up from his position at the door, “I feel it necessary to point out that we know nothing about this man besides his name and that he claims to have no knowledge of his past. We cannot rule out the idea that he may be a foreign spy.”

Emmeryn looked at Robin, her gaze cryptic, before turning to her brother.

“Do you trust this man, Chrom?”

“I do, sister.”

“Then that is enough for me,” Emmeryn said, smiling at Robin again. “But we really must prepare for the council.”

“Well,” Lissa said, grabbing Robin by the arm quickly before anybody else could speak, “We should get out of the way, what with the war council and all.”

Lissa all but dragged Robin, who was still trying to process what Chrom had said, to the doors, which Fredrick opened for them, scowling at Robin.

“You all have fun!” she said as the doors closed. Through the doors Robin could see Emmeryn holding a hand to her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laughter while Chrom smiled and shook his head. Once the doors had closed Lissa let out a relieved sigh. “Oh thank Naga you were here to get me out of there; I hate war councils.”

Robin stood staring into the distance, the word ‘tactician’ rolling over and over in his mind.

“Anyway, let me show you the Shepherds’ barracks! It’s not far from the palace,” Lissa said, still leading a shell-shocked Robin by the arm.

*

The Shepherds’ barracks and stables were indeed side by side as Robin had guessed earlier; Sully was in the stables brushing down her horse and spared them a very girlish wave as they passed, looking entirely out of place on her muscular frame. Robin waved back, wondering if Virion had finally given up his ‘pursuit of love’ for the day.

The barracks was a few blocks away from the palace district near the city wall, surrounded by what Robin assumed were the other barracks’ for the Ylissean army proper; obviously what Robin had seen in the palace were just the royal guard. Judging from the amount of soldiers Ylisse was indeed a martial state like Chrom had said.

They entered the squat barracks building and Robin looked around, almost disappointed by how simple the place seemed; rooms along the back with four cots apiece; a kitchen area; an area to store weapons and armour; and a simple common area occupied by Virion and four other strangers eating various forms of lunch.

Virion was reclining casually, a tea cup in one hand hovering above the saucer in the other, still dressed in his exceedingly fine battle-wear, ruffles and all; the ‘archest-of-archers’ nodded greeting to Robin as he and Lissa approached the group.

“Hi everyone!” Lissa exclaimed cheerfully as they entered.

One of those eating lunch, a prissy looking blonde dressed similarly to Lissa, but in pink riding clothes of fine quality and looking about the same age, leapt up, running to Lissa and barging Robin bodily out of the way.

“Lissa, my treasure!” she said in a refined voice that Robin thought screamed nobility as she grasped both of Lissa’s hands in her own. “Are you alright? I have been on pins and needles waiting for word of your safety!”

“I’m fine, Maribelle,” Lissa smiled tiredly, extracting her hands gently, her demeanour changing to something akin to nobility for the first time since Robin met the girl. It didn’t last, though, as Lissa winked and said “I can handle a battle or two, you know. You worry too much. I did eat a bear, though.”

A tanned, shirtless man with spiky blonde hair and chiselled muscles stood, walking over to them.

“Hey squirt,” he said. “Where’s Chrom? You guys keep running off and having all the fun without the rest of us; I didn’t think he’d be able to handle himself without ol’ Teach there to bail him out.”

Maribelle rolled her eyes empathetically and Lissa snickered.

“Oh, it’s ‘Teach’ now, is it?” she asked, still giggling. “Here I was thinking you had to be born without brains, but you can teach it?”

The tanned man puffed out his chest proudly. “Don’t be underestimating Teach! Hey… wait, was that an insult?”

Before the teasing of the tanned man could continue, the slight brunette woman standing to the back stepped forward. Something about her screamed timidity and inexperience to Robin, but she was still wearing light bronze-coloured Pegasus-rider armour, so he assumed she had at least some skill.

“Beg pardon, but when can we see the Captain?” she asked, her voice betraying nervousness.

Maribelle rolled her eyes again, and Robin found himself beginning to dislike the girl’s haughty bearing.

“Poor Sumia. She’s been absolutely beside herself with concern. Her eyes never left the horizon, waiting with baited breath in the hopes of seeing you and your brother.”

The Pegasus rider, named Sumia apparently, blushed.

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Lissa chirped.

“Well… I, that is… He’s our Captain… so, I… Uh…and the Prince, so of course I was worried!” she stammered out, flustered.

Robin had to hold back laughter of his own as the two other girls giggled. The tanned man was making exaggerated retching sounds.

“So who’s the new guy?” ‘Teach’ asked after Lissa and Maribelle stopped their giggles.

“Oh!” Lissa exclaimed, remembering Robin’s presence, apologizing to him with her eyes.

“May I introduce Robin! The Shepherds’ new Tactician! You should see all the awesome tricks he has up those sleeves!”

“Oh yeah? Can he do this?” ‘Teach’ asked, bumping his chest and letting out a hearty belch.

Robin barked out a quick laugh, before exaggerating a bow. He decided he liked the other man.

“I can see you have much to teach me in the arts of belching, o illustrious Teach. In any case, it’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

“Vulgar,” Virion muttered, not looking up from his tea.

“That’s Vaike,” Lissa said, trying not to giggle as Maribelle glared at him.

“Vaike, that was abhorrent! Must you baseborn oafs pollute even the air with your buffoonery?!” she all but shouted, before turning on Robin. “And you! Do not encourage his behaviour! I had hoped you were cut from finer cloth!”

_Yep_ Robin decided as Maribelle ‘hmmphed’, turning up her nose and striding out the side door that Robin assumed led to the stables. _Definitely don’t like her._

“Don’t take her behaviour to heart,” Sumia said to Robin as they all returned to sitting around the low table, Robin taking the chair Maribelle had vacated. “She… warms to people slowly.”

“Or burns too quickly,” Lissa added, plopping down on a stool, her tone joking. 

“Here I thought she was just a prissy snob…” Vaike muttered low enough so that only Robin could hear it.

The tactician smiled. He definitely liked Vaike’s attitude. Virion snickered lightly too, obviously having overheard.

Robin jumped slightly as he noticed a fifth man sitting at the table with them in heavy armour, heavier even than Fredrick’s.

“Hi. I’m Kellam,” he said, holding out a hand, which Robin took, shaking it and exchanging greetings.

_How did I miss this guy?_ Robin thought as the others began talking amongst themselves. _He’s not a little guy. Maybe he’s just one of those faces that blends into the background. Maybe I should keep an eye on him; just in case._

They spoke about inconsequential things; Lissa and Robin filling the others in on the attack on the village by the Plegian bandits and the encounter in the forest with the strange creatures, Virion occasionally interjecting on the later with points and facts that Robin was surprised to admit were pretty observant; they talked about the Shepherds’ numbers and skills, filling Robin in on who he would be working with; apparently there were a number of other part-time Shepherds he had yet to meet.

They sat and talked for a long time, Lissa making light sandwiches for herself and Robin (who realised how hungry he was as she did; they had skipped breakfast, after all). Maribelle had come back in long enough to say goodbye to Sumia and Lissa, pointedly ignoring the males in the room. Vaike stuck his tongue out at her back as she left. Sully joined them after a time, removing her armour and sitting in her beige riding clothes that she wore beneath the red plates as far away from Virion as she could.

“Where’s Miriel?” Lissa asked, crumbs flying from her mouth as she ate her second sandwich.

Vaike shrugged, scratching at his ear. “Probably holed up in the royal library, nose buried in some book, ignoring the rest of us again.”

“Probably wouldn’t hurt you to do a little reading,” Lissa teased, the others chuckling at Vaike’s expense.

“So when is Chrom getting here?” Vaike asked conversationally with another shrug, reclining lazily on his chair, one leg hanging up over the arm rest. “Teach is itching for some action.”

Robin made a mental note to find out who this ‘Miriel’ was.

“Well, you shoulda’ come with me last night then,” Sully said, sipping from a mug of ale. “We kicked ass!”

Vaike blew her a raspberry.

“Teach is fit, but he can’t keep up with your horse, and Ruffles was hogging the back seat.”

“My name is Virion, oaf,” the archer deadpanned over the rim of his fifth cup of tea. “Vir-i-on. Even someone as dim-witted as you should be able to get it right.”

Vaike rolled his eyes, muttering about uptight nobles.

“Well, we woulda’ been toast without this guy,” Sully grunted, slapping Robin on the shoulder.

“Indeed,” Virion nodded, grinning appreciatively.

“Oh, come on guys, I didn’t do that much. All I did was get stepped on.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. We wouldn’t have made out so well without your tactical advice.”

“Chrom!” four voices exclaimed at once as the Prince walked through the door, looking tired. Lissa and Sumia jumped up, Vaike leaning backwards to look at him upside down.

“Ah! Captain,” Sumia exclaimed, “I was… I mean we were…”

As Sumia hurried over to Chrom her foot caught something on the floor and Robin cringed as she face-planted with a loud _thunk_. She pushed herself back up quickly, blushing heavily as she dusted herself off.

“Ouch.”

“Sumia!” Chrom said, alarmed. “Are you okay?”

The Pegasus rider nodded, awkward.

“Those boots still bothering you?” Chrom asked kindly, taking her chin and gently forcing her to look up at him as he inspected her face to make sure she wasn’t hurt.

Robin looked on with an eyebrow raised, Vaike making what could only be described as silent ‘kissy-faces’ from his position upside down in his chair.

Chrom seemed to remember where he was, stepping back and blushing slightly. “At least you’re not hurt.”

Sumia nodded mutely, blushing heavily and staring at the floor.

“Our orders, Captain?” Virion asked drolly in the awkward silence, pouring another cup of tea for himself.

“Ah! Right,” Chrom said, straightening. “At first light tomorrow morning we march for Regna Ferox to petition the Khan for soldiers.”

The others seemed satisfied with these orders, activity breaking out as they began to make their preparations.

“Uh… Regna Ferox?” Robin asked, his memory blank on the subject.

“Ylisse’s Northern neighbour, a unified nation of barbarian tribes that dwell in the mountains,” Sumia explained. “They have an official military alliance with Ylisse, so we usually include them whenever we march to war.”

Sumia had accepted Robin’s story about losing his memory instantly and without question, going out of her way to explain the history behind whatever the others were talking about to him. It was refreshing; after Fredrick’s behaviour he had been worried the others would react the same way, but apparently Lissa’s good word was enough to get around that as no one else hassled him about his memory. Well, Vaike had asked a series of vulgar personal questions about whether he had any memories of sexual experiences, earning a slap in the back of the head from Sully, but no _serious_ hassles.

“Typically the Exalt would go to make this request in person,” Chrom added, “But given the current political climate the council felt it best for her to remain in Ylisse. They’re worried the people might panic, so we’ve been given the duty instead.”

Chrom turned to address all the present Shepherds.

“Now this mission is strictly voluntary. I’ll not force anyone…”

“I volunteer!” Lissa interrupted him.

“Me too!” Vaike added, flexing his arms. “Just try to ditch me again, I dare ya!”

“I’m in,” Sully said simply from where she was inspecting the haft of her lance.

“I suppose I should accompany you,” Virion said, finally putting down the teacup and saucer. “It would probably aid your case to have a certain modicum of nobility with you.”

“I’m in, too!” Kellam said from the back of the room, making Robin jump; apparently no one else noticed the big soldier, despite the thick armour. Even Robin had forgotten he was there.

Robin shrugged as Chrom’s eyes fell on him.

“Can’t let you charge off without your new Tactician now, can I?”

Chrom’s eyes lit up as he clasped the other man’s shoulder. “I was hoping you’d accept my offer.”

“How could I refuse when you asked me in front of all the Ylissean military leaders, not to mention the Exalt herself?” Robin deadpanned.

“Call it ‘incentive’,” Chrom joked, grinning wide.

“I… I, um…” Sumia mumbled, wringing her hands together.

“Yes Sumia?” Chrom prompted, turning to face the woman.

“I’d like to come along, too. But I don’t feel… I mean, I don’t think I’m quite ready… for combat… yet… I’ll probably just get in the way.”

Sully snorted from the weapons rack, Lissa shooting the woman what Robin felt was a rather withering glare for such a young lady.

“You can just keep to the rear and watch us,” Chrom offered kindly. “But there will come a time when you’ll need to be ready to fight, Sumia. Just stay close to me and you’ll be fine.”

“Yes, of course!” she exclaimed happily, her whole countenance changing as she smiled. “I… I mean, yes Captain!”

Robin rolled his eyes.

_Great,_ he thought. _I’m barracked-up with a bunch of love-sick teenagers._

*

The soldiers made their preparations, readying armour and weapons as the afternoon turned to evening and Lissa and Virion set about making dinner.

_A princess that makes dinner for the soldiers,_ Robin thought with wry amusement. _Don’t need memories to know that’s unusual._

Robin had opted to sit and take a closer look at the spellbook he had found in his pouch; with some quick comparisons to the ‘thunder’ spell he had been able to pick up on so quickly he was able to figure out how to read the rest of the spells. The Tactician made some small notes on an extra piece of parchment Sully had found for him, and was interested to note that the entire book was in his own handwriting. Judging by some of the more complex spells towards the end, he had been quite the accomplished mage before his memories failed him. There were still a few that he couldn’t understand beyond the titles at the top of the page, though; _Flux_ , _Nosferatu_ , _Waste_ , _Goetia_ …  Something about those four spells, separate from the rest in the book, felt sinister to Robin. He decided that he didn’t necessarily need them and focused more on the lightning magic he obviously had an affinity for, going over his scrawled notes on a page for a complex spell called _Mjlonir_. His notes said something about ‘hammer of the gods’, but his handwriting was atrocious. No way he’d be able to perform it any time soon, though, but perhaps with enough practice…

Robin was practicing the hand movements for the spell when Chrom’s shadow fell over him.

“I have a present for you,” the Prince said, holding out a sword.

Robin marked the _Mjlonir_ page, setting down the spellbook and standing, taking the sword and drawing it from the deep blue scabbard.

It was smaller than Chrom’s broadsword, but just as elegant; a thin bladed rapier, with a beautifully sculpted golden knuckle bow and hilt. The blade, slightly thicker than the average rapier, Robin noted, again having no idea how he knew, gleamed in the light from the various oil lamps, and Robin could see his reflection in it. It was a weapon fit for a Prince.

“It was given to me to train with, but I prefer to spend my time mastering Falchion; I figured you could get some use out of it,” Chrom said, confirming Robin’s suspicion of its origins.

“Chrom, this blade is… It’s too much, I can’t take it.”

“Consider it an apology for dumping the whole tactician thing on you. I want you to keep it.”

Robin nodded, giving the blade a few practice sweeps. The others noticed and stopped to watch, Sully wolf-whistling appreciatively as Robin stepped away from Chrom and began running some light drills.

“Told you he could use a sword,” Lissa said to no one in particular.

“Lookin’ good, man!” Vaike called out.

The rapier was perfectly balanced, and Robin had no problem running the drills that came to him automatically. Robin nodded, sheathing the sword. The other Shepherds all burst into applause; apparently Robin had made a good impression.

“Well then, your highness; I accept your apology.”

“Please don’t call me that,” Chrom said, rolling his eyes. “Consider it a royal decree.”

Soon after they all retired to bed; the girls in one room, Chrom in a room of his own, and Robin sharing with Vaike, Kellam and Virion. They would have to be up early in the morning to march, and Robin was looking forward to some actual rest.

That was before Vaike started snoring.

_So much for sleep,_ Robin thought, pressing his pillow to his face, trying to block out the sounds. _Maybe I’d be more comfortable in the stables?_


	4. Chapter 4

_The creatures from the forest were everywhere… axes and blades bloody as they butchered their way through the Ylissean army, nothing stopping them. Snarling mouths emerged from under half-masks, ropes of drool hanging from their misaligned jaws as they worked their way through the helpless soldiers, rendered almost catatonic with fear. There was no more choice; they had to retreat._

_Robin turned to sound the retreat when he saw, assaulting them from the rear, a horde of giant, angry looking wolves tearing into the back ranks, the archers and mages powerless against such creatures. Each wolf was easily the size of a horse, jaws removing heads and limbs each time they closed as bodies flew through the air in showers of gore, the screaming becoming more than the tactician could bear._

_He looked around desperately, trying to find Chrom or Lissa or anyone in the press of bodies, only to realise he was alone. Robin had been separated from the other Shepherds by the carnage wrought by the creatures, and now he was alone._

_Much to Robin’s confusion the wolves began bounding straight past him, ignoring the Ylisseans now and moving towards the creatures, where they stooped low, allowing the dark creatures to mount them like horses. The big creature that had stomped on his chest in the forest, now sitting atop a wolf the size of a wyvern glared at him, red eyes full of hate, causing the air to freeze in his lungs._

_With slow, deliberate movements the creature began to undo the straps at the back of his mask, the wolf snarling and bounding forward. With little more than a twitch the massive wolf had Robin pinned, the creature atop it grinning down at him, its misshapen lips the only thing visible of its face beneath the mask hanging off its head. Those lips separated in a macabre smile, dead gums holding sharpened fangs into the jaw as the mouth descended for Robin’s throat._

_Robin couldn’t breathe…_

_He couldn’t BREATHE!_

“Gwah!” Robin exclaimed, launching himself out of bed, reaching for his sword. “Wolves! Monsters! Monsters riding wolves!”

_Wait…_ Robin thought, realising he was still in the Shepherds’ barracks.

“Lissa!? What the…?”

With a groan he relaxed, realising Lissa was doubled over in laughter beside his bed. The girl was laughing so hard she had collapsed into the small chair beside his cot, holding her side as tears of mirth gathered at the corners of her eyes. Her laugher died down a little, giving her time to sigh and open her eyes. The moment her gaze fell on the scowling Robin her laughter began anew.

“Are you done yet?” Robin deadpanned, quirking one brow.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” she gasped between laughs. “But you looked so peaceful in your sleep, and your nose… I couldn’t help myself!”

Robin considered unsheathing the rapier anyway but doubted that Chrom would look kindly on his Tactician murdering the princess of the realm, so instead he set the sword down and set about preparing for the day. Which consisted of putting on his coat and making sure his spellbook was in its pouch.

Lissa was still doubled over and laughing hysterically as she left the room, Vaike and Kellam sticking their heads in to see what was so funny, being greeted by a glowering Robin as the tactician stuffed his few meagre belongings into his pouch.

“Ah, she got you too, huh?” Vaike said, nodding sagely.

“At least there were no frogs this time,” Kellam sighed, shivering slightly in his armour.

“Frogs?” Robin asked curiously before changing his mind. “Forget it, I really doubt I want to know.”

“Good call,” Vaike muttered, shivering himself.

“Come on, breakfast is ready,” Kellam said, prompting Robin into a flurry of movement at the prospect of food and leaving the two men standing alone in the room.

*

Robin yawned, hitching his new pack further up on his back. It was still early in the morning, and the sun had just crested the horizon and begun to heat the world, much to his chagrin. Nightmares and rude awakenings aside, he felt rather refreshed having slept in a regular bed for the first time in his memory.

The Shepherds had been kind enough to provide him with the things he’d need for the journey in a pack identical to the ones everyone else was carrying, too; dried foods and a waterskin, a bed roll, a small kit to fix his clothes if they got ripped or torn, and a plethora of other little things that would make his life easier on the road. Robin honestly just assumed it was so no one else would have to share, though.

_Maybe I should look at getting some lighter clothes or something_ he thought, looking down at the heavy dark coat he was wearing. Nobody else seemed to be complaining about the heat though, so Robin decided to quietly acquire some new clothes when they reached the next town.

The Shepherds were following the North Road leading out of Ylisstol, the same one that Chrom, Lissa and Frederick had led him along from Southtown the previous day. The scenery was idyllic, almost like an oil painting of some archaic garden. The fields were thick and lush, small animals flitted to and fro in the grass, and the whole squad seemed to be in high spirits, the goofy smile not having left Chrom’s face since they had left the city; there was a man that clearly loved his homeland.

Sully and Fredrick were scouting ahead, and Robin walked with Lissa, Sumia and Chrom. Virion and Vaike were following them, bickering light-heartedly over tastes in wine; a lost cause when one was arguing with a person of the opinion ‘if it’s alcoholic, I’ll drink it’, but Robin didn’t want to spoil their fun. Kellam seemed to be forgotten, but followed the group all the same.

Vaike was carrying a decent sized axe over one shoulder, and Sumia had opted to bring a thin lance that she could wield easier than the heavier ones favoured by Sully and Fredrick. Kellam, when Robin remembered he was there, was also carrying a lance, but a much heavier one than Sumia or even Fredrick and Sully were carrying, along with an old and battered kite-shield as thick as Robin’s arm.

They were maybe an hour from the city when Robin heard shouting from behind them.

“Wait! Wait for me!”

The group stopped and turned. The knight in green armour from the palace was running towards them, leading his horse by the reins.

“Wait!” He huffed, finally reaching the others. “Why… Why am I last… To learn about… this mission? I ran… all the way here!”

“Vaike was supposed to tell you last night,” Lissa told the knight, offering him a waterskin.

Chrom turned to Vaike, frowning. “Did you forget to tell Stahl when we were moving out?”

Vaike crossed his arms. “The Vaike never forgets. I just don’t always remember ‘sall.”

Chrom rolled his eyes as Lissa giggled quietly.

“Well, you’re here now,” he said to Stahl. “Mount up and go on ahead to find Fredrick and Sully. They’d probably appreciate the extra set of eyes.”

Nodding once the young knight mounted his horse and kicked it into a fast trot as the rest of the unmounted group began moving again.

“Chrom?” Robin asked when he was sure Stahl couldn’t hear them.

“Yes, Robin?”

“Why didn’t he just ride his horse here?”

Chrom, Lissa and Sumia all laughed.

“He’s a little airheaded,” Chrom admitted. “But good with a sword; and quite the chef, too.”

“Well it’s nice to know I won’t starve,” Robin said drolly, to more laughter from the others.

*

The morning was growing late by the time Fredrick came galloping back down along the road in a great plume of dust, Robin noting, miraculously or through some strange witchcraft, that none of the dust was clinging to the knight’s armour.

“Milord! Risen block the path ahead!” Frederick called out as soon as he was within earshot.

The others cursed, readying weapons and leaving Robin dumbstruck as to what was going on. He could guess from the simple fact that weapons were being drawn, but just to be on the safe side…

“Risen?” he asked, looking curiously to Chrom.

“That’s what we decided to call the creatures we fought in the forest during the council,” Chrom explained quickly. “Probably the only thing everyone agreed on during the whole damned council, too. So, Tactician? What’s our plan of attack?”

Robin thought for a moment, trying valiantly not to grin at his new title and failing miserably at it.

“What are their numbers and troop disposition? What kind of soldiers are we looking at?” he asked, looking up at the mounted Fredrick who had come to a stop next to Chrom.

“They are similar to the creatures we fought yesterday,” Fredrick reported. “Maybe two dozen, congregated mostly on the road. Light infantry, no heavy armour or archers I could see.”

Robin absorbed this with a nod, his brows furrowing as he came up with a plan almost immediately.

“Our group will come up along the road,” he explained. “You, Sully and Stahl wait for us to engage off to the side of the road, and then hit them in a flanking manoeuvre. Don’t let them tie you down, though; stay mobile and keep up the pressure. If they’re anything like what we fought yesterday they won’t even see it coming.”

Fredrick glanced at Chrom, who nodded his consent to Robin’s plan, before kicking turning his horse about and galloping back to the other knights.

“Right,” Robin said, dropping his pack. “Chrom? You and Vaike are the first line. Virion and I will be the second; your job is to keep them off us. Sumia? You and Lissa are rearguard; you make sure if anything gets past us that they don’t get to Lissa.”

A chorus of acknowledgments went around as everyone readied their weapons. Robin couldn’t help but think he was forgetting something, but before he could pinpoint the feeling Vaike spoke up, distracting him.

“Wait,” the axeman said, dread in his voice. “Where’s my axe?”

“Vaike, now is not the time for jokes!” Chrom growled, rounding on the shirtless man.

“I’m not joking! I had it here a second ago…”

“Is he serious?” Robin asked Sumia, watching Vaike fumble around his person comically, looking for the weapon. “He’s… actually serious!”

“How many times does this make it?” Sumia asked, her voice half groan, half sigh.

“I wondered what manner of ignoramus would mislay their weapon,” a new voice said from behind the group. “Now I know.”

Robin watched as a new woman wearing glasses and the robes and wide-brimmed pointy hat of a Ylissean mage stepped forward and shoved the axe into Vaike’s arms, frowning severely at him, a look Robin wasn’t afraid to admit would have given him chills if it were directed at him. He noticed she was also breathing slightly heavily, too, meaning she had hurried to catch them. And, like most mages, probably wasn’t in the best of shape.

“Next time I shall use a permanent affixation spell to bind it your hands,” she added, her frown actually deepening.

“Miriel!” Lissa squeaked excitedly, cutting through the grim atmosphere. “I was wondering when you would catch up.”

“Good timing, though,” Chrom said, shooting a stern look at Vaike. “We were just about to engage the enemy.”

“Excellent!” Miriel said, clapping her hands together. “I have been looking forward to studying this new ‘Risen’ threat.”

“Study them after we kill them,” Robin told the woman. “Here, you’re a mage, right? Fall in line next to me.”

Miriel nodded as they all settled into the formation Robin had decided on, the mage easily sliding into position between Virion and Robin. Judging from the way she was keeping her distance from the archer she, too, was familiar with his chronic flirtatious behaviour. Virion, not dissuaded in the least, still gave her a charming wink and a confident grin as the knot of people started to move in formation.

“Risen this far along the North Road doesn’t bode well,” Chrom said to Robin over his shoulder as they advanced. “They’ve been sighted in the farmlands to the East, as well; but there was supposed to be a group of soldiers patrolling this area.”

“Well, they probably just missed them,” Robin reasoned. “If it was a small group then it wouldn’t surprise me. We can at least make sure that this group doesn’t harm anyone.”

Chrom nodded his agreement, satisfied with Robin’s response.

It didn’t take long for them to come across the Risen, passing where the knights were sitting in wait, just behind some thick bushes; there was indeed about two dozen spread out across the wide road just as Frederick had reported, all almost identical to the ones they had fought the other day. Leather armour covered the creatures’ sallow flesh, and carved leather masks shaped like faces frozen in rage obscured their heads and faces, leaving only glowing red slits for them to see out of. They were milling about uncertainly, though; Robin realised there wasn’t one the size of the Risen that had stepped on him. Perhaps they needed to be close to one of the big ones to operate at full efficiency like some sort of strange hive-mind? Robin filed this information away for later use and experimentation, compartmentalizing and focusing on the task at hand.

“Let’s not waste time, shall we?” Virion asked, readying an arrow and raising his bow.

“Indeed,” Miriel said, pulling a spellbook that looked much nicer than Robin’s tattered old tome from her robes.

“Agreed,” Chrom said with grim conviction in his voice. “Shepherds! Attack!”

Chrom and Vaike surged forward, Vaike whooping in excitement. The risen spotted them immediately, and seemed to instinctively rise to meet this new threat.

Virion began firing arrows, and Robin sent a combination of fire-anima spells he had been looking at the previous night flying into their midst, being rewarded with a string of fireballs blossoming amongst the thickest concentration of Risen, leather-clad bodies flying left and right through the air at his display of power, many simply dissipating to smoke mid-flight.

“Wow,” Robin heard Sumia gasp from the rear at his show of magical superiority.

“Very good form,” Miriel commented dryly, before casting a spell of her own.

With a few muttered words, a flick of her wrist and a spinning motion from her hand a miniature tornado sprung up amongst the risen, throwing more than half of them from their feet and launching a few high into the air, landing with sickening crunches before they dissipated into the now familiar black fog.

Chrom and Vaike whooped battle-cries as they surged in amongst the creatures, making it impossible to cast larger spells without hitting them. Miriel switched to a sort of ‘wind-blade’ spell, green light coalescing and splitting apart risen wherever it hit in concentrated blasts of air, Robin falling back on the lightning spell that had served him well so far. He simply flexed his fingers, muttering the word ‘thunder’ and blue-white bolts of lightning jumped from his hand to leave scorched craters on the Risen he pointed at.

The three knights came from the western side of the road at this point, Fredrick leading as Sully stabbed and swiped her lance, Stahl gracefully spinning his long-bladed sword, Risen falling around him. With the aid of the knights the Shepherds soon overpowered the Risen, leaving the road empty save the weapons the otherworldly creatures dropped and the piles of ashes dissipating on the wind.

“Well, at least that was easier than last time,” Robin said, approaching Chrom.

The prince was, fortunately, unharmed, as was almost everyone else, but Vaike was sitting impatiently on a rock next to the road, waiting while Lissa admistered to a scratch he’d taken across the chest.

_Who goes into battle half-naked, anyway?_ Robin thought, watching as Vaike began flexing his arm muscles when the other man realized he had an audience. _Never mind; I don’t need an answer to that._

Sumia and Miriel were crowding around the corpse of a risen lying face down on the road that hadn’t dissipated yet, Miriel crouching next to it while Sumia leaned on her lance, watching on.

“It was,” Chrom agreed, looking around as he rested Falchion against his shoulder. “Maybe they’re not as tough as we thought?”

“Or maybe we’re just awake this time?” Robin snickered.

“Yes, there is that option, too,” Chrom admitted, chuckling. “I just hope the other scouting parties have as little trouble with them. I admit I am worried that we haven’t come across the patrol yet.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Robin said, waving his hand nonchalantly. “We should probably get moving again before-”

Before Robin could finish he was cut off by a shriek from Miriel; the fallen Risen she had been studying had grabbed hold of her ankle, a large, wicked looking knife in its other hand as it pulled itself towards her.

“Unhand me!” she screamed, kicking at its head with her free foot.

Chrom and Robin both moved at the same time, drawing their swords and running over. Miriel shrieked again as she lost her balance and fell backwards, the Risen growling triumphantly as it dragged itself closer to the mage. Before Chrom and Robin could close the distance Sumia snarled and lifted her lance, stabbing downward between the Risen’s shoulders. The creature let out a final groan before dropping the knife and going limp before dissipating like the rest had, much to Miriel’s evident relief.

“Am I the only one that thinks it’s creepy when they do that?” Robin asked as Chrom knelt next to where Miriel was sitting, looking at the spot where the risen had been.

“Are you alright?” Chrom asked Miriel, ignoring Robin’s question.

The others came cunning up, weapons drawn.

Miriel sighed, standing. “I was hoping to study it a while longer, but I suppose it cannot be helped.”

“She’s fine,” Vaike said, rolling his eyes.

Chrom stood, turning to Sumia.

“Not ready for the front lines, huh?”

Sumia blushed, mumbling something unintelligible.

Robin groaned, turning to Vaike. “How far back along the road did we drop our packs?”

“Not very,” Vaike said, pointing. “Look, they’re right there.”

Robin spun, eying the packs suspiciously. There they were, not five meters away, on the side of the road in a neat pile, even though Robin specifically remembered dropping them half a mile up the road.

“I thought that since I wasn’t necessary to the battle plan that I’d carry everyone’s packs,” Kellam said from behind Robin, making the smaller man jump a foot in the air.

“Waugh! Kellam! Don’t do that!” he shouted, whirling. “And, uh… Sorry, I guess I forgot you were with us. Next time, just speak up, and I’ll make sure you’re included.”

Kellam sighed. “It’s okay, this happens all the time. Thanks, though; I’ll shout and wave my arms to get your attention if I have to.”

Robin nodded, satisfied. He would have to put some serious time aside to figure out how Kellam went so easily unnoticed.

*

It only took another half hour for them to come across the scouting group that was supposed to be patrolling the North Road, and in an instant, the good mood that had been present among the Shepherds that morning vanished. Robin had suspected something was amiss when he had spotted the knights had been sitting at rest atop their horses, waiting for the others to catch up to them, rather than staying at their proscribed distance ahead.

“It was a massacre,” Fredrick said forlornly as Robin and Chrom finally reached him.

Ten soldiers and their mounts lay dead where they had been felled, horrendous wounds inflicted on them. Pegasi had been shot from the sky by archers and set upon by the over-eager Risen. Evidence of fallen Risen pervaded as well, and Robin suddenly understood why the group they had fought had been so weak; their leader had fallen fighting the patrol and the remainder had indeed been leaderless, giving weight to his earlier theory.

Stahl looked sick, Robin noticed, his face almost the same colour as his armour. Sully looked like she would explode into violence any second, her knuckles white from clenching her lance as her facial muscles twitched. Lissa gasped as the others gathered, and Vaike cursed. Chrom sighed as well, his fist tightening in helpless frustration around Falchion’s hilt.

“Gather the bodies off the road and prepare a pyre,” he ordered. “We don’t have time to dig graves for them, but I’ll be damned if I leave the bodies here for the carrion. A pyre is the best we can do.”

The others, Robin included, wordlessly set about the grim task. The tactician watched from the corner of his eye as Chrom picked his way through the field, checking hopelessly for survivors with a silent and haunted-looking Lissa. Robin shook his head. What kind of creatures could do this to another? The Risen were less than animals; they really were monsters.

Chrom cried out in surprise, and Robin’s hand dropped instantly to the hilt of his rapier before relaxing again.

Chrom had actually found a survivor, but not a human one. One of the wounded pegasai was rearing up, panicked, foam collecting at the corners of its mouth and eyes wild. The Prince was holding its reins, trying to calm the beast, shouting “whoa, girl! whoa!” to little avail.

“Damn it, Chrom!” Robin called out, approaching. “Be careful! If that thing kicks you…”

Sumia beat him to the wounded pegasus, though, and deftly took the reins from Chrom, who stepped back a few paces.

“Sumia, be careful! The beast is crazed!” Chrom warned her.

“It’s okay,” she said back calmly, eyes never leaving those of the pegasus. “I can handle this.”

The pegasus resisted at first, trying to yank the reins away, but it calmed after a moment, and Sumia rested her hand against its neck. “Shh… Easy girl. It’s okay now.”

“Okay, I’m impressed,” Robin said, crossing his arms. “How did she do that?”

“I guess I just have a way with animals,” Sumia said, smiling over her shoulder.

“That’s really incredible,” Chrom commented, slowly coming closer and patting the pegasus’ muzzle.

They continued gathering up the bodies of the fallen soldiers as Lissa and Sumia cared for the pegasus, and before long had a decent sized pyre prepared.

“I wish we could care for them properly,” Chrom muttered to Robin soberly, kneeling next to the body of the commander. “This man… I knew him. He was one of Cullen’s Lieutenants; his name was Orson. He has… had a wife and child.”

Robin shook his head sadly. How did one deal with something like this? He had no memories to fall back on, no idea of how to behave in a situation like this one. Grief was a foreign concept to him. Of course, it was one he understood academically, and he was even sure that at one point in his life he would have felt the emotion; but how was he supposed to react to this? Robin steeled himself, opting to be the cold voice of reason for Chrom.

“You said yourself,” Robin muttered back, resting a hand on the Prince’s shoulder, “This is the best we can do. We’ve already stayed longer than I would have liked.”

Chrom sighed and nodded, standing and with a quick spell Robin lit the pyre. The dried branches and wood the others had collected from the nearby forest caught instantly, and Miriel cast a quick second spell, ensuring that the wood would burn twice as long as normal.

A few heads bowed in silent prayer, Fredrick’s among them, before Chrom called for them to move out again.

“Will the pegasus be able to travel with us?” Chrom asked Sumia.

Lissa was sitting on the ground close by, eating some of the dried fruit they had packed; apparently healing magics were just as taxing as combat magic, Robin mused, close on Chrom’s heels. He wasn’t letting the other man out of his sight for the near future, if for no other reason than to make sure he was okay. Robin was also interested in the emotional response the Captain had felt, though.

“Not quite yet,” Sumia said, stroking the creature’s broad neck. “But given a little more time she’ll be good as new, and she can carry the two of us to catch up.”

“We can make time to wait for you,” Chrom said, pointedly ignoring the look Robin gave him that said otherwise.

“It’s okay, Captain,” Sumia said smiling bashfully. “Every moment we linger puts Ylisse in further danger; go on ahead, we can catch up.”

Chrom nodded. “Alright. But promise me you’ll be careful; there’s no telling how many more risen are lurking in the countryside.”

Sumia smiled like Chrom had given her early Christmas presents. “As you command, sir.”

Robin rolled his eyes behind Chrom’s back, Lissa giggling as he did.

_Hopeless_ he thought without malice. _Two days and all I’ve seen from these two is them dancing around the mutual attraction. Well, I guess this is another thing I have no memories of my own of… Maybe I should be paying attention?_

And was it Robin’s imagination, or did the pegasus roll its eyes, too?

*

Despite Chrom’s prediction of more risen being in the area the Shepherds were unmolested by the time they reached the base of the mountains separating Regna Ferox and Ylisse. The road had narrowed and sloped upwards for the last few hours, the air growing cooler as they travelled. Halfway up the winding mountain path when everyone’s breath was misting in front of them and dark clouds above threatened snow, Robin was suddenly glad he’d kept the coat.

Cloaks were taken out of packs and wrapped around shoulders, Vaike gallantly persisting without until the snow started to fall and Chrom practically forced the other man to don his cloak. “If the Teach were to freeze to death, who would instruct the new recruits?” Chrom asked, refusing to go another step until Vaike bundled up. The tanned man grumbled about his own manliness being enough to keep the cold at bay, but acquiesced all the same.

Snow kept falling into the afternoon as they made their way up the mountain, before they came across possibly the largest building Robin had ever seen.

“That is… big,” he said at length, marvelling at the sheer size of the fort that greeted them.

Tall stone walls stretched off in both directions, disappearing into the horizon, and a heavy gate of iron was set in the wall barring their path. Harsh looking men with spears stood atop the wall, watching their progress. They wore a mixture of leather and steel armour and were all mismatched, but moved like men that were used to working together. As the Shepherds drew nearer one of the men on the wall retreated from sight, probably going to fetch the master of the keep.

“The Longfort,” Chrom explained in a puff of white breath. “It stretches from coast to coast, the remainder of a time when the Feroxi and Ylisseans weren’t such close allies. The Feroxi still man it out of a sense of pride, though.”

“Will they let us pass?”

“As soon as I tell them who I am we shouldn’t have a problem.”

“Remember, milord,” Fredrick said, “We are representatives of Ylisse. Our actions reflect upon the Exalt and our country as a whole. Be patient and let diplomacy play out.”

Chrom rolled his eyes.

“So everyone on their best behaviour!” Fredrick called out to the rest of the group.

“Perhaps you had just remain silent,” Virion said to Vaike as the Shepherds approached the huge gate.

Vaike’s reaction was an impressive belch he pointedly directed at the archer, who visibly paled. “Vulgar.”

“Milord, I believe the Feroxi guard are mobilizing,” Fredrick warned in a low voice.

Robin had noticed, too; men similar to the ones he had seen on their approach were atop the gate, readying lances, while behind the gate a startlingly large amount of soldiers seemed to be gathering with no discernible air of tactics; they just crowded into the gatehouse, weapons held ready.

The Shepherds stood a few meters back from the gate as Chrom stepped forward.

In his best regal voice he announced “I am Prince Chrom of Ylisse, and I seek audience with the Khan of Regna Ferox! I request safe passage!”

There was a flurry of activity atop the gate, before the soldiers Robin had seen earlier reappeared at the lip, spears held ready and poised to throw, aimed at Chrom.

There was a flurry of action amongst the Shepherds, too, as weapons were readied, Robin among them, drawing Chrom’s rapier and holding it in a one-handed low guard, his other hand resting on his spell book.

The great Iron Gate drew upwards as a woman wearing the first full set of steel armour Robin had seen amongst the Feroxi stepped forward. Unlike the Ylissean women Robin had seen, the Feroxi woman was plain in comparison, with short-shorn straw coloured hair and harsh features obviously born of a lifetime of hard weather and combat. Her armour was as weathered as her face, bare metal plates over thick chainmail, a heavy lance held one-handed balanced over her shoulder.

“I am Raimi,” she said in a thick accent. “I command the gate of the North Road. Turn back now, brigand, and I will not cause you harm.”

Chrom actually reeled as if struck, Robin noted, and he watched as the Prince lost his composure.

“Brigand? I am the Prince of Ylisse! I’ve come seeking Regna Ferox’s aid in a war against…!”

“Pah!” Raimi spat, levelling her lance to point at Chrom. “I see four Prince Chroms a week; you’re not even the most convincing I’ve seen this week! Last chance; withdraw, or I will order my men to attack!”

_For the love of whatever god you worship, Chrom,_ Robin thought desperately, edging closer, _fall back to our lines and we can rush the gatehouse if you really want! Just fall back!_

“How dare you!?” Fredrick shouted, losing his own composure for the first time since Robin had met the knight. “Prince Chrom is royalty! How dare you speak to milord in such a manner!?”

“Sure, and I’m the Queen of Valm,” Raimi said, turning her back and waving her hand dismissively; which was obviously the signal the lancers atop the gate were waiting for, as four spears were hurled at Chrom with frightening speed.

Chrom looked up, quickly coming to the same conclusion Robin had; there was no way he would be able to dodge all four lances. A strange look of peace came over Chrom’s face as time seemed to slow down, and Robin became aware of everything happening at once. Chrom bowed his head, closing his eyes; Vaike and Fredrick were charging ahead, weapons forgotten in an attempt to shield Chrom from the lances; Miriel looked like she was trying to create a new spell on the spot to make the lances miss their intended target; Stahl looked on horrified, while Sully roared defiance, throwing her own lance at Raimi’s turned back and Virion nocked an arrow, intended for the same target.

Robin’s heart fell as he realised all of this was for naught, and Chrom would die; this knowledge didn’t stop him rushing forward, though. A shadow actually passed over the sun as this realization hit him, followed by another realisation the size of a speeding pegasus.

Robin looked up, and sure enough there was a pegasus swooping down. A woman in bronze coloured armour reached out and with what must have been extremely unpleasant force on her arm, yanked Chrom onto the beast as she passed.

“Sumia!” Robin cheered, holding his sword up in salute.

Time sped back up, and everything happened at once. The lancers atop the gatehouse began hurling lances at the pegasus, which was moving far too fast for them to hit; Fredrick gracefully reined his mount to a stop while Vaike skidded, spinning to watch Sumia’s progress; Raimi spun to see what went wrong, and Sully’s lance grazed her arm at the same time Virion’s arrow buried itself in her shoulder.

“Damn it!” Raimi roared, breaking the arrow haft with her free hand. “Fine! We’ll settle this the Feroxi way! If you can beat me, I will accept your story as truth! Come!”

Robin decided to nip the problem in the bud, and sent a wind spell at the furious woman’s legs, throwing them out from under her as he ran. Before she could rise past her knees, Robin closed the distance and held his rapier pressed against her neck.

The Shepherds and Feroxi guard both simultaneously stopped and stared in shock.

Chrom slipped from his undignified position across Sumia’s lap, something Robin realised he would have to tease the Prince about later, and approached. The Feroxi Guard looked on, confused, muttering amongst themselves.

Chrom drew Falchion, stabbing it into the ground in front of Raimi, who still knelt motionless with Robin’s sword at her throat.

“I’ll say it again,” Chrom growled, his voice low and dangerous. “I am Prince Chrom of Ylisse. The divine blade Falchion is my proof. Now you _will_ allow my party safe passage to the Khan of Regna Ferox, or I’ll kill you myself and find someone else who will.”

To Robin’s astonishment the woman actually started to laugh.

“Yes, spoken just like a Feroxi!” she said when her laughter subsided. “Your man here is wicked fast; that alone is proof of your claims! Only royalty could employ such skilled fighters!”

Robin withdrew the sword, still holding it at the ready as Raimi rose, rubbing the red line Robin had left on her neck.

“Come,” she said, beckoning for them to follow her. “I’ll take you to the Khans personally as way of apology, milord.”

Chrom nodded, sheathing Falchion as the others grouped around them, weapons still in hand.

A thought hit Robin as they crossed under the gate.

“Where’s Lissa?” he asked Sumia.

The other woman’s stern face dropped to one of embarrassment.

“I should probably go back and get her, shouldn’t I? I had to let her off when we saw that the Feroxi were readying for battle. I’ll be right back!”

Chrom watched Sumia go, a wistful look on his face.

_He comes within inches of death and still all he can think about is Sumia,_ Robin thought with a smile. _It’s so cute it’s sickening._

“The squirt’s gonna be pissed we left her behind, isn’t she?” Vaike asked no one in particular.

Chrom sighed. “Yes. Be ready for it; she’ll be loud.”


	5. Chapter 5

Robin grinned next to Chrom as they were led through the snow-coated roads of Regna Ferox, looking at everything with wide-eyed wonder like a child on vacation for the first time. He paid particular attention the roving bands of warriors that populated the frozen countryside, Chrom noted, further reinforcing the Prince’s decision to hire the amnesiac.

Robin looked up to the sky, a giant grin on his face as he studied the snow that had just started falling from the clouds above them again.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Chrom commented idly as they walked.

“This is all so fascinating,” Robin admitted excitedly.  “This is all new to me! I mean, I know I don’t have any memories anyway, but still…”

Chrom chuckled a little, lifting his own face to look at the grey clouds hanging overhead. It only snowed briefly in Ylisstol during the beginning of the year; the snow never lasted in the lower city-state like it did in Regna Ferox or the Ylissean city-state of Jagen in the mountains to the east. Chrom was first to admit that, while he found the snow to be somewhat aesthetically pleasing, he found no joy in his training being interrupted by it every year.

“You should do what Lissa does and try and catch the snowflakes on your tongue,” Chrom suggested jokingly.

“Chrom! I do not do that anymore!” Lissa cried shrilly, going red out of embarrassment. “I’m not a child!”

Both of the men in the front of the column, and a fair few other Shepherds, laughed at the Princess’ eruption while Lissa grumbled incoherently and glared daggers at her brother.

“That sounds great!” Robin said after he finished laughing. “I’ll bet I can catch more than Lissa ever did!”

The tactician increased his pace, rushing ahead as he spread out his arms and tilted his head upwards, tongue sticking out as far as it could go. The young princess actually flinched at Robin’s declaration, eyes narrowing as she turned her glare on the tactician.

“Oh, it is so on,” she announced, darting forward to try and beat the man.

Lissa gave Robin a little shove when she caught up with Robin, her own head thrown back and tongue extended as she tried desperately to beat him.

“I think the squirt’s got the advantage,” Vaike laughed. “She’s got the bigger mouth, after all.”

The other Shepherds simply grinned or chuckled at the childish display, allowing the two their fun. Even Chrom was content to allow his sister to relax a little; something she couldn’t really cut loose and do back in Ylisstol often any more since she had come of age. Everyone’s spirits were high, and Chrom didn’t want to do anything to put a damper on the mood. Except, of course, for Miriel, who had a look of stark revulsion on her face.

“How unsanitary,” the mage muttered, pushing her glasses further up her nose as she walked.

*

They passed quickly through the mountains containing the Longfort and into the forested lowlands, heading west to the nation’s ‘capital’. After only two days’ journey they came to the centre of Feroxi power, the massive fortress known as the Colosseum. The steps up to the great amphitheatre were coated in snow, and Chrom had to watch his footing, lest he fall and make an arse of himself. After that debacle at the North Road Gate, the last thing he wanted was to lose face. Again.

Robin walked alongside him; apparently having won some sort of recognition amongst the Feroxi for taking out their commander is single combat. It had been amusing watching them make sure he marched at the front of the column with Chrom and their guide, the flustered tactician literally being picked up and carried to the front at one point by their guide, the commander that Robin had bested at the Longfort.

“Welcome to the seat of Feroxi power, your highness,” the guide, Rami, said in a tone Chrom couldn’t decide whether it was mocking or serious.

The Shepherds all crunched through the snow behind them; the Feroxi had offered them little more than curious glances as they passed through the small villages and farming towns on the way, which Chrom had found confusing at first. However he recalled something Cullen had mentioned during his lessons about the Feroxi warrior caste being predominantly nomadic, so travellers in the region they had passed through probably weren’t all that surprising. They had stopped to rest the night in one of the nameless small villages, using a barn to shelter them from the snow as there was no inn or even tavern for them to impose on, but the barn had been clean, and the Shepherds had been grateful for the shelter, even though Virion had complained about picking bits of straw out of his cloak all of the next morning. At dawn Raimi had kicked them all awake, Robin probably a little harder than necessary, and after a cold breakfast they had set out for the Coliseum; the city-sized amphitheatre that was the seat of the Khan’s power.

Admittedly, the Coliseum was an impressive sight. Huge gates set into a towering, curved wall were the only entry points; there were uncountable positions for archers or snipers; the colossal edifice was more fortress than a sporting arena.

Raimi looked proudly at the walls that stretched off into the distance; obviously it was a great source of pride for the people of Regna Ferox.

The Shepherds stared, too; not even the Grand Cathedral or Exalt’s Palace in Ylisstol were as big. Chrom was sure he even heard a little awed gasp from Lissa. He was struck by the way that Regna Ferox spent so much time building their walls and fortresses. To his mind they truly were a martial race of people.

Raimi led them through the outer wall and past dozens of other darker-skinned Feroxi soldiers, and Chrom noticed that no two of them wore similar armour or bore similar armaments. Furs and leathers adorned the warriors, seemingly chosen and cobbled together at random. Trophies from hunts and coloured tabards denoting what Chrom assumed was either rank or home village clashed with long hair and braided beards wherever he looked. Even more surprising to Chrom was the amount of women he saw serving alongside the men; it wasn’t unheard of in Ylisse for women to take up arms, but they usually stuck to support roles such as the Pegasus Knights, Sully being part of the exception. But these Feroxi women seemed to be equal, if not higher ranked, than the men.

“Why is there no uniformity to the Feroxi troops?” Robin asked, obviously on the same thought process.

“As warriors we are individuals,” Raimi explained, leading them down a wide open-air marketplace. “We serve individual warlords, who in turn serve the Khans. A warlord’s army is only as big as they can maintain, so our leaders must earn their armies.”

“And who do you serve?” Chrom asked conversationally.

“The Wall Guards answer directly to the reigning Khan,” Raimi answered bluntly.

Chrom nodded. Apparently the Feroxi weren’t big on idle conversation. However, Chrom noted that Raimi wore only bare steel plates and simple earthen tones to her clothes underneath, rather than the furs and brightly coloured clothes of the majority of other warriors he had seen. In fact, all of the Wall Guards had been adorned similarly.

The market they passed through was lively, though, tanned Feroxi moving about wrapped in furs and cloaks against the cold, life going on as usual despite the stirrings of unrest in the Southlands. Vibrant colours were everywhere, what Chrom guessed were familial groups wearing similar clothes, but everyone was individual, even the children. Another thing Chrom noticed was just about everyone was carrying a weapon of some form or another, again even the children. Fortunately the Risen threat hadn’t appeared so far north; there were a lot of soldiers around, but Chrom knew from his readings that this was just the way of Regna Ferox.

They followed Raimi between buildings and around various places where Feroxi industry had spilled out onto the streets; blacksmiths hammering on anvils outside their shops, herders moving livestock to tanneries and so on. The city-stadium gave off an air of heavy industry, like the nation was preparing for war; a controlled chaos that Chrom found at once irritating yet uplifting. Obviously the Khan had caught wind of the political climate in the south and was preparing accordingly; even if they didn’t get involved, the idea that they would leave their defences lowered while war raged just across their very heavily defended borders was laughable.

Before Chrom even realised where they were, he was standing inside a large receiving hall; not quite as elegant as the Great Hall in Ylisstol, but it was impressive in a simple way. A rich blue carpet occupied the centre of the hall, running its length, while hunting trophies of particularly ferocious beasts lined the walls. Pelts from just about every animal Chrom had ever heard of hung alongside the creatures’ skulls; weapons and armour of master class hung, too, obviously spoils of war, as Chrom recognized numerous suits and weapons from Plegia and Valm, and even a few older ones from Ylisse. At the far end of the hall hung a massive crest of Regna Ferox fashioned from polished steel. The symbol of a wolf and bear rearing up at each other locked in combat, with an axe and sword crossing behind them.

A stern-faced man with messy brown hair in a blue coat with fur around the collar came and led the rest of the Shepherds to where they would be able to wait comfortably, leaving Chrom alone with Fredrick, Robin, Lissa and Raimi. Vaike had looked slightly dejected as he was led away, but perked up quickly at the mention of food.

“Prince Chrom, please wait here while I summon the Khan,” Raimi said, bowing slightly and leaving through a door at the end of the hall.

“Of course,” Chrom answered, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

On the outside he was the picture of calm confidence; on the inside he was more nervous than he had been before his first duel. At least, just like during that duel, he still had Fredrick to back him up as his second. But now he had Robin, too, and for some strange reason that thought put him more at ease than any other.

“The Khan is away?” Robin asked quizzically once Raimi had left.

Chrom shrugged, grateful for the distraction. “Out training, I’d wager. The Khans are said to prefer battle to politics; much like the rest of their nation.”

Robin chuckled, crossing his arms and leaning back.

“A warrior ruler, huh? I can picture him now; a giant of a man with arms as thick as my head; swinging an axe that would take two average men to lift; his chest a forest of thick hair…”

“Am I now?” a new voice said laughingly from behind the group. “I don’t know about the chest hair, and I prefer my sword to an axe, but do go on.”

They all spun to face the direction Raimi had left, Robin going pale while Chrom tried hard to stifle his laughter at his new friend’s reaction, reminding himself that he was present as a representative of the Haildom. Fortunately he was doing a better job than Lissa, who was quite obviously choking on her giggles.

The woman striding towards them was easily as tall as Fredrick, and clad in masterfully crafted red and silver armour she cut an imposing figure. Her skin was the usual Feroxi tan colour, a few shades lighter than had been prevalent in the marketplace, and her long blonde hair was tied back in a messy ponytail. Chrom guessed she was at least forty, but she carried herself with the spring in her step of a much younger woman. Chrom also noticed the large sword resting on her shoulder, and instantly began regarding her as a warrior, rather than a ruler. Raimi stood just behind her, a wicked grin pointed in Robin’s direction as her ruler sheathed the massive weapon in her hand.

“Er… the Khan, I assume?” Chrom asked in an attempt at diplomacy.

“One of them, yes,” she answered, still eyeing Robin in amusement as the tactician was indiscriminately trying to make himself as small as possible beneath his coat.

“I am the East-Khan. My name is Flavia. I apologize for the incident at the border, Prince Chrom; you and your Shepherds are welcome in Regna Ferox.”

Chrom nodded and stepped forward, offering his hand. Flavia looked at it for a moment, bemused, before grasping Chrom’s wrist in a warrior’s greeting. Chrom returned the gesture, and Flavia grinned a little.

_Warrior people indeed,_ Chrom thought with satisfaction as he conquered the first hurdle.

“So I assume you’ve had a similar problem with bandits? Posing as Ylisseans and me no less?” Chrom asked as they stepped back from each other.

“Yes, those Plegian dogs,” Flavia spat, distaste written clearly on her face. “I wasn’t completely sure until I personally took the field and heard the accent. No Ylissean speaks the way a Plegian does, no matter how good an actor he thinks he is. And, no offence Prince Chrom, but I’ve killed six ‘Chroms’ at six spate gatehouses. Their king must see some benefit in trying to pit our nations against each other.”

“Damn them,” Chrom growled before he could stop himself.

A look of embarrassment flitted across his features as he realized what he had said, bowing slightly in apology to Flavia.

“I… Forgive me, my lady; that was indelicately put.”

To Chrom’s surprise the Khan threw back her head and let out a deep, throaty laugh.

“Yes, damn them and damn delicacy!” she said loudly, smiling and laughing as she slapped Chrom’s shoulder approvingly. “Here in Regna Ferox we prefer plain speech, Prince Chrom.”

“Well in that case you should have a word with your damn border guards,” Chrom said, grinning and shooting a glance in Raimi’s direction, eliciting more loud laughter from Flavia.

“Yes, I can tell I like you already, Princeling! You understand Feroxi diplomacy!”

Before Chrom and Flavia could continue their conversation both Raimi and Fredrick cleared their throats at the same time.

“Ah, but I know why you’re here, Princeling,” Flavia said, mirth fading from her voice as she became serious again.

Chrom perked up, standing straight and seriously as he waited expectantly for Flavia to continue.

“Unfortunately,” Flavia continued, frowning, “I cannot provide you the reinforcements you have come seeking.”

Chrom didn’t flinch, didn’t deflate, and didn’t show any outward sign of his disappointment, as was proper during international negotiations. Lissa, however, held no such compunctions and showed enough for the both of them.

“What?” the girl cried in dismay. “But why?”

“I lack the authority,” Flavia said nonchalantly.

Now Chrom was growing confused. “I do not understand. I thought you said you were the Khan?”

“As I said,” Flavia explained casually, “I am _one_ of the Khans. There are two of us, East and West, and every few years we hold a tournament to see who will become the new Khan Reagent, as well as who leads the armies. It’s the Khan Reagent that has the final say in whether or not you get our troops, and the West-Khan won the last tournament, so…”

“So we are to receive no aid at all?” Chrom interrupted, beginning to lose his very limited patience.

Flavia crossed her arms and sunk back to a hip, winking at the Shepherds.

“Not if you give up so easily.”

*

“So we show up during the middle of their big ruler tournament, when the nation is effectively leaderless, and the East-Khan is proposing an alliance if you enter this tournament and win for her, because Khans don’t fight in it themselves,” Robin said, making notes in the back of his spellbook; apparently the cold climate had given him ‘ideas’.

“Basically, it’s one on one, you fight to the death or until the other concedes, and the Khan that the winner represents gets the top job. No pressure.”

“Gee, thanks,” Chrom muttered.

“Look at it this way,” Robin suggested with a light shrug. “It’s also kind of a national holiday, right? So even if you lose, we still get to go out drinking afterwards.”

“Not helping,” Chrom groaned.

He, Robin, Fredrick and Lissa stood just outside the central fighting arena, a great stoned field located in the exact centre of the Coliseum. Hundreds of Feroxi crowded the stands around the arena, chanting and cheering. Chrom was to represent Flavia as the East-Khan’s champion; if he won, Ylisse got its troops. If he lost, he would simply have to grovel to the West-Khan. Not that Chrom was inclined to lose a duel.

 “I’ll be right behind you, milord,” Fredrick said reassuringly, shooting the tactician a glare. “I won’t let any harm befall you.”

“We can’t interfere with the duel, Fredrick,” Robin said distractedly, still scratching notes in his spellbook.

“If milord’s life is in danger, I will not hesitate,” Frederick stated.

“Will you two give it a rest?” Lissa groaned. “Neither of you is helping. Chrom, go out there and kick that other guy’s butt! I know you can do it!”

The Ylissean Prince grinned and shook his head at his sister’s antics, giving her head a thank-you pat before turning to the arena.

Flavia had stated the rules of the duel simply; two champions, no time limit, victory to the last man standing. Chrom repeated this over and over in his head like a mantra, using it to calm himself. Taking a deep breath Chrom strode forward into the arena, standing as tall and proud as he could manage.

The crowds roar was deafening.

Chrom stopped near the centre of the arena and waited, unconsciously kneading the grip of Falchion.

*

Robin closed the spellbook with a loud clap and slipped it back into his pouch; despite what he had said to Fredrick he wanted to be ready to intervene if Chrom’s life appeared to be in danger, too. He had no doubt that the knight wouldn’t hesitate, but it never hurt to err on the side of caution in a foreign nation where everyone could be a spy or assassin.

He had been making notes that he hoped would eventually amount to a whole new spell utilizing cold air and the moisture in the air, but this was slightly more important.

“Fredrick, Robin!” Lissa said in a shocked tone. “Look!”

A man was walking up to Chrom, obviously his opponent; a man wearing fine blue clothes and armour, and wearing a familiar dark slit-eyed mask on his face.

Much to their surprise, it was Marth, the man that had saved Lissa and helped them fight the Risen during their first encounter with the creatures in the forest south of Ylisstol.

“I see him,” Fredrick muttered, eyes narrowing as his hand drifted to the sword at his belt.

Robin dropped his own hand to rest by the hilt of his rapier. This was going to be a brutal fight.

*

“You?” Chrom asked incredulously, drawing Falchion. “You’re my opponent?”

“I am.”

“I would speak first, before we fight, Marth,” Chrom said, lowering his sword.

Marth stood impassively and unspeaking, simply looking at Chrom as if he hadn’t spoken.

“Fine. You saved the lives of my friend and sister, so I will attempt to show you mercy,” Chrom growled, raising Falchion with an over-the-shoulder flourish. “Our blades will speak for us.”

Marth hesitated a moment, before nodding and reading his sword in the same style of flourish as Chrom.

_He’s mocking me now,_ Chrom thought incredulously.

“Wait… Where did you get that sword?” Chrom said, heart skipping a beat as he recognized Marth’s sword.

It was, impossibly, an exact copy of the one of a kind blade in Chrom’s own hands.

“Where did you get that?” Chrom asked, eyes wide. “There’s no way…”

Again, Marth was less than forthcoming with an answer as he stood in silence.

_Fine then,_ Chrom thought, setting his face in a scowl and clearing his mind. _If that’s how he wants to play it, I’ll show him his parlour tricks won’t unnerve me so easily._

With no further warning Chrom sprung into motion, leaping into the air and flipping end over end, bringing Falchion down. Marth parried the blow easily, knocking Chrom’s blade aside and twirling around him. Chrom spun, blade extended, and the two swords blurred through the air as they struck again and again. Minutes passed as the two obviously equally matched warriors traded blows.

“Tell me,” Chrom grunted between blows. “Who taught you to fight like this?”

He was beginning to breathe heavily, but so was Marth. Chrom was unnerved to admit that the man’s fighting style was _exactly_ the same as his own, which he had been forced to develop himself after his father died. A mixture of Ylissean fencing, Feroxi high striking and his own creations sprinkled throughout; no one else could possibly know it as well as Marth did. The only other people even acquainted with it were Fredrick and Lissa, the man who taught him fencing and the girl he was in turn teaching.

“My father,” Marth answered, springing into the air and performing the same flipping downward strike Chrom had minutes before.

Chrom rolled to the side to avoid the unexpected blow, one _he_ had adapted from a Feroxi axe-fighting move.

Chrom shook off his shock and struck low, overbalancing himself in a surprise attack, aiming for Marth’s legs. The trick worked, and Marth stumbled back, sword dropping as Chrom threw his entire weight forward, rolling and coming up, leading with his shoulder and planting it in Marth’s chest.

The other man grunted as the air left his lungs, and Chrom followed up with a swift headbutt, cutting himself on the corner of the other’s mask. Marth reeled, and Falchion flashed, missing the other man’s neck by millimetres. Chrom was through playing, and pressed his advantage as blood began seeping from his own forehead.

Chrom switched his weight to his rear foot and spun, slashing diagonally. Marth again narrowly avoided the blow, but Chrom saw he had cut through the top layer of the man’s clothing.

Marth tried to get his own sword up, but Chrom was still too close. The prince grabbed the wrist of Marth’s sword hand, and yanked hard, pulling the other man onto his knee, hard. Marth doubled-over, his copy of Falchion clattering to the arena floor as his hand went to hold his stomach, the air in his lungs rushing out in a strangled gasp. Chrom rested his own sword against the man’s neck.

“Impressive…” Marth coughed. “If not surprising. I yield, sir.”

Chrom nodded and lowered Falchion. The duel had been ferocious, but had barely lasted more than a few minutes. Still, though, the crowd erupted in deafening cheers, and Chrom raised his blade above his head in victory, making the cheering even louder. He turned as he lowered Falchion, intending to help his opponent to his feet, only to see Marth’s caped back as the man left the arena.

_What a strange man_ Chrom thought, reaching up to wipe the blood from his face.

*

After the duel Chrom and the others were reunited, the rest of the Shepherds apparently having already been brought to a special room overlooking the arena, before being led to Flavia’s new chambers as other warriors began competing to work out the other high military ranks in the Regna Ferox army.

But the duel for Khan-Regnant was finished, and thanks to Chrom Flavia was now the ruling Khan.

The sitting room the Shepherds were brought to was plain but homey, like everything else Chrom had seen of Regna Ferox. A happily crackling brazier sat in the centre of the room, illuminating the space and providing heat for the occupants sitting on the plain wooden benches covered in animal furs.

“I have to admit,” Robin said idly as Lissa tended the small wound on Chrom’s forehead. “I never expected to see a prince fight like that.”

“Like what?” Chrom asked, wincing as Lissa prodded the still tender area above his brow.

“So… brutally, I guess. I expected there to be a lot flashier, useless sword moves in a duel. That was almost like watching a real battle.”

“Most nobles might fight like that,” Chrom said, rising. “I don’t have the patience to pretend. Ylisse is still in a precarious position, and I don’t have time to waste showing off.”

Robin nodded, satisfied.

“Well spoken,” Flavia commented, entering the small sitting room, a wide smile plastered on her face. “And well fought. I was right to put my faith in you, Prince Chrom. You have my respect, which is not something easily earned; and perhaps more to the point, you have your alliance.”

Chrom and Flavia clasped wrists again.

“Ylisse will have her troops, and I will lead them personally.”

“Thank you, Khan-Regnant.”

“I should thank you!” Flavia smiled, dropping Chrom’s hand and laughing. “It feels like forever since I’ve held full power. Come my new friends! Tonight, we celebrate Feroxi style!”

Before the Shepherds could respond by asking what, exactly, that would entail, Flavia had swept out of the room and was already calling out orders for the feast.

“Bah!” a gruff voice from behind Chrom exclaimed. “Any excuse to get drunk and that woman’s all over it.”

Chrom turned, being presented with Robin’s description of what he thought the Khan would look like come to life, the giant of a man now leaning against the doorway opposite the entrance. The bald, mahogany-skinned Feroxi man in gold armour was wearing an eye patch that couldn’t entirely cover his frown as he surveyed the Shepherds.

“I’m sorry,” Chrom said sardonically, turning. “Have we met?”

“I’m the West-Khan you so rudely deposed, boy!” the giant of a man said, coming forward. “You’re quite skilled for one so young, lad, I’ll give you that. And to think I had just gotten my chambers the way I like them.”

The firm look on the West-Khan’s face dropped as he grinned and offered his hand, laughing heartily.

“But I’m quick to forgive and forget! This just means that all those annoying advisers and hangers-on will stop following me around for a few years! At least until I reclaim my throne next tournament, that is. My name is Basilio the great and mighty, Prince Chrom, and I am honoured to know you.”

The two clasped wrists and Chrom decided quickly that he liked the giant of a man. He was unlike Flavia, charismatic and loud, but Chrom could tell he was a formidable warrior and obviously a natural leader all the same. Chrom also noted that the West-Khan seemed older than Flavia; it was the way he held himself, the look in his eye that told Chrom the man had seen much in his lifetime.

“What do you know of the man I fought?” Chrom asked as they stepped back.

“Who, that ‘Marth’ guy?” Basilio snorted. “He’s just some sellsword with delusions of grandeur. Just turned up one day and knocked my old champion flat on his arse, so I asked if he wanted the job. It was love at first sight, I’d say; and I’m usually too old for such things!”

Basilio roared with laughter again before quieting and continuing. “Anyway, he’s up and disappeared; fled off into the night as soon as you beat him.”

Chrom nodded, lost in thought as Lissa sighed.

“He’s so dark and mysterious…” she said in a far-away voice.

“Well, at least he has one fan,” Robin chortled, earning a glare from Fredrick.

“Hey, come on,” Lissa stammered. “I’m just saying, he is kinda dreamy, isn’t he?”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know, milady,” Fredrick said tonelessly.

“Am I the only one who thinks Marth looked kinda effeminate?” Robin asked, this time earning a glare from Lissa.

“ _You’re_ kind of dreaming,” Chrom said to Lissa, rolling his eyes and earning another booming laugh from Basilio.

Lissa held up her hands in mock-surrender.

“Sheesh, big brother, excuse me for being human.”

Fredrick cleared his throat.

“As interesting as this discussion is, perhaps we should be preparing for our return to Ylisse?” the Knight suggested. “The Exalt must be informed of the reinforcements with all due haste.”

“But you’ll miss the great feast Flavia’s no doubt set about planning!” Basilio said in mock surprise.

“Yeah!” Lissa said, stomping down and setting her hands wide to bar the doorway. “You already cost me one feast, as your princess I order you not to deprive me of another!”

“Besides,” Basilio added, “I took the liberty of sending one of my fastest messengers to inform the Exalt of just that. She’ll be back here before you even make it halfway to the capital, even if you leave now. Think of it as my last act of good-will as Khan-Regnant.”

“Well, I guess a little break wouldn’t hurt…” Chrom sighed, rubbing the back of his head.

“Yes!” Lissa cheered, jumping up and down in victory.

Even Robin breathed a sigh of relief, Chrom noted, although the tactician was trying to be more subtle than his sister.

“Then I trust you have lodgings prepared for us?” Fredrick asked the imposing Khan, effortlessly switching tracks.

Basilio smiled and clapped his hands together.

“You just leave everything to old Basilio.”

*

“Wow,” Lissa breathed, awed by their surroundings.

The four Shepherds walked out into a wide open area in one of the upper levels of the Coliseum, an expansive room easily as large as the great hall in Ylisse, but with a much more moderately heighted ceiling. Feroxi finery was everywhere; animal skins and pelts, braziers and tables of food and drink. Off to one side was a gratuitous amount of training gear, and further on Robin could see an entire armoury, complete with a miniature smithy. The other Shepherds were already present and clearly very comfortable, and Robin ached to join them; he had been on his feet all day and would kill for a mug of ale.

“Ah, there you are!” Vaike called around the leg of turkey in his mouth.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Basilio said, with a good-naturedly mocking bow. “At least for the next few days, anyway; then Flavia moves in, and I get stuck wherever my junk falls!”

Basilio laughed raucously as he led Robin and the others to the centre of the room.

“Make yourselves at home,” he said, flopping down onto a couch covered by a great bear pelt. “We have time before the ceremony where Flavia gets my fancy crown.”

“Of course, Khan Basilio,” Chrom said, sitting with Fredrick and Lissa not far from Sumia, whose eyes were watching the prince like a hawk’s.

Robin opted to sit closer to Vaike and Virion, which also happened to be nearer Basilio.

“Bah!” the older Khan snorted, leaning back. “It’s just Basilio, boy; even when I was Khan-Regnant. I hate titles; besides, you’re clearly strong enough to address me as an equal, boy.”

Lissa wasted no time regaling the others with the blow-by-blow of Chrom’s duel with Marth, something everyone seemed rather interested in. Robin only half listened, sneaking glances at the Khan when the older man wasn’t looking.

“What is it, boy?” Basilio rumbled quietly, so he wouldn’t interrupt Lissa’s story.

Robin started. He was sure he had been more subtle. Not to mention he was sitting on the Khan’s blind side.

“I’m just curious as to why you’re being so hospitable,” he answered honestly.

Basilio chuckled softly. “Well, the boy and the squirt are technically visiting royalty. Plus, at my age, I like to live vicariously thorough young warriors such as yourselves; makes me feel young again myself.”

Basilio was smiling wistfully as Lissa went into great detail about her brother’s unorthodox tactics; her description involving heavy use of hand gestures and miming.

The blue-coated man Robin had seen lead the others away came and whispered something into Basilio’s ear, which made the man groan softly.

“Well she can wait,” Basilio said to the man. “I just got comfortable, and technically I’m still Khan-Regnant for now.”

“Something we should know?” Robin asked as the other Shepherds laughed at something particularly funny Chrom had said.

“Just Flavia wondering where her new drinking buddies have up and disappeared to,” Basilio said dismissively. “It’ll do her good to have to wait; keep her humble.”

Robin shared a quiet laugh with the Khan as Lissa wrapped up the tale.

“I’m just sorry I missed it,” Sully was saying, looking particularly fierce.

Even Stahl was starting to edge away from the woman, and they had been nigh inseparable since he had caught up the day before.

“It was a good duel,” Fredrick said. “I’d say that I taught milord well.”

“Oh, so you taught him that headbutt?” Basilio asked loudly, a playful grin on his face. “I’d never have expected such underhanded tactics from a Ylissean knight!”

They all laughed as Fredrick blushed and muttered something unintelligible.

“Anyway,” Basilio said, sitting up and motioning over his shoulder with his thumb at the man in blue. “This is Lon’qu, my previous champion. The one Marth knocked on his arse.”

The severe looking man, Lon’qu, frowned even more at Basilio’s glib tone, but held his tongue.

“He’ll be going with you when you leave,” Basilio continued. “He doesn’t talk much, but he’s damned good with a sword; just as good as Marth, in my mind. I honestly can’t figure out he was beaten so handily. Anyway, consider him Western Ferox’s contribution to the war effort.”

Chrom looked confused, but it was hard not to be taken in by Basilio’s good attitude. After a few moments of hesitation the Prince and a few of the others stood to greet the swordsman.

“Marth beat him?” Lissa asked, eying Lon’qu and taking a few steps towards him. “But he looks so big and strong!”

Lon’qu retreated as many steps as Lissa took, paling.

“Away, woman!” he growled after his fourth step.

Lissa reeled, shocked. “What? What did I do?”

Basilio burst out laughing, holding his stomach and doubling over.

“That never gets old,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Lon’qu here has a… thing about women. They tend to put him on edge, make him nervous. Nonetheless, he is the best warrior under my command; he may even make Khan one day if he can get over his fear!”

“Alright then,” Chrom said after a moment, turning to Lon’qu. “Welcome aboard, Lon’qu. You’re sure about coming with us?”

Lon’qu shrugged, eying the women in the room warily.

“He gives the orders, I stab people. I think our roles are clear. Now I just stab who you tell me to.”

“I like the way this guy thinks,” Vaike muttered to Robin.

“There are quite a few women in the Shepherds,” Robin pointed out, stepping forward.

Lon’qu looked Robin up and down a moment.

“You’re the one that bested Raimi,” he said after a moment. “The Tactician?”

“I am.”

“It will not be a problem. There are many woman warriors in Regna Ferox. I am adept at avoiding them.”

Before Robin could continue the conversation, Flavia burst through the double doors at the end of the room, making as much noise as possible with Raimi in tow, followed by a train of servants carrying platters of food and kegs that no doubt held the best wine and ale she could get her hands on.

“Here you all are!” she shouted merrily, swinging a half-full tankard around, some of its contents sloshing over the edge and going ignored as they pattered to the floor. “I was beginning to think I’d be drinking alone!”

She walked right up to Basilio, who hadn’t risen, and pointed to the golden crown now sitting on her head.

“You’re in my seat, oaf,” she said drunkenly.

Obviously not having anyone else to drink with hadn’t stopped her, Robin realised with a barely supressed grunt of laughter.

Basilio rolled his eye and rose, bowing low in an unmistakably mocking manner.

“I see you wasted no time acquiring a new hat befitting your station.”

“Bite me, you overgrown mule.”

Flavia flopped down, much the same way Basilio had. She fidgeted around, twisting and getting comfortable before she leaned back and threw a leg up over the arm of the low couch, breaking out into a satisfied grin.

“Great! Now we drink!”

 *

Robin stepped out onto the great balcony outside the Khan’s chambers overlooking the forest outside the Colosseum. The noise and alcohol were going to his head, and the last thing he needed was a hangover.

Basilio had roped Chrom and Vaike into a drinking contest, one which he was clearly winning; and the women were all congregating around Flavia as she told stories about rising to such a high position in a male-ruled nation, Sully in particular listening raptly; Stahl hadn’t left the food alone since it arrived some time ago, and Virion sat with Fredrick, trying to figure out some local variant of chess.

Robin took a deep breath of the frigid air, some of the dizziness abating as his exhalation misted in front of him; the Feroxi liquor was strong stuff, and the thought of marching all the way back to Ylisstol with a hangover sent chills down his spine. Sipping at some water, he noticed Lon’qu watching the Shepherds from the balcony not far from where Robin was leaning.

 “Is this kind of celebration normal?” Robin asked the other man. “It seems kind of underwhelming, considering the change in hands of a ruler.”

Lon’qu shrugged. “Happens that often people barely notice.”

Robin stood awkwardly, shuffling from foot to foot.

“How did you beat Raimi?” Lon’qu asked after a moment of silence.

Robin stammered for a moment, before explaining his unorthodox tactics of combining magic and swordplay. Lon’qu listened raptly, before nodding approval.

“You are a gifted tactician to think so lightly on your feet. I look forward to serving under you. I look forward to duelling with you even more.”

Robin thanked the Feroxi for his praise and returned inside. Lon’qu had a burning intensity about him that was at once terrifying and awe inspiring; coupled with the whole not speaking often thing, the man was pretty intimidating. Robin sighed as he walked by the belching contest between Basilio and Vaike. It seemed Chrom was a magnet for strange individuals.

The tactician hesitated, pausing mid-stride when he realised that Chrom had passed out, and was slumped backwards over his low chair.

“Can’t hold his liquor, huh?” he asked the two shirtless men.

“It’s okay, he’s still young!” Basilio laughed. “But now that you’re here…”

A stein full of amber liquid was pressed into Robin’s hands as he was forced down onto a seat next to a dangerously swaying Vaike by Basilio, an expectant glint in the Khan’s eye.

“Time for round two!” the older man announced

 


	6. Chapter 6

Basilio let out a mighty yawn as he stepped out of the Colosseum, idly scratching his rear as he staggered towards the forest behind the massive fortress. To his mind there was nothing better for reigning in a hangover like a quick jog through the early morning forest and a dip in one of the springs that ran through it; it worked even better when it was still cool out, like it was at this time of year.

He blinked his one bleary eye sleepily as he leaned his massive battle-axe against one shoulder, stomping towards the trees with the intention of heading towards his favourite spot; it was a small hollow created by a waterfall not far from the foot of the closest hill, nice and deep and bitingly cold even in summer.

He grinned a little, memories of drinking those Ylissean kids under the table the previous evening making him chuckle a little to himself as he sauntered through the forest. The second-best hangover cure, in his mind, was remembering that he won a drinking contest the previous evening.

The forests in the neutral Central Regna Ferox area were similar to the lower-elevated Western ones, however the snow had been new to Basilio at first. Sure it got cold in Port Ferox, but it only snowed for a little while at the end of the year. In the Central region there was snow on the ground for at least four months of the year; apparently even longer in Eastern Ferox. But, like all things, Basilio had gotten used to it. He had mastered the rugged terrain and become stronger because of it. Even now, travelling through the forest bare-chested with his breath misting in front of his face and snowflakes falling from the trees with every heavy step he took, he barely felt the chill.

After a little longer than an hour of walking, in which time Basilio had finally woken properly, he came to the small clearing where the sound of bubbling water called out to him like the song of a siren. He was already unbuckling the straps to his pauldrons as he came to the edge of the forest, but a louder, unnatural splashing sound made him hesitate and slow his pace.

With a grin he crept forward, gently lowering his axe and his pauldrons to the ground without a sound. As he reached the edge of the rocky bank his eye spotted a thin, blue-clad form hunched over the water, splashing the icy meltwater onto his face.

“Hunh,” Basilio commented, stepping out onto the bank. “You have hair like a girl.”

The enigmatic swordsman Marth nearly leapt a foot into the air as he regained his feet, making a girlish little squeak of surprise and doing his best to look at who had snuck up on his without letting Basilio see his unmasked face. At the same time he held the collar of his open tunic closed tightly in one fist, one arm clenched tightly to him as the other flailed about. His long cobalt hair was down, too, flapping wildly around in the weak dawn light. It was so funny a dance the boy was doing, sneaking glances at Basilio as he fumbled with his dark mask that the Khan actually burst out laughing.

“Ah boy, what the hell do I care what you look like!” Basilio roared, holding his stomach in the throes of his mirth.

“Khan Basilio,” Marth finally greeted, now that his mask was firmly back in place. “What… are you doing out here?”

“That’s my spot,” the Khan said, pointing to the small river by way of answer.

Marth nodded woodenly, inching slowly back towards the forest.

“They should have already left by now,” he said, stomping towards the water’s edge and beginning to take off the remainder of his clothing.

Marth quirked his head curiously, watching the bigger man’s progress until Basilio’s hands dropped to his waistline, making Marth’s head snap around and face away from him as a deep blush rose to his thin face.

“H-h-how did you know… I was following… I mean that I was travelling… I-I… uh…” Marth stuttered, doing his best to watch the now naked Khan out of the corner of his eye. “Why are you… naked?”

Basilio let out a low chuckle as he splashed into the water, heedless of the freezing temperature.

“Like I said, this is my spot,” the big man sighed. “Besides, even if you did attack me, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve killed a man with my bare-hands while naked. This one time I was staying in Port Ferox with this lovely young lass-”

“Please, Khan Basilio!” Marth yelped, his voice becoming strangely high.

“Ah, right, the Ylisseans,” Basilio laughed. “The tactician told me all about you. But, what you do with your time now that you lost the Tournament is none of my concern, and if you want to waste your time following them you would do well to take the East Road from the Colosseum rather than the South Road.”

Marth nodded once, before beginning to walk towards the forest. As he disappeared into the trees Basilio let out a confused snort.

“What a strange lad,” the Khan muttered, floating in the icy water. “It’s not like I’ve got something he’s never seen before… Bah. Ylisseans.”

*

Robin leaned back in his chair, idly twirling the ink quill in his hand.

They had been back in Ylisstol for a week and all he had heard was war preparation talk. More Plegian ‘bandits’ were striking small towns on the borderlands near the city-state of Themis; a few times Chrom and the knights among the Shepherds had ridden out in the hopes of stopping the attacks, only to return to the capital dirty, sullen and defeated, followed by a column of refugees. The Plegians were striking in the night, burning down villages and towns, and Chrom had tasked Robin to come up with a tactical response.

_As if a tactical response to guerrilla-warfare exists_ Robin thought bitterly, running a hand down his face.

He had been doing nothing but combing over the volumes on tactics and war-history in the Ylissean Royal Library for days now, and all he could come up with was ‘prepare three squads of fast response aerial fighters, position them in key points around the border, and hope they see the smoke before it’s too late’. Numerous hunting parties had scoured the wilderness around the border, but the mountainous terrain left too many places for the enemy to hide, and they surely weren’t stupid enough to use the few mountain roads that crossed the border.

Robin groaned, standing and stretching his aching back.

_I need some air_ he thought sullenly.

He passed Miriel on his way out of the library, engrossed in a pile of books almost as tall as she was. She was the only person who was in the library more often than Robin, these days; always there when he arrived, still working when he left in the evening. The wizened old librarian had hinted that he was considering asking the mage to take over for him when he retired, if only because she knew the massive room as well, if not better, than he did.

Robin hesitated after stepping out of the library, tugging his collar into place before he decided a quick walk down to the Shepherds’ barracks couldn’t hurt, and setting off at a brisk pace to get some blood flowing back to his neglected legs.

Ylisstol was bustling as usual, but the activity of the marketplace Robin passed through, seeing as the long way to the barracks was strangely rather appealing that morning, paled in comparison to the military ward. Soldiers marched in formation in full armour, as blacksmiths crafted plates of armour and weapons; quartermasters ran to and fro, preparing for the long march through the deserts of Plegia if it came to war.

The Shepherds’ barracks, however, was an oasis of calm monotony as Robin approached it.

Three horses and one pegasi stood in the stables; all looking well cared for, especially the pegasi that Sumia had claimed. The beast gave Robin a knowing look as he approached.

_Even the flying-horse knows my brain is overloading_ Robin thought with a sigh as he walked around to the front of the barracks.

As Robin rounded the front of the building he found that Stahl was doubled over on the ground, Sully standing over him triumphantly like normal.

“Come on,” Sully was saying. “You call yourself a knight?”

“We’re not all endurance-freaks, Sully,” Stahl groaned.

“What a wimp.”

Stahl just groaned again, reaching for his practice sword.

“Alright, alright, we can go another round.”

Robin chuckled as he passed them, stepping over the small pile of broken training weapons; this was nothing new. Sully was a menace to spar with, and somehow more often than not it was Stahl who drew the short straw. Not that the other knight ever seemed to mind; he almost seemed to enjoy the time he spent with Sully. ‘Almost’ being the operative word, Robin thought with a grin as the sound of Stahl being repeatedly smacked with a training sword rang out behind him.

Inside was another scene of normality; Virion was sitting at the low table in the corner, teacup and saucer in hand, Vaike was doing push-ups, Kellam was polishing his armour, even though Robin had to look twice to spot the man, and Lissa and Sumia were working on the pegasus knight’s saddle together.

“Hey, Robin!” Lissa called cheerily as he entered. “Giving up for the day already?”

“No, I just needed a break before the weight of the books suffocated me,” he replied, stepping over Vaike to join the two women.

“The Vaike is not a throw rug!” the other man growled indignantly as Robin did so.

“Well, you are always on the floor,” Lissa teased as Vaike returned to his exercise with a raspberry blown at the others.

“What’s new?” Robin asked conversationally, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

Sumia shrugged. “We’re just making sure we’re all ready to move when the word is given. Chrom and Fredrick have been in talks with the Feroxi and Ylissean Generals all morning, and the Exalt has been working tirelessly via correspondence to try and make a peaceful solution.”

Lissa nodded, looking down.

“All signs are pointing to war, though,” she said sadly.

Robin sighed, grateful he was only the tactician for the Shepherds and not the whole Ylissean Army. Not that Fredrick would allow such a thing, anyway, Robin thought with a rueful chuckle.

“Don’t laugh!” Lissa cried, outraged. “This is serious!”

“No! Don’t worry, I agree with you!” Robin said hastily, holding up his hands. “I’m just imagining Fredrick’s reaction if Chrom tried to put me in charge of the whole army’s tactics!”

Sumia and Lissa stopped for a moment, obviously imagining it themselves, before bursting into laughter.

“That would be pretty funny,” Sumia said as Robin made his way over to Virion.

“Tea?” the noble asked, indicating the pot on the table with a grin at the other man’s earlier joke.

Robin sat heavily. “I could use one, thanks.”

They continued like this for some time, sitting and making idle conversation, waiting for the inevitable call to arms. In the afternoon Sully had managed to coerce Vaike into taking Stahl’s place as her sparring partner while the knight recovered, and the girls were taking care of Sumia’s pegasi out in the stables. Lon’qu had joined them, too, but sat apart from the others, observing silently as he sharpened his sword with a sour look on his face.

“Virion,” Robin asked casually. “Did I see you playing chess with Fredrick in Regna Ferox?”

“Indeed you did, good sir.”

“Would you fancy a game? I’m not quite ready to return to my studies yet and could use the distraction.”

Virion smirked predatorily, placing his cup and saucer down gently. “Of course.”

Six moves into the game and Robin could tell he was doomed.

“For a tactician, you’re not overly good at this game,” Virion drawled, taking the last remaining knight on Robin’s side.

Robin groaned. “I’m a battlefield tactician. Those tactics would have worked on the field.”

Two more moves. Virion was backing Robin into a corner.

“Checkmate.”

Robin cursed. He had been utterly annihilated by the womanizing archer. Chrom would never live this down.

“Oh, don’t look so forlorn,” Virion practically chirped, pouring two more cups of tea. “After all, I am sure I’ve had much more practice at this noble game.”

“Don’t tell the others the tactician got beat in chess. It would be… bad for morale.”

“Oh, I am sure ‘twould be,” Virion said slyly. “Your most secret of shames is safe with me, sir.”

“Thanks,” Robin grumbled.

Robin stood, excusing himself and exiting the building before his pride took any more of a beating. It was getting late; dusk had fallen while he wasn’t paying attention, and he felt bad for shirking the duty Chrom had given him. Taking a deep breath Robin simply stood, basking in the evening air. The sky was a vibrant shade of purple, the few sparse wisps of clouds in the air darkened to the colour of bruises by the setting sun. This was Robin’s favourite time of day, when the sun was just finishing setting but night had yet to take hold; when children were being called home for supper and the marketplace was winding down for the evening, merchants shouting orders to their apprentices as they closed up shop.

He stepped out towards the stables where Sumia and Lissa were fussing over the pegasi, and at once a plan sprung up into his mind unbidden when his gaze fell on the brunette currently brushing her pegasus’ neck and cooing to the incredibly pleased-looking animal.

He rushed back inside then, smiling wickedly, and both Virion and Lon’qu looked up, startled. Kellam did, too, but Robin didn’t notice until after the fact.

“Get everyone together,” Robin said enthusiastically. “We’re going out for dinner.”

*

Twilight had fallen over Ylisstol when Chrom and Fredrick finally returned to the Shepherds’ barracks to find all of the Shepherds lined up inside the door, as if there were some strange military inspection going on. As he walked in, they all walked out, Vaike and Stahl grabbing Fredrick by the elbows and leading him back out the door, Vaike whispering animatedly in the knight’s ear.

Robin was last out, winking as he passed the very confused-looking prince.

“Where’s everyone going?” Chrom asked the retreating figures.

“Just out!” Robin called back. “And don’t worry! We’re not all going, and we didn’t forget your dinner!”

Chrom scratched his head quizzically, sighing.

_What kind of hair brained…_

“Uh… Captain?” Sumia asked tentatively from behind him.

Chrom whirled, anxiety instantly blossoming in his breast.

_They don’t think that--_

“I thought that… well, since everyone else was… going out for dinner… that you would dine… with me?” she asked, looking down, her voice growing smaller with each word. “I even baked a pie… F-for dessert. Um…”

_Robin, I don’t know whether to hug you or kill you. I may just do both, depending on how this night goes._

“Of course, Sumia,” Chrom said, smiling reassuringly despite the butterflies in his stomach and stepping further into the barracks. “I’d love to.”

*

“Cheers!” the Shepherds all shouted, clanking mugs loudly.

Vaike had led them to an alehouse near the Ylisstol slums aptly named the ‘Drunken Goat’; one he claimed had the best food and beer in all of Ylisse. The rowdy group of Shepherds had intercepted Miriel on the way, wary of letting her ruin Chrom and Sumia’s forced date night (and by ‘intercepted’ of course they all crowded into the Royal Library and practically dragged the woman out, much to the exasperated librarian’s displeasure), before arriving at said tavern and all piling into one of the large booths at the back of the place. Attentive serving girls had kept bringing the group drinks and food, and everyone was having a good time; even Fredrick and Miriel looked to be enjoying themselves. Dinner was already done at this stage, and the Shepherds were busy entertaining themselves.

Miriel had cornered Vaike, and was busy discussing the combinations of alcohol in the various cocktails available as the axeman struggled to answer her, while Virion sipped from a glass of wine that Robin had no doubt cost more than everyone else’s drinks put together as he wooed the serving girls who were hanging on the archer’s every word, much to Robin’s chagrin; Fredrick was refereeing the arm-wrestling contest Sully had started, while Stahl looked on, holding her drink in one hand and his own in the other as his sparring partner destroyed men twice her size without so much as breaking a sweat, something that had drawn a sizeable crowd. Robin scoped the bar and… there Kellam was, buying another round for the others and Robin made a mental note to thank the man later; Lon’qu was busy talking swords with what Robin assumed were either foreign merchants or mercenaries, either way the tactician was glad that the stoic swordsman had found some form of entertainment. Lissa and Robin both sat comfortably at the table, watching the others and nursing their drinks.

“This was a great idea, Robin!” Lissa slurred, smiling up at the taller man. “I’ve never even been to an ‘ale-house’ before!”

“Just… Tell your brother we went somewhere a little classier,” Robin said, realising with a slight sinking feeling that he had taken the Princess of the kingdom to a dive bar.

“Aw, that’s no fun!” she giggled, sloshing her drink around.

Lissa had opted to drink what everyone else but Virion was; that being large mugs of beer. She had even tried valiantly to keep pace with the rest of them, but was obviously very new to the world of alcohol. Robin hated himself a little for admitting it, but Lissa was incredibly cute when she was drunk; her cheeks had taken on a rosy tint and her hair had somehow become dishevelled, stray locks sticking up in random directions from her pig-tails as she leaned heavily against the table with her elbow.

“How many have you had?” Robin laughed, taking the mug from her hands and putting it on the table before she spilled it everywhere.

Lissa’s head drooped cutely, thinking hard.

“I lost count after four,” she slurred, her head snapping back up with a goofy smile plastered to her face. “I gotta say, I can see why everyone does this so often! This is great!”

Lissa swayed and hiccupped, Robin having to reach out a hand and steady her. By his count she was on her sixth mug now. At least. He had to admit, she was doing well.

“You’re a real light-weight, aren’t you?” he laughed, nudging the mug a little further away from her.

“Awww…” Lissa mumbled, slipping herself off of the tactician’s hand to lean bodily against him. “Are you saying I’m thin? Because I work real hard to maintain my figure…”

Robin rolled his eyes, motioning one of the servers over as he sat Lissa up again. Kellam beat the server to the table, though, placing a cup of water down in front of Lissa.

“I figured the princess would want some water,” the man said with a smile.

Robin nodded, waving the irritated server away and trying to at the same time both hold up and coerce Lissa into drinking the water.

“Come on, Lissa,” Robin goaded. “You’ll feel really sick tomorrow if you don’t drink some water now.”

Wondering how exactly he knew that, Robin looked up to thank Kellam only to find that the man had already vanished, leaving a fresh mug on the table for Robin. He made a mental note to thank Kellam twice the next chance he got as he started in on his new beer, one arm around Lissa’s shoulders to hold her up as she timidly sipped at her water, eyelids clearly growing heavy.

_Vaike was right_ , Robin thought with satisfaction. _This is really good beer._

A cheer went up from the other side of the bar as Sully beat her seventh challenger in a row, jumping up and down and pumping her fists in the air. She snatched her own beer from Stahl and downed the remainder of it in one go, making the crowd cheer again as she belched loudly when she was done. Just for good measure she snatched Stahl’s own mug out of his hand and upended it into her mouth, too, much to the other knight’s resigned irritation. With a sigh Stahl turned on his heel, clearly set on getting a refill for them both as Sully settled in to face her eighth straight challenger.

“Robin?” Lissa asked drunkenly, bringing his attention back to the table as her head bumped into his shoulder again. “I’m gettin’ kinda tired…”

Robin chuckled, rubbing comforting circles on the inebriated Princess’ back.

“So lean on the table and rest a little,” he suggested, sliding Lissa off his arm and onto the table as gently as he could.

He managed to get Vaike’s attention over the table as he stood; admittedly not a difficult task as the warrior looked to be growing bored of Miriel’s incessant talk of centrifugal force, and gestured to Lissa. Vaike nodded once, returning his attention to the mage. Now confident that the man would keep an eye on Lissa while she was passed out Robin found himself free to mingle.

He spotted Lon’qu standing alone by the bar, and Robin guessed he had nothing to lose by attempting to talk to the man again. Stumbling a little as he approached, Robin revised his approximation on how drunk he was. After all, a good tactician could revise battlefield plans on the spot, even if he couldn’t recall how many drinks he had had, exactly.

“What’s up, Lon’qu?” Robin asked, internally congratulating himself for managing not to slur the sentence.

The swordsman looked up from some strange, tepid-looking drink in his hands.

“They have Feroxi firewine here. I was not expecting this,” Lon’qu admitted hesitantly.

“Is it good?” Robin asked, somewhat curiously.

“It... tastes of home.”

“But is it good?”

Much to Robin’s surprise the swordsman chuckled a little and cracked a weak grin.

“Honestly? Not really. But I feel duty-bound to drink it. And… well, I already ordered it.”

“Well in that case, allow me to join you,” Robin said, signalling for the bartender to bring over another of what his friend was drinking, setting his beer momentarily to the side.

As soon as the barman filled Robin’s cup, he raised it to Lon’qu.

“To new friends and being away from home! May the faces we meet remind us of why we left in the first place!”

Lon’qu laughed again, echoing the toast as he clinked his cup against Robin’s.

Robin drank, and instantly had to fight the urge to spit the strong alcohol out; it was like someone was pouring hot coals down his throat. Even so, there was a musky flavour that sent warmth spreading through Robin’s extremities; he could see why it would be popular in a place as cold as Regna Ferox. Robin coughed as he set his empty cup back down on the bar at the same time as Lon’qu, who was laughing much harder now.

“I tried to warn you,” the other man grinned as he motioned for a refill, completely unfazed by the strong liquor.

Robin, however, found himself gagging, placing his hand above his cup and shaking his head as he choked before the bartender could fill it again.

“One’s quite enough,” Robin rasped, making Lon’qu laugh more.

Robin returned to nursing his beer while Lon’qu took small, savouring sips from his new cup.

“The others say you have amnesia,” Lon’qu said suddenly after a moment of silence.

“I do,” Robin admitted with a shrug, wondering where the conversation was going. “I have knowledge, but no memories to enforce it. Nothing more than about a month back; that was when Chrom and the others found me lying passed-out in a field.”

“You have my sympathy,” Lon’qu said after another moment, before adding “And, perhaps, my envy.”

Robin arched an eyebrow at the Feroxi’s words, but didn’t press the issue. If he wanted to talk about it, he would.

Robin looked up as Lissa began calling drunkenly for another drink, her face still pressed to the tabletop as she waved her empty mug around in the air.

“I suppose I’d best get her back to the castle,” Robin sighed, finishing his beer in one go and placing the mug back on the bar.

Fredrick stepped forward behind the tactician, placing a restraining hand on Robin’s shoulder before he could leave the proximity of the bar.

“Allow me,” the big knight offered. “I have had much less than everyone else and I feel I should retire early, anyway; there is to be another war council in the morning and I must be rested.”

Robin shrugged, stepping aside and motioning for him to do as he liked.

Fredrick nodded, moving to the table before he effortlessly scooped Lissa up as if she weighed nothing, and with a few farewells, Lissa’s being very animated and endearing in a drunken sort of way as she clung to Robin’s neck and shouted ‘but I’m the designated princess!’, the duo were gone into the night.

Robin grinned a little, crossing his arms next to Lon’qu as he watched them depart. There was another cheer from behind him, no doubt the sound of Sully winning again, before the tactician almost fell over as Sully half-leaned, half-fell on top of him.

“Hey-ya, Tactician,” she slurred in his ear, cheeks rosy from the beers she had consumed, “You and me, right now, that table.”

Robin’s face instantly turned scarlet as Lon’qu scooted further up the bar away from the drunken woman. She was heavy even without her armour, but not so heavy that the personal contact was unpleasant. He was assailed with the woman’s scent like never before, too; a mixture of sweat, beer, leather and horse that was strangely nicer than it sounded. The pressure on his back, coupled with the over-stimulation of his senses and the fact that Sully was breathing, panting more like, in his ear, made Robin’s blood pump a lot faster than it usually did.

“Sully, I… uh… that is…” he stammered, trying in vain to escape.

The female knight grabbed his arms and forced him over to the table she had been using for her arm-wrestling tournament.

“Oh no,” she all but roared. “You’re not getting out of this! I’ve wrestled everyone else here tonight but you and the grumpy Feroxi, so butch up!”

Robin sighed in relief as a new kind of fear set in. Sully assumed her position across the table, thumping her elbow down and grinning predatorily at him.

_She’s going to break my arm, isn’t she?_ Robin thought with a certain sense of impending doom as he set his own elbow on the table.

*

Robin woke to a splitting headache and hard earth beneath him. He could feel the sun warming his face, but refused to open his eyes. It didn’t take a head full of memories to know that sun plus hangover equalled pain.

Slowly, the tactician moved his arms around on the grass he was resting on.

_Wait… grass?_

Shielding his eyes with a hand, Robin cracked them open slowly.

“Aw crap,” Robin muttered, sitting up. “Not again.”

He was in a grassy field with no idea how he had gotten there.

Again.

Robin cringed as the events from the previous night caught up with him.

_Getting creamed by Sully in arm-wrestling…_

_A push-up contest with Vaike…_

_A spirited and exceedingly drunken conversation with Miriel about his ideas for the new spell he was developing…_

_A light-hearted argument with Virion over the qualities of good wine…_

_More firewine with Lon’qu…_

_A shots contest of some local grain alcohol with Kellam, Stahl and… Vaike._

“Vaike, you son of a bitch,” Robin growled, recalling the other man’s offer to take the passed out Tactician back to the barracks. “This is _not_ the barracks.”

Robin stood shakily, turning to see the sun rising over Ylisstol’s outer wall.

_At least I’m not far from the city,_ Robin begrudgingly thought, beginning the trek back to the walls, the barracks and eventually, his own bed.

*

Robin stumbled slightly as he cleared the threshold to the barracks.

“Vaike!” he called out as harshly as he could; considering the hangover, it wasn’t very harsh at all.

Ten sets of eyes looked up at the tactician.

“You and I are going to have a very long talk about your sense of direction,” Robin growled menacingly; or, again, as menacingly as he could.

All at once the Shepherds burst out laughing, and Robin quickly joined them.

Sully and Stahl sat him down next to Virion, who poured him a particularly strong-smelling tea, while Vaike still howled with laughter. Even Lon’qu was snickering at Robin’s predicament. Lissa had dark rings around her eyes and looked much the same as Robin assumed he did, Fredrick never far from her side.

Vaike began to tell, in gratuitous detail, the story of his master plan to fool Robin, and the Shepherds all stopped to listen.

Robin was pleased to note that Sumia and Chrom seemed to hover near each other, trading surreptitious glances at each other, even on occasion being so bold as to brush up against each other. Chrom looked truly at ease for the first time since Robin had met the prince.

Robin smiled, happy his plan had worked.

Mission accomplished.


	7. Chapter 7

Robin sat astride a pegasus, surveying the charred remains of the town they were above with a far-away look in his eyes. Apparently at some point in his life he had taken flying lessons, because it had come naturally, but that was an issue for another time.

In the last few weeks Plegian bandits had steadily stepped up their operations from terrorizing the border towns to outright attacking them and burning them to the ground. This was the fourth such town in as many days, but fortunately the major population centres were well-equipped to deal with the refugees, and casualties had so far been mercifully few, limited to the small number of colonial militia that had taken up arms against the Plegians. It was almost as if they wanted people to survive and spread the word; something Robin could grimly see the point to. His plans to limit destruction with fast response units had been effective, but only in the sense that they could arrive at the towns to limit the damage done to the civilians and engage the Plegian rear-guards. They were even becoming so bold that fully-kitted soldiers were among the bandits now, black Plegian plate-armour having been spotted more than once.

Robin and his escort landed, the pegasus’ hooves clattering on blackened cobblestones between the skeletons of charred buildings.

“This is a mess,” he muttered sadly. “All this death and destruction… For what?”

“Ylisse and Plegia have a long and bloody history with each other,” his escort, Sumia, explained, surveying the wreckage sadly. “It’s almost ingrained into us as soon as we’re old enough to listen; stories of the wars between the two nations, of the horrendous acts the Plegians committed. The Plegians are taught that their nation was invaded and defeated by ignoble men who wanted nothing more than conquest. We’re simply taught to hate.”

Robin smiled grimly. Even surrounded by wholesale destruction the kindly pegasus knight still possessed the presence of mind to recall that Robin had no prior knowledge of world events or history.  She was a good friend.

“Well,” Robin said, trying to show some cheer, “At least there’s one Ylissean that seems to be tired of the cycle of hate.”

Sighing, the tactician climbed off his pegasus, patting the beast on the neck as he did. He knelt down in the wreckage of one of the houses. Something had caught his eye; the burned and torn form of a small stuffed toy, a rabbit, Robin thought, though it was hard to tell.

_Dammit,_ Robin thought angrily, clenching his fist as he stood with the burned stuffed rabbit in his other hand. _This wasn’t a battlefield and these people weren’t soldiers… this was someone’s home. I can’t let this keep happening._

“Robin?” Sumia asked tentatively, coming up beside the man and putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

_She’ll make a great queen one day. Or whatever the Ylissean equivalent is,_ Robin thought absently.

Taking a deep breath, Robin deposited the stuffed rabbit into his pouch, next to his spellbook. He wasn’t sure why, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.

“Let’s get out of here,” Robin said, doing his best to sound upbeat. “We’ll stop these bastards yet.”

*

Chrom reigned in the horse he was borrowing at the foot of the palace steps in Ylisstol before leaping from its back and leaving the exhausted creature where it was standing. One of the soldiers would see that it was taken to the stables, and he was in no mood to take care of such trivialities himself. He was tired; he was coated in dust, dirt and mud from riding non-stop to get back, and no doubt stank like a horse, but he needed to see his sister immediately.

The Plegians continued to elude them at every turn, and despite his and Robin’s best efforts, they were still losing ground against them, and while the Feroxi warriors were marching to Ylisstol they were still at least a week away according to the last messenger sent by Flavia.

And on top of all their failures and Plegia’s continued hostility, Emmeryn would not listen to his counsel, and continued to try and broker peace between the two nations, leaving Chrom to try and secure the borders with his Shepherds and the small number of knights left at Fredrick’s command. His sister needed to see reason! There was no peaceful solution to this; Plegia was orchestrating the opening moves to an outright invasion.

Chrom all but flew through the palace, guards and servants hastily moving out of his way as he passed, the bag in his fist swinging wildly in time with his angry strides.

He all but kicked down the doors to the council room where Emmeryn, Lissa and the council of elders responsible for the running and maintaining of Ylisse were currently meeting, and upturned the sack he was carrying before anyone could speak.

Six empty, battered and bloodstained black helms fell to the floor, maddeningly loud in the silence.

“It’s not just bandits anymore,” Chrom growled, kicking one of the helms off to the side angrily as he approached his sisters at the head of the horseshoe shaped table. “This is an act of war, sister; this is an invasion! You can’t hide behind the flag of peace anymore. Plegian soldiers are marching across our borders in increasing numbers, and--”

Emmeryn held up a hand, silencing Chrom with a cold glare he had not seen since he was a child.

“I apologize, councillors,” she said calmly, as if discussing the weather, her eyes never wavering from Chrom’s. “But I will have to adjourn this meeting until tomorrow. Thank you for your time.”

Silently and wary of the enraged prince, the old councillors stood and left the chamber, leaving Chrom alone with his sisters and the two military commanders, Phila and Cullen.

“Prince Chrom, this is incredibly disrespectful to your sister’s position,” Cullen growled after the last councillor had closed the doors, stroking his beard angrily. “I taught you better than-”

“Disrespectful?” Chrom asked incredulously, silencing the Knight-Commander with a glare of his own. “Plegia is invading our nation, my nation, and our Exalt sits in council meetings to discuss the Southern Farmlands!”

Turning to Emmeryn, who to his immense satisfaction had finally dropped her usual serene expression, Chrom pointed directly at the brand on her forehead.

“We’re supposed to protect our people, and yet you hold me back from doing so!”

Emmeryn stood calmly, eyes never leaving Chrom’s as her brow furrowed slightly info a frown.

_She can be so irritating when she’s like this,_ Chrom thought bitterly.

“Gangrel is playing you like a fool!” Chrom raged on, his voice growing steadily louder. “He talks of peace and thrusts a dagger into our nation’s flank while you are distracted! Can you not see that he knows you will focus wholly on the peace talks and ignore the military threat encroaching further and further with each passing day!? I’ll say it again! People are dying, sister! Good people! We need to mobilize the army and put a stop to this threat before it’s too late!”

“Brother, the best way to protect our people is to show them that some small border skirmishes are not going to affect their lives. I trust that King Gangrel wants peace for his nation too, and so I will not forsake the peace talks in favour of mindless slaughter. The best way to protect the people is to show them stability, and that even if war does come, their lives will-”

“War is here, whether you want it or not!” Chrom thundered, making Lissa jump.

She had finally done it; Emmeryn’s blindness had pushed him over the edge. A small part of him felt guilty for speaking to his sister, who had raised both him and Lissa and sheltered them from the evil in the world for so long, in such a manner, but he was too angry now to care. She needed to hear this. Cullen and Phila looked ready to throttle him, too, but again, he didn’t care. They needed to see how dire the situation at the border was becoming, and they couldn’t do so from the safety of the capital.

_Someone has to protect the people,_ he thought grimly, coming to a decision.

“If you won’t do anything, I will,” he growled, spinning on his heel and speaking over his shoulder. “The Shepherds are riding for the border. I’ll fight this war alone if I have to, but I won’t sit idle while our people suffer any longer.”

“You would have war?” Emmeryn called after him.

“I would stop this madness the only way Gangrel and those Plegian dogs will understand!” Chrom snarled over his shoulder. “Lissa! Are you riding with the Shepherds or not!?”

The youngest member of the family visibly flinched from her brother’s tone, sliding off her chair and timidly making to follow Chrom.

“I’m… sorry, Emm, but I’m a Shepherd, too,” she said apologetically as she followed Chrom.

Emmeryn let out a sigh after they disappeared, sinking back into her chair and resting her face in her hands.

“My Lady Exalt?” Phila asked gently, stepping forward.

“It is nothing, Phila,” Emmeryn muttered, rising slowly back to her feet. “Have another messenger prepared to travel to Plegia. I will not let matters escalate further. Gangrel will see reason, I know it.”

*

Robin and Sumia had returned to the barracks a few hours ago, and Robin had taken up his regular position in the corner, surrounded by his tactical and historical books, pouring over them and making notes, almost immediately. His heavy coat was laying over another chair he had claimed; it was pretty thick and offered a decent amount of protection during battle, but it was insufferably hot any other time, especially in the barracks when it was full. The other Shepherds were milling about like usual, maintaining weapons, training or drinking tea like usual. After another few days trapped in the library Robin had decided he’d had enough, and had moved-shop to the barracks, enlisting Vaike, Sully and Stahl to help him move the books he’d need, and setting up a small desk in one unused corner of the barracks.

Robin’s thoughts were interrupted as Stahl went flying through the air screaming outside the window, Sully chasing after him, discarding another broken training lance as she ran.

It gave Robin comfort to think, as he chuckled at Stahl’s predicament, that two nations were slipping closer and closer to war, but the Shepherds went along with business as usual.

Nose down in his books Robin didn’t even notice Lissa come in and beeline straight for the stables where Sumia was. He only really looked up when Vaike leaned against the wall next to him.

“Wonder what’s wrong with the squirt?” he said, crossing his arms.

“Wha?” Robin muttered absently, marking his page. “What’s going on?”

“Dunno,” Vaike said, shrugging as he looked at the door to the stables. “But whatever it is, Lissa’s upset.”

“She was just at a council meeting, right?”

Vaike nodded.

“Well maybe there’s been some disturbing news,” Robin said, standing. “I’ll see what’s up. You go back to… Vaike-ing.”

Vaike brightened instantly, reaching for his training axe.

“Now that’s an order Teach can get behind!” he said happily, beginning to run drills with the wooden axe.

Robin shook his head and grinned as he walked past Virion, who offered the man a nod over whatever awful poetry he was currently reading with his tea. Robin enjoyed poetry, but the flowery drivel that Virion read was enough to make him pine for the tactical manuscripts.

Robin realised as he stepped into the cool, darkened shed that this was the first time he’d actually been in the stables. It wasn’t surprising that they were just as he had imagined them, but he would have been lying if he hadn’t been expecting something grander from a place the Princess spent so much of her time; even if it was spent caring for someone else’s pegasus.

Lissa was sitting, head bowed, on a bale of hay, Sumia next to her, offering comfort. Robin hesitated a moment, but decided that if there was important information to be learned, it couldn’t wait.

“He can’t stand to see people suffer,” Sumia was saying, stroking one of Lissa’s hands. “He spent so long around the knights and soldiers growing up that the only way he knows how to achieve peace is by fighting.”

“But Emm says we’re so close to a diplomatic solution,” Lissa sobbed, obviously upset by something.

Robin cleared his throat. “I hate to interrupt, but if something’s happened concerning the war, then the rest of us need to know.”

Lissa shook her head, sniffling and still not looking up. It was Sumia who answered for her.

“It’s Chrom,” she explained. “He’s had enough of waiting for diplomacy to work out, and has decided to mobilize the Shepherds and hold the border alone.”

Robin wasn’t surprised by this revelation; in fact he already had several plans ready to implement on the chance this did happen, but he didn’t feel good about it.

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Robin said, placing his hand on his chin, thinking.

Sumia started giggling, and Lissa glanced up and joined her, prompting Robin to drop his hand.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Sumia said, trying to stifle the giggles. “It’s just… well you _really_ look like a ‘tactician’ when you do that.”

“It’s your ‘thinky-pose’,” Lissa added, looking up and smiling a little.

Robin smiled back. “Well, if it cheers the ladies up I guess I can’t not do it.”

Lissa chuckled again, wiping her face on her frilly sleeves and taking a deep, calming breath before bouncing to her feet, her usual smile back in place.

“Yeah, sure lady-killer,” Lissa said as she walked by him, punching him lightly in the arm. “And thanks.”

“Any time,” Robin said as she disappeared into the barracks, before turning to Sumia. “Do you really think he’ll follow through on this?”

Sumia sighed, taking Lissa’s place on the bale.

“There’s no doubt. Once he gets an idea in his head…” she trailed off.

Robin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Then I have work to do. We lack the numbers for conventional strategy, but I’ve got some ideas that just need a little spit-shine and we’ll be laughing. Fortunately there’s only one border crossing he can move a large number of troops through, so I don’t have to worry about spreading our forces… Gah. Chrom really knows how to make my life difficult.”

Sumia nodded, staring into space as Robin ranted. She looked tired to him, like she hadn’t been sleeping well. Next to her he could also see the petals and stems of flowers that had no doubt been sacrificed to her flower-fortunes, something she usually only did when she was stressed out.

“Hey, cheer up,” Robin said, crossing the distance and nudging Sumia’s shoulder with his elbow. “I’m the tactician; it’s my job to make sure everyone gets out of this safe, and I apparently take my work very seriously.”

Sumia laughed a little as she looked up at Robin. “Sometimes I forget you’ve only got about a month’s worth of memories.”

“Yeah, and a lifetime’s worth of bad habits,” Robin groaned, sitting next to the woman. “Like working until my fingers are ready to fall off and my eyes bleed from reading.”

“That’s hardly a bad habit.”

“It is when I forget to eat.”

They both laughed, before Robin stood.

“Well, the books call,” Robin said with more enthusiasm than he felt, stretching his back and making his way to the door.

“Robin?” Sumia called, making the tactician turn. “We all trust you. We know you’ll do your best to get us all home safe.”

Robin smiled. “Well then I’d best not let you all down.”

_No pressure though, right?_ he added internally.

*

Chrom strode through the palace grounds, one hand on Falchion and a grim frown set on his face. Fredrick was struggling to keep up with the prince’s longer gait, his heavy armour adding to his trouble.

“Prepare your knights as outriders,” Chrom ordered, thinking of their speed on horseback. “A large number of the Shepherds can’t ride, so we’ll use the knights to move ahead and secure the city. Themis is closest to the border, so we’ll start there. I’m sure that the Duke will have some troops we can make use of, too.”

“Of course, milord,” Fredrick said, bowing and changing direction to find the rest of his knight squad.

Chrom would head to the Shepherds’ barracks and prepare the others; they would march as soon as they were ready, and…

“Prince Chrom! Prince Chrom!”

Chrom spun, glaring at whoever would dare interrupt him during a time such as this.

A young mage initiate from the Royal Ylissean Mage Academy was running towards him, his hat so big it was almost comical, a rolled up piece of parchment in his hand.

“Ricken?” Chrom asked, recognizing the young mage as one of the provisional members of the Shepherds. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the Academy?”

“Sir,” Ricken said, doubling over out of breath as he reached Chrom and holding out the parchment. “We’re under attack.”

*

By the time Chrom returned to the barracks the news had spread and the Shepherds were all ready to march. The horses were saddled, everyone had their armour on and Robin had made copious amounts of loose notes that he could carry with him, judging from the papers falling out of his pouch. Chrom strode in with Fredrick and a young mage that the tactician had never seen before in tow and stopped, looking around at the fully arrayed strength of the Shepherds.

“I’m not even going to ask why you’re all already prepared to move out,” Chrom said, his face set in a grim line. “Themis was attacked by soldiers brazenly flying the Plegian flag. We ride immediately. If you can’t ride, buddy up with someone who can. Now, people!”

Lissa gasped in dismay, and the other Shepherds all made their own exclamations of disbelief.  

“Is Maribelle…?” Lissa asked Chrom hesitantly as the others all exploded into motion.

Chrom shook his head as he walked by her, heading for the stables where his own horse would be waiting.

“I don’t know.”

*

They rode out at a full gallop; Themis was near the border, and only a few hours of travel away by the main road, and they pushed their horses hard, Sumia soaring above them. The morning was getting late as the idyllic Ylissean countryside flew by in a blur and a cloud of dust.

Seven other knights in armour similar to Fredrick’s accompanied them, numerous Shepherds hanging on to them for dear life as they charged through the country. Virion had still somehow managed to get onto Sully’s horse behind her, much to the knight’s irritation. Lissa clung to Fredrick’s waist as they rode, and Vaike and Miriel shared the horse he had acquired from somewhere while Robin hadn’t been watching. The young mage Robin was unacquainted with and Lon’qu were both riding behind one of the other knights, and taking a moment to make sure, he saw Kellam was too.

After a few hours of riding and one very short break at a stream for water, Robin could see the smoke rising from the distance.

“Chrom!” he called to the prince riding alongside him, pointing.

Chrom nodded, and kicked his horse, spurring it into an even faster run.

They came upon the broken gates of a smaller city than Ylisstol, its large white stone walls marred and burned.

“Hold!” Chrom called as they reached the gate.

He dismounted, keenly aware that he was not one for combat from atop a horse, and looked to Robin.

“Our first priority has to be securing the town and rescuing civilians,” Chrom said, drawing his sword, obviously eager to enter the town. “Robin?”

Robin nodded, looking over the assembled Shepherds and knights.

“Anybody that fights on foot form up and make ready,” Robin said, recalling the notes he had made. “Anybody with a horse, give them a few minutes to rest and drink some water, then come in behind us. We’ll push for the town square first, and then go from there.”

“Duke Themis’ villa is in the western part of town,” Chrom said as the Shepherds began preparing their weapons. “He is a prevalent member of the Ylissean Council and the ruler of this region; our secondary priority has to be to ensure his safety.”

Robin nodded. “Fredrick? Send two of your knights directly to the Duke’s villa once they’re ready to move.”

Fredrick nodded an affirmative before calling out to two of the knights, and Robin took out his spellbook, stepping towards the gates and preparing to storm the town with the rest of the Shepherds. The gates to the town had been all but destroyed, meaning that their entrance wouldn’t be difficult. Unfortunately the fires burning throughout the town were making a haze of smoke that the enemy would be able to use to their advantage. The best way for them to combat this would be to strike hard and fast and push through to the Duke’s Villa.

“What about me?” the young mage asked from under a huge hat, interrupting Robin’s thoughts.

Robin raised an eyebrow at Chrom, who seemed to notice the boy for the first time since they had set out.

“Ricken? What are you doing here?” the Prince asked surprised.

“I’m a Shepherd, too! So where do you want me?” the boy asked excitedly.

“You’re still much too young for combat,” Chrom said kindly, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Stay here with the extra horses where it’s safe. You can be the rear-guard.”

The boy, Ricken, answered with a dejected “yes sir,” and Chrom and Robin moved to the head of the Shepherds.

As they moved into the city the Shepherds were quickly met by soldiers bearing the crest of Plegia on their jet black armour. They attacked in groups of two and three as the Shepherds pushed up the main colonnade, and Robin had a sneaking suspicion that the enemy soldiers were being thrown at them as a delaying tactic.

The city, so similar to Ylisstol, was in a shambles. Doors hung off their hinges and fires burned in the deserted buildings. If not for the fact that the majority of the town was made from stone, Robin didn’t doubt that there wouldn’t have been much left at all. Signs of wanton and sadistic destruction were everywhere; in some places it was almost methodical. Nothing Robin looked at was left undamaged; carts and stalls were smashed to pieces; smaller things such as crates and barrels were strewn about everywhere along with the detritus that had obviously once been their contents.

Plegian soldiers struck from the smoke, like dark shades frighteningly reminiscent of the Risen in their black armour and full-faced helms. Unlike the Risen, though, the Plegians fell with little effort on the part of the Shepherds.

Kellam, Vaike and Chrom took the front, and Lon’qu darted out time and again to strike foes that they didn’t fell outright as if he were dancing, his sword a blur of motion. Virion kept up a steady stream of arrows, dissuading the Plegians from attacking in numbers, and Robin and Miriel kept a wary eye for archers or other mages. Lissa brought up the rear, staff in hand, ready to act if one of the others was injured.

The Plegians fell back through the town and the Shepherds made good time, arriving at the central plaza of Themis without more than a few light wounds, mostly to Vaike’s unprotected upper-body.

_He and I are going to have a long talk about getting him a chest-plate at the least,_ Robin thought distractedly as he surveyed the plaza.

They were in a big round space, paved with the same white stone that the walls were made of. Robin frowned as he picked out the crumpled forms of civilian casualties; the Plegians were obviously using Themis as a stepping-up point, a prelude to a full-blown invasion.

“Hold here for Fredrick’s team to catch up,” Robin called, and the Shepherds spread out, watching the various entry points between the buildings around the plaza.

Lissa doggedly moved to check the bodies of the civilians, but Robin could already tell it would be a useless gesture. Still, far be it from him to tell the princess how to do her job as healer.

Robin frowned; he had to admit that he was uncomfortable with the minor resistance they had met so far. No more than thirty Plegian troops, barely half a platoon and just enough to slow the Shepherds down. The wholesale destruction around them hinted at much larger numbers, but Robin had yet to see any other sign of them.

The Tactician turned as he heard Fredrick and the other knights approaching, Sumia flying just above them, lance in hand. Fredrick pulled up his horse next to Robin and Chrom, waiting for orders, and Robin didn’t hesitate.

“Take your knights and scout the rest of the city; there’s an army in here somewhere, and I’d rather find them before they find us. Start in the North and circle around East; we’ll meet at the Duke’s Villa.”

Fredrick nodded, signalling the nine other knights to follow him with a quick, sharp hand gesture, and they rode off through the Northern end of the plaza.

“Sumia, I want you flying over the buildings around the rest of us watching for ambushes. Don’t get too far away; if you even see so much as the hint of an archer, pull back and let us deal with them.”

“Right,” the pegasus knight said, spurring the beast back into the air.

“Shepherds!” Chrom called. “Form up! We’re moving on the Duke’s villa!”

They passed through the Western exit from the plaza, and Robin was instantly hit by how much clearer the air was. Looking around he almost wished for the smoke to return. The devastated city was much worse without the black curtain hanging over it, and unlike their approach, the western road through Themis was littered with many more bodies. The Themis City Guards had obviously put up a fight along the road, broken barricades draped with white armoured bodies and surrounded by Plegian corpses. Robin was grimly satisfied to note there were at least three Plegian corpses for every Themisian one.

The Shepherds moved quickly, becoming more and more tense as they went; the Plegians had yet to attack them again, and Robin was beginning to worry they were heading into an ambush. Shaking such thoughts away, Robin focused on the task at hand.

The Duke’s villa was in sight now; obviously the villa had been the site of the Themisian’s last stand. More barricades had been erected and broken through, and the concentration of bodies was much higher. He looked away from the massacre, his stomach rebelling. Robin heard someone, most likely Lissa, dry-retching behind him, but spared it no mind.

“Duke Themis!” Chrom called out, his voice making Robin jump in the silence of the city. “Lady Maribelle! Anybody!? Hello!?”

Robin surveyed the ruined grounds of the Duke’s villa, careful not to let his gaze linger on the bodies. The carefully manicured lawns were ruined; neatly trimmed low hedges had been ignored by the soldiers that had walked right through them, and patches of the lawn had been burned away, the tingle of magic lingering in the air above said patches. Arrows and broken weapons lay around and between the bodies, and Robin was saddened to see the ratio of Themisian to Plegian had swung much the other way.

“Dammit all,” he heard Vaike mutter as they carefully picked their way through the bodies. “This wasn’t a battle, it was butchery.”

Robin grunted, sharing the man’s sentiments. The Ylissean soldiers interspersed with the Themisian guards were especially mangled; it was as if the Plegians had lost their minds to bloodlust. Some bodies were so mutilated that Robin couldn’t even identify their gender. He tried to steer clear of those ones. Turning to check on Lissa, he could see that the girl was valiantly trying to be strong and keep her wits, but it was a fight she was quickly losing; try as she might she was still only new to battle, and her shoulders shook as tears of grief and frustration ran down her face.

“Come on,” Chrom urged them, oblivious to his sister’s suffering, “hopefully we’ll find some survivors inside.”

Sumia chose that moment to make her entrance, coming in fast and low and landing hard before them.

“Captain!” she called frantically as her pegasus hopped a few times to try and quell its forward momentum. “Captain, ambush from the South! At least a hundred soldiers! They were waiting in the buildings!”

“Everyone into the villa!” Chrom called loudly, too panicked to even curse.

“Chrom, you and Kellam hold the main door!” Robin called as they all began running to the villa’s entrance. “Miriel! You, Virion and I will take the windows and try and thin their ranks! Vaike, you and Lon’qu hold the back ranks, make sure none of those bastards sneak in the side or back doors! Sumia, find Fredrick and tell him to get his knights here as fast as they can! Go around the Plegians, not over them!”

Robin could hear the Plegians advancing now, a steady rumble off booted feet on stone streets and the shouting of men who knew they had their quarry trapped. Sumia took off like a shot, forcing her pegasus around and kicking it hard in the ribs with her heels, making the creature move faster than Robin even thought possible.

Arrows began to pepper the ground around the Shepherds as they crossed the villa courtyard, shot by the unseen Plegian soldiers, but they made it to the door before any could find their mark. The tactician glanced over his shoulder as he passed through the broken doors of the squat villa, only to see a tide of black-armoured soldiers surging into the gardens and towards the building. By the time Robin passed through the entry hall and found the window Virion was already shooting back from, Miriel had already taken up position on the other side of the entrance hall of the building and was unleashing the most devastating spells she had, countless bolts of lightning crashing into the Plegians as they advanced. Robin concentrated hard for a moment, before gesturing with his hand and sending a wall of flame against the flank opposite the one Miriel was hitting.

“Robin!” Virion called, loosing another arrow before pointing above the Plegians.

Sumia was still flying too close to the Plegian soldiers, and their archers had taken notice of her. Several arrows zoomed by the knight as she tried to dodge them, before one found its mark and the woman fell out of the sky.

“No!” Chrom cried as Kellam held the prince back with one arm, trying to keep his large shield, already bristling with arrows, in position with the other.

“We can hold them!” Virion called, dropping a Plegian mage in dark robes and what looked like a goat’s skull for a head-dress. “Go get her!”

Robin cursed, sending a tornado against a group of Plegians that were getting too close. He, Miriel and Virion were managing to hold off the Plegian assault so far, but if he left that would probably change very quickly. Lon’qu and Vaike hadn’t seen where she had landed, and they needed Chrom to hold the doorway with Kellam; no one else was wearing any armour.

Making up his mind, Robin sent one final firestorm against the Plegians, bowling their front ranks over as he sprinted for the direction he hoped he would find a side exit.

His eyes met Chrom’s as he passed the entryway, and the Prince’s manic expression seemed to abate somewhat as he understood Robin’s intent.

“I’ll be right back!” he called, sprinting down the large hallway and heading down what was obviously a servant’s corridor.

He ran for a few meters until he found what he was hoping for, and flung open the servant’s exit into a tight alleyway at the side of the villa, drawing his sword as he ran. The alleyway was deserted, and Robin bolted in the opposite direction of the Plegians. He circled the buildings and hit one of the larger roads at a dead run, looking up at the rooftops as he went. Amazingly it looked like the Plegian destruction hadn’t spread this far yet; most of the buildings were still intact, and the fires that were burning all over the rest of the city hadn’t jumped so close yet. It made Robin’s life admittedly a lot easier as he searched for his fallen comrade and friend.

She had fallen somewhere around… There!

Robin spotted the pegasus stamping nervously on the flat rooftop a few buildings further down the road at almost the same time as the five Plegian bandits that had obviously come looking for easier prey than the Shepherds holed up in the villa.

The tactician weighed his options, and mentally shrugged as he brandished his sword above his head, screaming a wordless challenge to the lightly armoured bandits.

Fortunately they looked as surprised as he had been, but didn’t recover as quickly, and Robin hit them with the force of a charging bull, burying the fine rapier in the chest of the closest bandit before taking out the second with a spinning slash that almost decapitated the man. The other three managed to get their axes up as Robin ducked under the blow from the third, rolling and slashing upwards, rising as the bandit he’d hit fell.

The last two stepped back warily, opening up the space between them. Robin was panting heavily now, and held his sword in a one handed grip, his other hand low, hovering above his pouch. One of the bandits lunged, coming in high and leading with a very amateurish swing. Robin side-stepped and slid his rapier neatly between the man’s ribs. Not wasting any time, he let the sword fall out of his hand and gestured to the last bandit with the empty hand, his other one finding his spellbook. A bolt of lightning jumped from Robin’s outstretched hand directly into the last bandit’s chest, throwing him off his feet, a look of surprise frozen on his face. Robin retrieved Chrom’s rapier and took three deep, calming breaths, trying to will his heart to slow down. The fight had taken less than a few minutes, but he felt as if he’d been marching all day.

Forcing his heavy limbs to move, Robin ran through the shop that Sumia had landed on top of and up the staircase in the back, emerging out onto the rooftop.

A lance flew through the air, burying itself in the door jamb inches away from Robin’s head.

“Gods, Sumia!” he shouted, dropping to the ground in case she had other projectiles to hurl at him. “It’s me! It’s Robin!”

He risked raising his head and sheathing his sword as Sumia began stammering apologies. She was lying propped up against a crate that hadn’t been broken, holding a hand to the arrows sticking out of her side with a strained look on her face as she tried to rise.

“Oh Naga, I’m so sorry Robin!” she said as he knelt by her side. “I thought you were one of the Plegians coming to finish me off and I just acted on instinct and… these arrows really, really hurt.”

Robin was too busy inspecting the wounds on her side to listen. Three broken shafts were protruding from her armour in her left side, but they didn’t look to be too deep. One was buried just beneath her ribs, another further around her back, beneath her shoulder-blade, and the third lower in her thigh.

“Can you stand?” Robin asked gently.

“I… I think I hurt my leg when I fell,” Sumia moaned, trying to shift her weight and falling back almost instantly.

“I’m so sorry, this always happens. I’m so useless when it comes to battles and I just get in the way and…”

Robin clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Stop talking. If it weren’t for you, we’d all be dead. Feel sorry for yourself after I save you and we beat the Plegians back.”

Robin looked over his shoulder, releasing his grip on Sumia’s face.

“What about you? Are you okay?” he asked the pegasus, not expecting an answer, but hoping the absurdity of asking an animal such a question would distract Sumia.

The beast gave him a strange look, almost as if it were questioning his sanity, and Sumia laughed a little. Robin turned back to the injured woman, and without warning snapped all three of the arrows close to the armour, making her cry out in pain.

“For the love of…” Sumia cursed, trailing off into laboured breathing, her face pale as she fell to the rooftop.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t move you with them sticking out and I didn’t want to give you time to fixate on the idea of me yanking them out. Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Sumia panted, looking up.

Robin nodded once, lifting her gently onto his back.

“Hold on tight,” he said, trying to evenly distribute her weight and at the same time cause her as little pain as possible.

Sumia moaned in pain, wrapping her arms around Robin’s neck.

He set off instantly, trying to move as smoothly as he could and still move quickly. They raced through the empty streets following the same route Robin had come in on. Robin’s arms and legs ached, and his lungs burned with the effort of carrying Sumia after so much exertion on his way to find her. He kept moving, though, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other and maintaining a steady breathing rhythm, all the while keeping his eyes peeled for more Plegians. Robin felt Sumia’s grip slacken as he rounded the corner into the alleyway next to the Duke’s villa, and he leaned forward a little more, apologizing as Sumia hissed in pain at the movement.

He could hear the sounds of steel-on-steel now, and the shouts of clashing soldiers. He quickened his pace, sliding into the servant’s corridor, stumbling as he almost tripped on the bodies of four Plegians in light armour.

“You’re lucky I could tell it was your footsteps,” Lon’qu said from the shadows as Robin righted himself.

Robin didn’t even have the energy to jump, just brushing past the swordsman and racing through the servant’s corridors. Robin still noticed Lon’qu’s arm was hanging limply at his side, his sword held in his off hand.

“Almost there,” he muttered breathlessly over and over. “Almost there. Just a little more…”

He emerged into the much brighter entryway into the scene from a nightmare.

Chrom and Kellam, both coated in blood, stood firm in the doorway, hacking apart anything that came within striking distance. Robin watched as Virion stumbled into the main hall, slamming the door to the sitting room he’d been using as a nest as rabid Plegian soldiers poured in through the window. Vaike and Miriel were both fighting as hard as they could to hold the room opposite, but the man was covered in wounds, and Miriel looked like she was about to drop from mana-exhaustion.

Robin set the now unconscious Sumia down as gently as he could as Lissa came running over, obviously exhausted from continuously channelling her healing magics.

“I need to get this breastplate off so I can get the arrows out,” she said, hands fumbling with the catches to Sumia’s armour. “I can handle this. Go help the others.”

Robin nodded and pulled out his spellbook again, taking three deep, calming breaths as he walked to where the room Miriel and Vaike were holding.

With a violent hand gesture Robin put everything he had into a wall of fire that barrelled through the Plegians, tossing charred bodies into the air with its force, opening up a space along the entire front of the villa and making those just beyond the flames hesitate.

“Well, that’s all I had left,” Robin muttered, falling to one knee.

Chrom looked over at Robin, hair matted to his face with blood and smiled grimly.

“We’re not done yet.”

Before Robin could answer the Plegians gave a lusty roar and surged forward again, intent on slaughter. Robin dug deeper, and managed to stand and send a number of weak lightning bolts into the charging crowd, for all the good it did. His mind worked in overtime as the Plegians drew closer.

“Lissa,” the tactician said, turning to where the girl was tending to Sumia. “Take Sumia through the servant corridors and find Lon’qu. Tell him I said to take the two of you and run.”

“I’m not abandoning you!” she shouted angrily without looking up from her work.

“Dammit, Lissa!” Chrom grunted over his shoulder. “Go! Please, just go!”

“I said I’m not leaving!” Lissa shouted back, tears streaming down her face again as she worked frantically to staunch the bleeding of the wounds on Sumia’s side.

Chrom couldn’t answer as another Plegian ducked around Kellam’s shield, demanding the Prince’s attention. Robin shook his head, leaning back against the wall and watching as the Plegians drew closer.

_This is it, isn’t it?_ He thought lightly. _As far as deaths go, there are worse ways to die I guess. I can’t think of any right now, but… There’s got to be worse. Right?_

Robin shook his head and drew his sword as Plegians began clambering through the window.

Vaike and Robin set about trying to beat them back as Miriel fell back, nursing a deep wound to her arm and cursing in her highly confusing scientific speech pattern. Any other time and Robin would have laughed at the sheer absurdity of her behaviour. Virion was shouting for help, trying desperately to hold the door of the room he had retreated from closed. Turning at the sound of a commotion behind them Robin saw Lon’qu practically fall through the entry to the servant corridor, fighting one-handed against the Plegians that had finally decided to use it en mass.

Robin watched all this happening, powerless to do anything about it.

There was a lull in the Plegian offensive, and the Shepherds used it to push them back from the doors and window.

_This is the one,_ Robin thought fatalistically. _They’re getting ready for the final push. Well I’m not going to make it easy for the bastards._

Something inside Robin snapped, and with a deep breath that became a mighty roar Robin thrust his hands out, columns of black fire erupting beneath the Plegians in the villa’s gardens and throwing them into the air. The tactician’s attack continued as he gestured with his fingers, bolts of dark purple lighting dancing among the Plegian soldiers and leaving charred corpses to drop in their wake. As Robin fell to one knee again, blood beginning to leak from his nose, the Plegians collectively let out an insulted roar and surged to fill the gaps Robin had just made.

“There’s just no end to them!” Chrom roared.

“Nice try, buddy,” Vaike sighed, grinning over his shoulder at Robin. “At least we took a lot with us.”

A horn sounded off in the distance before Robin could reply, three clear, even notes, and Robin could see some of the Plegians looking around, confused.

Chrom began laughing as the Plegians started miraculously pulling back; even to ones already in the villa began panicking and running for their exits. Robin looked aghast at the prince, thinking he had finally snapped.

“That’s not a Plegian horn!” he whooped, sagging under the strain of the battle in the brief lull as the horn sounded its three notes again.

Robin watched astonished as a column of knights led by a man in resplendent white armour with a billowing red cape came up the west colonnade at full speed, crashing into the retreating Plegians. A second wave of knights, this time led by Fredrick, followed the white armoured knights, and between the two groups they laid waste to the surviving Plegians.

Robin dropped hard to the floor, crawling and leaning against the wall in the entryway as everyone else sagged to the ground, laughing at the unexpected turn of events and watching as the sixty odd knights set about decimating the Plegians. Vaike was flat on his back, spread eagled, cackling like a man possessed, and Kellam was leaning heavily on his lance, guffawing throatily. Lissa was alternating between sobbing and laughing, and even the usually restrained Virion and Lon’qu were joining in in the hysterics, the archer holding his stomach with one hand as his other held him off the ground, and the swordsman leaning with his uninjured shoulder against a wall.

“I can’t believe we survived!” Robin practically shouted as Fredrick rushed into the villa, Sully and Stahl hot on his trail.

“Milord! Prince Chrom, are you uninjured!?”

“Do I look uninjured?” he asked without malice, sitting down heavily next to Sumia.

Lissa had treated and bound the woman’s injuries, and she had regained consciousness sometime during the fight. She smiled weakly up at Chrom as he took her hand in his own, smiling back down at her.

Fredrick knelt before Chrom as the rest of the knights took up position outside the villa’s entryway. Sully and Stahl instantly set to work binding the wounds of the other Shepherds until another healer could be found.

“Milord, forgive me; I failed in my duty to protect you. I will accept whatever punishment you see fit to give.”

“Give it a rest, Fredrick,” Chrom said tiredly. “We’re all alive, that’s what matters.”

“Indeed,” the leader of the other group of knights said, removing his plumed helm as he strode into the entryway. “And a fine job you did surviving, too, milord. And wrecking up what was left of my villa, but I suppose I can let that slide.”

The man was tall and solidly built, but obviously getting on in years; his high forehead had the long white hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, and a thick, steel coloured moustache sat under his sharp, patriarchal nose.

“Duke Themis,” Chrom greeted the older man with a nod. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t stand to greet you, but as a strategic position your entry hall was severely lacking.”

Duke Themis chuckled grimly as Fredrick stood, head still bowed, making room for the man. Robin was on the verge of unconsciousness, but still managed to think that the Duke reminded him of someone he had met recently.

“Duke Themis,” Lissa said, swaying as she stood before catching herself. “Where is Maribelle? Is she safe?”

“Your concern for my daughter is touching,” the Duke answered soberly as his knights began to enter the villa, tending to the wounded Shepherds alongside Sully and Stahl.

_That’s who he reminds me of_ Robin thought victoriously, matching the Duke’s bearing with the pompous girl’s. _Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her in quite some time…_

“Unfortunately, my dearest daughter has been kidnapped by these Plegian curs. I was leading my knights in pursuit when a strange man wearing a blue mask met us on the road and informed us of the attack.”

Robin barely registered the female knight in white armour prodding at his exhausted form, looking for wounds.

_A masked man?_

“Let me guess,” Chrom sighed. “Blue hair, regal bearing, sword eerily similar to mine?”

“Yes, milord,” Duke Themis said, surprised. “Is he one of your men?”

“No, but he seems to be hanging around us like a bad smell,” Robin moaned, eliciting a short barking laugh from the Duke.

“Well, be that as it may, we were forced to give up pursuit of the fleeing Plegians when we turned and saw the smoke rising from the city.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll find the bastards,” Chrom spat, trying to stand. “Fredrick! Fetch me a horse!”

“Milord, you are in no condition to ride anywhere,” Fredrick said sternly, pushing Chrom back into a seating position.

“As much as I fear for my daughter, your man is right, milord,” the Duke said sadly, his gauntleted hand creaking under the strain as he clenched the hilt of his sword. “At this point all we can do is wait for the ransom demands and pray.”

Trying valiantly to maintain consciousness, Robin sat forward. The Plegians wouldn’t simply execute Maribelle; she was Ylissean nobility. No doubt the Plegian King would use her as a bargaining chip in one-sided peace-talks. Robin’s last thoughts before passing out were a mixture of tactics he could potentially use to rescue the kidnapped girl if it came to a pitched battle, and his desire for some form of pastry now that the fighting was done and he realised how hungry he was.


	8. Chapter 8

Robin woke, returning to consciousness as slowly as he possibly could. It felt like forever since he had slept in a real bed, and he wanted to savour it. Come to think of it, he honestly couldn’t remember ever sleeping in an actual bed. Groaning as he realized he should probably be more concerned considering the state of things when he had passed out, Robin opened his eyes slightly.

He was indeed lying in a bed, clean and crisp white sheets tucked neatly around his bare chest, concealing his body from the armpits down. The room he was in was clean and well-lit, and along one wall he could see piles of bandages and bottles of potions and ointments he assumed were to help them heal.

He was clearly in a makeshift hospital; the beds were too high-quality to be a true hospital. Robin assumed one of the rooms in the Duke’s villa had been co-opted into service for the wounded Shepherds, considering the state the town had been in.

Hissing in pain as he struggled to sit up, Robin was interested to see that the other seven beds in the room were empty, each spaced about a meter apart uniformly throughout the space. On closer inspection, the bed next to him actually did have an occupant; she was just mostly wrapped in tight bandages the same colour as the sheets.

Sumia looked over at the sound of Robin moving and smiled tiredly. “We were all wondering when you would wake up.”

“How…” Robin coughed, working moisture into his dry throat. “How long was I out for?”

“For the better part of three days,” Sumia told him, sitting up slowly herself, pushing up with one hand and holding the sheet to her chest with her other.

Robin blushed and looked away, realizing she was in a similar state of dress as he was. It wasn’t surprising, given the positioning of her injuries or the fact that she was practically covered in bandages, but the linen strips hugged Sumia’s form in a way that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. She didn’t seem to be bothered, though, and Robin forced himself to relax a little and maintain eye-contact.

“The others were here at first, too,” Sumia said, obliviously offering Robin a jug of water that he accepted gratefully. “Vaike, Miriel, Lon’qu and Chrom all left after the first night. Kellam was discharged yesterday morning. Lissa has been working constantly to heal everyone, too.”

“What about you?” Robin asked, wiping some overflowing water from his chin with the back of his hand, surprised at the feel of the stubble on it. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” Sumia asked, honestly surprised. “I’m fine; I’ll be getting out as soon as the doctor returns. It was you we were all worried about. You just dropped like a stone after the battle, and nobody could rouse you.”

Robin shrugged, draining the water jug and setting it down.

“I over-taxed my body’s mana reserves and passed out. I… think it might have happened quite regularly before I lost my memory.”

“Another of your ‘lifetime of bad habits’ habits?” Sumia asked playfully.

“Yeah, probably,” Robin grinned, leaning back. “It kinda felt like it’s happened before, anyway.”

“You were hurt pretty badly,” he added seriously, looking over at the pegasus knight. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Sumia actually blushed when she answered.

“I’m sure. My wounds still ache, but not as badly as they did at first. I’m… thank you, for saving me. Lissa told me about the way you fought off the Plegians and… carried me all the way back to the villa alone… So thank you. For that. And saving me…”

Robin shrugged again, winking. “If I had let you die, Chrom would have never let me hear the end of it.”

Sumia instantly went the shade of Sully’s armour and looked down, making Robin laugh aloud, the sound echoing slightly in the big empty space.

“I suppose I should sit back and relax while I can,” Robin said, rolling out the stiff muscles in his neck. “But I haven’t had downtime since… well since Chrom found me in that field. I honestly don’t know where to start. What’ve you been doing for the last two days?”

“I’ve been catching up on my reading,” Sumia said cheerfully, indicating to the small pile of books on her nightstand. “I even put a couple aside I thought you might enjoy, seeing as you spend all your time reading now as it is.”

Robin accepted the three books she passed him, looking at their titles.

“ _Shanty Pete and the Haunted Pirates?_ ” Robin read, flipping through the books. “ _A Simpleton’s Guide to Pegasus Care_? Uh… _Wyvern Wars: Terror at High Noon_?”

Robin started laughing again, assuming Sumia was joking. “These look terrible.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, Robin,” Sumia said dejectedly, suddenly sniffling slightly. “I just thought they sounded interesting and that you would… Oh I’m so stupid! Useless, useless, useless!”

Robin looked over at the woman, recalling how sensitive she could be and realizing his blunder before randomly holding up the third book. “Hold on Sumia, don’t cry. Here, I’ll read this one. It sounds… Uh, fun. You know, exciting! Can’t beat that… high-noon!”

“Really? Chrom suggested I might pick some out for you… you know, in case you needed more time to recover,” Sumia continued in the most pathetic, kicked-puppy voice Robin had ever heard.

“So…” Robin goaded, eager to change the subject as quickly as possible, interlocking his fingers behind his head. “You and Chrom, huh?”

Sumia instantly, and to Robin’s amazement, went an even deeper shade of red.

“It’s not… not like that…” she stammered, balling up the sheets around her with her free hand. “I mean, yes, he’s… very, uh, important to… me, but he’s our Captain and, and our prince and… and he’s visited me in here… every day but you’re in here too and-”

Robin laughed too hard and moaned, clutching his aching ribs.

“Relax Sumia,” he said, holding his side and trying not to laugh. “Personally, I think you two would be great together.”

To Robin’s continued astonishment the pegasus knight went an even deeper shade of scarlet as she mumbled her thanks. Robin continued to chuckle lightly as he gingerly slid to the edge of his bed. As comfortable as it was and as sore as he was, they were still at war, and if any more blood rushed to Sumia’s head he was afraid that she would faint.

“Now, and perhaps more importantly; do you know where my pants are?” he asked, realizing he was still sitting in his smallclothes.

*

Robin and Sumia both hobbled together through the halls of Duke Themis’ villa, headed to where Sumia was sure that Chrom and the Duke had set up their operations centre. They had both dressed in the hospital and were both wearing their regular clothes; Robin his coat and plain cream travelling shirt, and Sumia her freshly-mended purple riding suit, the sleeveless top and short skirt doing very little to hide the bandages still wrapped around the woman.

The villa was quiet, and they saw no signs of anyone else in the back rooms that the hospital had been set up in until they found the main hall. Much of the damage to the hall remained, but the doors and windows had been hastily repaired, and now the Shepherds seemed to have moved in to the two front rooms.

“Hey, he’s alive!” Vaike called as he saw the two approaching.

“Of course I’m alive,” Robin said as the others rushed to greet them. “Alive and hungry. Somebody feed me.”

The next half hour proceeded to blur as Robin stuffed his face with whatever came within arm’s reach. Once he was satisfied after eating for the first time in days, he started to pay attention to the conversation again. Apparently Chrom and the Duke were taking turns leading scouting parties to the Ylissean/Plegian border looking for signs of the band that had kidnapped Maribelle. Robin also gathered that the Prince was still wounded, and depending on how bad decided he wouldn’t hesitate to wrestle Chrom back into a sick-bed. Frederick had been put in charge of the cleaning and repair of Themis, alongside the Duke’s vassal Roark, who he had yet to meet.

Plegia had so far been silent on the matter of Maribelle’s kidnap, even going so far as to recall it’s negotiators under the pretence of ‘changing conditions in the homeland’. Robin just assumed that they knew they had a stronger bargaining chip now.

“It’s a right pain in the arse,” Vaike sighed after Lissa and Virion had finished explaining the situation. “Captain’s too afraid to stop now that we’re on the offensive, but the Exalt’s worried for Maribelle’s safety if we hit Plegia’s borders.”

Virion let out a mock gasp at Vaike’s words.

“I do not believe my ears,” the archer said, pretending to be shocked. “Did our Vaike just adequately convey a complicated situation in a single sentence?”

“I think he did,” Lon’qu added with a nod.

“I’m so proud of you, Vaike!” Lissa cheered.

“Aw shove it the lotta ya,” Vaike shouted, crossing his arms and causing the entire room to burst into laughter.

All of the Shepherds minus Chrom and Frederick were present, sitting around the room that Virion had been forced to try to hold alone during the siege, the only room that the Duke’s servants hadn’t been bothered repairing. Robin had to admit, the holes in the walls around the window were at least letting in a nice breeze, and spirits were still high. Well, everyone’s spirits except for Vaike, who was currently grumbling to himself and shooting half the room dirty looks.   

“Has anyone considered sending in a small infiltration team?” Robin asked as the laughter finally died down, chin firmly in his hand.

Lissa shook her head. “It was the first plan Chrom and the Duke came up with, but Emm expressly forbade it.”

Robin groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s going to have to accept that this is a war at some point and that she’s making my life very, very difficult here.”

“She values peace above all else,” Stahl said with a shrug. “You didn’t see what it was like after the last war; what she had to clean up. Well, at least you can’t remember if you saw it.”

“And what are the warriors to do when there’s no fighting to be had?” Chrom asked, entering the room with Frederick in tow.

“Sit around and tease the Vaike, apparently,” Robin heard the man mutter from the side, earning a few more snorts of laughter.

“It’s good to see you’re both up and about,” Chrom said to Robin and Sumia, sitting down next to them as Frederick stood at his shoulder like a glowering, perfectly presented gargoyle. “Are you sure you’re ready to be moving around again?”

“I’m fine,” Robin said dismissively, waving a hand. “I’m more worried about the tactical corner the Exalt is backing us into. If we wait any longer, we’ll be back on the defensive. I can work with defensive, but I’d prefer to keep the offensive.”

Chrom shook his head.

“That’s what I came here to talk to you all about. King Gangrel of Plegia himself has suggested a peace negotiation right on the border; just him and Emm, face to face, without any more negotiators. She’s already on her way here with Cullen and the majority of the Ylissean army, and will most likely arrive by nightfall.”

Everybody was silent at this revelation.

“It’s a trap,” Robin said after a moment, breaking the silence. “After everything I’ve seen of this man’s tactics, I have no doubt that this is a trap.”

“I’m fully expecting a trap,” Chrom sighed, rubbing his temples. “That’s why I’m telling everyone. We’re going as Emmeryn’s honour guard.”

“Us?” Sully asked incredulously. “Why not the actual honour guard?”

“It’s part of the truce agreement,” Chrom explained. “No ‘official’ military units; technically we fall outside the jurisdiction of the Ylissean military proper. Besides which, I don’t trust Gangrel as far as I can throw him, and I’ll be damned if Emm is facing that crazy bastard alone.”

“We’re with ya, Cap,” Vaike said, the others all nodding agreement.

Chrom smiled, looking around.

“I knew I could count on all of you.”

After this the small impromptu meeting wrapped up pretty quickly, with plans to march to the border with Emmeryn the next day. All they could do in the interim was relax, spend more time with the healers and prepare however else they deemed necessary.

Lissa led Robin to a small room upstairs, explaining that Chrom had set it aside specifically for him while they were in Themis. Robin thanked her, honestly grateful for the solitude having his own space would provide. He found his things piled on the desk next to the bed, having been moved from the hospital room, and instantly set about making sure everything was still there.

Opening his pouch he emptied the contents unceremoniously on the desk top, sighing in irritation as the loose papers fluttered to the floor. Robin looked quizzically at the charred stuffed rabbit toy he had found, shrugging and setting it to one corner of the desk where it sat, almost as if watching him work. The thought forced a small smile to his face.

Robin sighed again as he began leafing through his notes listlessly, not quite feeling up to working again yet. The book Sumia gave him caught his eye, sitting separately from the other items on the edge of the desk, its cheap black binding enticing him with the promise of a few hours of escape.

“Oh, what the hell,” Robin muttered, setting down the notes and picking up the book. “Nothing could be worse than reading those notes again…”

*

Robin jumped as he heard light knocking on his door. He had been so engrossed in reading the book Sumia had given him and lost track of time; it was actually better than he thought it would be. And of course it was just starting to get good…

_When did I light that candle?_ He thought quizzically as he sat up, noticing it was dark outside.

“Robin?” Sumia asked, cracking the door and peeking in. “Dinner’s ready and Chrom sent me to… were you reading the book I gave you?”

Robin nodded as he stood, stretching his stiff neck muscles with a satisfied groan.

“Yeah, it’s actually pretty damn entertaining,” he admitted. “I gotta admit that you have better taste than I pegged you for, Sumia. Thanks.”

Robin’s little off-hand compliment saw Sumia beaming the entire way to the dining hall and then all through dinner. At one point Chrom looked over at Robin quizzically as the woman practically sang and danced while she was cleaning up. Robin shrugged, pretending to have no idea what was going on.

*

The next day came far too quickly for Robin’s liking, and not just because he was up half the night reading. Vaike had found him in the morning with his candle burnt-out, lying awkwardly with the book resting on his face, and now his neck was sore again. Doing his best to ignore the various lingering aches and pains in his muscles he had fallen in with the others as they were preparing to march.

Sumia stretched, bouncing lightly on her toes as she prepared for the day’s travel. Lissa and the other local healers had worked nothing short of a miracle to get the woman battle-ready for the day, but Robin had still drafted plans that saw her in support roles all the same. Her pegasus never moved far from her side; apparently the animal, while escaping injury itself, was as concerned as Robin for its rider.

Roark and a Ylissean Captain named Hugo would hold at Themis, ready to march with all of the troops of Themis and Ylisstol at a moment’s notice. Hugo, sent by Cullen himself, was a short man with a barrel chest, wearing thick plates of armour of the same blue as the late afternoon sky. His thick, bushy beard hung down over it, and Robin had to stifle a giggle at the way every time the man barked out orders they seemed to simply appear from within the beard, rather than his mouth.

“Don’t worry, milord, we’ll be ready to back you up at a moment’s notice,” Hugo promised Chrom as they and Robin walked out from the Duke’s villa, which had quickly become the base of operations in the ruined city.

“I know, Captain,” Chrom said. “I am trusting you and your men with my life, as is the Exalt.”

“We won’t let you down, sire!” Hugo half-shouted, snapping to a smart salute before beelining for the other waiting officers, men that would be in charge of the various infantry platoons for the duration of the negotiation.

“He seems eager,” Robin commented as he and Chrom made for where the Shepherds were waiting, closer to the city.

“The eyes of the Knight Commander, not to mention the Exalt herself, are on this city right now,” Chrom explained. “This is an important post for him.”

“Should I be a little more tense, then, too?” Robin asked curiously.

“I wouldn’t bother,” Chrom laughed. “I think your calm is what’s keeping the rest of us from panicking.”

“Oh, right, good; so no pressure, then,” Robin said sarcastically.

Chrom laughed again as they reached the periphery of the Shepherd group, a few of the closer soldiers glancing up at their arrival. Robin and Chrom both hesitated, noticing the young mage Ricken trying to be inconspicuous at the back of the group at the same time, and with a resigned sigh on Chrom’s part, they walked over to him.

“Ricken, do you remember what I said when we got to Themis?” Chrom asked.

“Yes,” Ricken said dejectedly, looking down.

“It’s for your own good,” Robin told the boy, placing a hand on his shoulder in what the Tactician hoped was a comforting gesture. “It’s not as fun as Sully and Vaike make it sound; trust me.”

Ricken nodded, and Robin returned to where Chrom was giving the final instructions to the Captains that would be holding Themis. Robin looked over his shoulder to check on Ricken, but the young mage had disappeared already.

“I feel bad for leaving the little guy behind,” Robin commented to Chrom.

“You’re the one that said it was for his own good,” Chrom said. “He’s only fifteen; he should be back at Ylisstol studying. I’m not comfortable having him even this close to the front lines.”

“Is that what this has become, now? The front lines?” the tactician asked in a resigned tone.

“Look around you, Robin; it’s time for all of us to accept what’s happened,” Chrom said, shooting a meaningful look at his sister.

*

The Shepherds, along with Emmeryn, Duke Themis, Phila and Cullen set out for the border at dawn, moving at a brisk pace. Emmeryn rode with Cullen, flanked by Frederick and Duke Themis. Sully and Stahl took up the rear, with Phila and Sumia flying overhead and the rest of the Shepherds marching in the middle.

As they drew closer to the mountain range that separated the two nations Robin noticed the scrub growing thinner and dryer, and the general green-feeling that the parts of Ylisse that Robin had seen had was becoming absent, too; even the air itself was growing more arid. These sights and even the feeling of the drier air stirred something in Robin, a memory lying just out of his grasp. He was so focused on trying to recall the memory that he walked straight into Chrom, not realizing that the man had stopped.

“Sorry,” the tactician apologized bashfully.

Chrom just smirked over his shoulder, leaving Robin realizing everyone was either grinning or snickering at him. Except Frederick; Frederick was back to glaring at him, as always. Emmeryn was still smiling as she dismounted, helped by Chrom, her light boots making small puffs of dust as they hit the dry earth beneath her horse.

_How long was I out of it for?_ Robin wondered, scratching his cheek absently.

Sumia and Phila both landed in much larger clouds of dust and brought their pegasi close to where the Shepherds were walking at a trot, the winged creatures far less graceful on the ground than in the air. Emmeryn had insisted on no scouting past the Ylissean side of the border, against both Chrom and Robin’s counsel, but her word was law. Robin would have at least liked someone to have skirted the border, but Emmeryn had expressly forbid it.

The Ylisseans, and whatever Robin was, came out onto a flat and open expanse on the road across the mountains where a small fort had been constructed to offer a base for ‘border control’ by the Plegians, which looked deserted from this distance. The hard-packed dry earth had small shrubs and plants sticking out of it at oddly spaced intervals, and small dust clouds were being kicked up with every step they took. The road kept going uphill and eventually disappeared over the lip of the mountain, but that was supposedly Plegian territory; although who decided that kind of thing Robin had no idea.

As clichéd as it sounded, Robin was uncomfortable; it was too quiet. The Plegians were supposed to have been here already, and that they weren’t was making Robin a little edgy.

“It’s too quiet,” Chrom muttered, echoing the tactician’s thoughts.

_Damn_. _I always wanted to say that. Wait, since when? Urgh. Forget it. All this memory crap is starting to give me a headache._

“Ambush?” Robin muttered back instead, gritting his teeth against the lost opportunity.

Chrom shrugged, looking around the area. “Probably.”

They continued up the road, and up the mountain, until they were in a shallow valley just past the fort. Robin was just about to suggest they stop and take a break when someone began shouting at them from above.

“What’s this, then? The Exalt herself, in all her radiance!?”

“Ambush,” Chrom muttered under his breath, hand going to his sword.

The man shouting at them stood with a woman atop a small rise; he was slight, but the slight of a practiced swordsman, wearing dignified yellow and black clothes with a pronounced black-furred ruff around his neck and a red cape billowing in the dry wind. Over top of his neat red hair was sitting a golden crown.

The Plegian King, Gangrel, had been true to his word.

“I fear I must shield my eyes!” he went on, before cackling like a madman.

“King Gangrel,” Emmeryn greeted, stepping forward and performing a courtly bow. “I have come to negotiate the cessation of hostilities between our nations, and for the truth behind the wanton attack on Themis.”

“You want the truth?” the woman behind Gangrel purred, stepping forward. “I can give you the truth…”

Something instantly struck Robin about the woman, hitting him with the strongest sense of nostalgia yet; almost like before when he had been trying to force the memory that had eluded him. She was wearing... Well, if Robin were to be completely honest, she was barely wearing anything at all; a tight black skirt and an even tighter black blouse, slit down the middle to show off her ample… endowments and pristine flesh the colour of the light earth around them. Her white hair was held up by a delicate looking black headdress.

“Perhaps milady may first share her name?” Emmeryn prompted, still all smiles and calm.

The woman chuckled, before bowing in what was an undoubtedly mocking manner.

“You may call me Aversa.”

_That name is way too familiar. I’m going to have to remember it._

Aversa’s eyes scanned the Shepherds before they stopped on Robin. As their eyes met, hers widened slightly in surprise, before a feral hunter’s smile stretched across her lips. Robin simply crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow. Obviously she was someone who was at least acquainted with him. Not that they would get a chance to talk any time soon, what with being on opposing sides of a brewing war.

“Very well, Aversa,” Emmeryn continued. “I trust that Lady Maribelle is unharmed?”

“Who? Ah, right, the blonde tart,” Gangrel said dismissively, waving to someone behind him.

As the Plegian soldier restraining Maribelle dragged her forward Robin could actually hear Duke Themis growling under his breath. She looked unharmed, but was covered in dirt and dried blood, and was limping slightly as she was brought forward to stand unsteadily by the King and Aversa. Robin could even see the swelling on the left side of her face from his position meters away, doing away with the notion of her being ‘unharmed’. Fortunately it didn’t appear that she was ‘seriously’ harmed.

The others all gasped at her appearance as Robin’s thoughts escaped him again.

“I swear by Naga I will gut that man like a fish,” the Duke growled under his breath from the rear of the group.

“Unhand me you gutter-born troglodytes!” Maribelle shouted, suddenly full of energy with her friends and liege’s eyes on her, struggling at her bonds.

At least she still had some fight in her, Robin mused as his opinion of the girl rose slightly.

“Does she even know what that word means?” Virion muttered at Robin’s shoulder.

“I don’t,” Vaike shrugged.

“You don’t say,” Lon’qu muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Maribelle!” Lissa called out, concern for her friend overriding the thought of the tense political situation they were in.

“Lissa, darling, is that you!?” Maribelle called back, astonished eyes falling on the Shepherds. “What in heaven’s name are you doing here!?”

At a nod from Gangrel the soldier stuffed a rag in her mouth and dragged her back. Duke Themis actually took a few steps forward, sword in his hand, before Chrom stopped him.

“This girl crossed the Plegian border without proper consent. What’s more, she wounded the brave Plegian soldiers who only sought to return her safely home,” Aversa said in a sickly sweet voice, fake concern dripping from her words.

“Liar!” Duke Themis thundered, pointing at the woman with his naked blade. “You speak nothing but lies, hag!”

“Ah?” Aversa chuckled, still smiling. “I see. No manners in the entire family, it would seem.”

“Such violent temper speaks of her guilt as a spy,” Gangrel said gleefully. “This calls for a weighty punishment and considerable reparations from our neighbours of Ylisse.”

“You raze my city, invade my nation and hold my daughter for ransom,” Themis shouted, “And still have the gall to demand reparation!? We have done nothing wrong!”

Maribelle continued to struggle against her bonds, earning a hard shove from the soldier holding her captive. Robin didn’t need a lot of memories to tell that tensions were at boiling point and the situation was deteriorating fast.

“Peace, Duke Themis,” Emmeryn said, holding her hand up in a calming gesture as she shouted above the clamour. “I believe you.”

In her most regal voice, which Robin had to admit was pretty impressive, Emmeryn called out “King Gangrel I request you release this woman at once. Surely you and I can come to terms of peace without the use of hostages.”

_So there is to be no pussy-footing around the issues? Well, good,_ Robin thought with satisfaction as his own hand slipped unconsciously towards his sword’s hilt. He hadn’t been in the mood to listen to diplomatic prattle all afternoon anyway.

“Without so much as an apology?” Gangrel asked, a strange gleam in his eye as he feigned hurt. “Why should I even parley with you? This is Plegian soil! I’m well within my right to have her head on a pike and be home in time for supper!”

This time Chrom beat Themis to the punch, obviously snapping at the King’s disrespect.

“You black-hearted whoreson wretch!” Chrom shouted, drawing Falchion.

_And this is the part where it all goes to hell,_ Robin thought with a resigned shrug as he and the others Shepherds all drew their own weapons.

Gangrel was smiling. He had backed them into a corner and he knew it.

“Control your dog, Exalt, before someone gets hurt,” he said in a low, dangerous voice.

Chrom growled audibly as Emmeryn shot him a look. With obvious distaste he stepped back, lowering the longsword in his grip as Gangrel cackled like a maniac.

“Good, good! Now perhaps we might organize a trade? I had over your precious blonde whore, and you give me the Fire Emblem!” the foreign King announced.

There was a small collective gasp from the Shepherds at the man’s demand; even Emmeryn looked slightly confused by this. Robin was confused, too, but only because he had no idea what they were talking about.

“Why would you want Ylisse’s royal treasure?” Emmeryn asked in lieu of an answer.

“What does it matter!?” Gangrel roared, his eyes wide as he drew his own sword. “I will have it, and in return you can have your subject back!”

The soldier holding Maribelle shoved her hard and she fell to her knees next to the King, the rag gagging her falling out, who held his sword to her neck.

“Or perhaps I should place her head on that pike after all!?” Gangrel went on, lowering his weapon to Maribelle’s throat.

“He’s utterly mad,” Chrom muttered in shock.

Maribelle glared up at him defiantly, but even from this distance Robin could see the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes and the trembling of her lower lip.

“The purpose of the Emblem is to save the world in the hour of direst need, King Gangrel,” Emmeryn said, her voice becoming tight and clipped. “Would you claim such a noble wish?”

“Why your Gracliness,” Gangrel chided, his agitation growing. “I want what every Plegian wants: a grisly end to all Ylisseans!”

Gangrel practically doubled over in insane laughter, and Robin saw the fear growing in Maribelle’s eyes as, for the first time since he had met the noblewoman, she looked to be human. He also saw… Gods, was that _Ricken_ on the cliff above Gangrel!? No one else seemed aware of the boy’s entrance, so Robin tried not to give his position away by looking directly at him, already adjusting and creating new plans on the fly.

Emmeryn looked shocked by Gangrel’s confession, her composure finally starting to slip. “What?”

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten what the last Exalt, your father, did to us in Plegia,” Gangrel mocked. “He and the Ylissean knights rode through our country, slaughtering, pillaging, raping and murdering, all because we had a different faith; because he named us heathens to your faith!”

“I have never denied Ylisse’s past wrongdoings, but have sworn to never repeat those past mistakes. Gangrel, please; together we can make this a realm of peace.” Emmeryn pleaded.

“You live in a realm of hypocrisy and blind lies!” Gangrel frothed, jumping up and down, his sword nicking Maribelle’s neck. “Now give me the Emblem!”

“No, your Grace!” Maribelle shouted, her voice breaking. “I would sooner die than be a bargaining chip for this madman!”

“Urgh! Talk talk talk talk talk talk,” Gangrel cackled. “It’s time we made action! The negotiations are over, your Luminosity! I will have the Fire Emblem if I must pry it from your cold dead hands!”

Plegian soldiers appeared from over the rise, marching in time as great reptilian Wyverns swooped in low overhead, their riders wielding wicked looking polearms and lances, black armour glinting in the afternoon sun.

“They were waiting for us,” Robin muttered, sifting through strategies in his mind. “This was never a peace summit; it was always designed to get us in one place.”

“This is an act of war!” Cullen warned, speaking for the first time as he moved his horse to shield Emmeryn.

“Then it is to be war!” Gangrel snarled, raising his sword to strike Maribelle’s head from her shoulders.

Before the blow could land, a gust of green-tinged magical wind bowled over the King, Aversa and the soldier that was standing with them. Maribelle, being closer to the ground, simply tumbled to her side, landing hard and crying out as her shoulder hit the hard dirt.

“Move!” Ricken shouted, sliding down the cliff side to Maribelle, breaking her bonds with a quick fire spell and dragging her to her feet. “C’mon, Lady Maribelle, we have to move!”

The two ran as quickly as they could ahead of the encroaching Plegian forces to the astonished looking Shepherds. Maribelle stumbled, but Ricken caught her and the diminutive boy half-carried her the rest of the way to safety.

“Ricken?” Chrom asked in surprise as they reached the group. “I thought I told you…”

“Later!” Robin interrupted. “Kellam, Frederick, Sully, Stahl. You, me, Chrom and the Duke will form a line. Cullen, Phila, Sumia. Get the Exalt out of here and send the army. Virion, Miriel, Ricken. Take out those bloody wyverns! Lon’qu and Vaike, strike whenever you see an opening. Lissa, do what you can for Maribelle’s wounds. We’ll retreat as we fight! No unnecessary risks; put as much space between us and them as possible!”

Everyone began moving, the Shepherds forming ranks while the commanders and Sumia, with a worried glance over the latter’s shoulder, charged off in the opposite direction. Duke Themis, too, cast his daughter a worried glance as he moved into line with the Shepherds, but shook his head and focused wholly on the field before him.

“Is it too soon to say ‘I told you so’?” Robin asked Chrom, eyeballing the encroaching Plegians as they stood together in the line. “Because I told you so.”

“You’re a bright lad, tactician,” Themis said from Robin’s other shoulder. “But no one like’s a sore winner.”

Chrom chuckled darkly, readying his sword. Robin just grinned, shaking his head a little as he studied the enemy’s forces.

Gangrel and Aversa were nowhere in sight, having disappeared behind the wall of black armour. Robin couldn’t see their exact numbers, but the Plegians just kept coming in an endless, inexorable tide. The only reason they were still alive at all was that the Plegian commander seemed to want to take his time and savour the victory. The Shepherds backpedalled quickly, eager to get back to the road where they could lose the enemy in the light forest on the side of the mountain, but Maribelle stumbled regularly, hampering their progress as Lissa practically dragged her friend along.

The wyverns began to fall from the sky, peppered by Virion’s arrows or dropped by magic. Ricken’s wind magic was proving exceedingly effective against the airborne foes, bending wings and knocking the reptiles out of the sky, something that Miriel took note of; the woman was more proficient with fire magic, but as Robin watched she showed a passable skill with wind, too, adapting her casting to exploit the wyvern-riders weakness.

The front Plegian ranks began to charge, and broke against the knights at the front of the Shepherds, Kellam standing firm in the centre of the line, flanked by Robin and Chrom. Frederick and Sully used the reach of their lances and higher positions to maximum effect, dropping Plegians before they could even get close as Stahl swung his sword in a tight figure-eight. Next to Robin Themis snarled, lashing out with skill that spoke of decades of training and fighting. Robin swayed left to avoid a spear being thrust by one of the soldiers, and stabbed out with his sword at the man behind him as Lon’qu took the spear-wielding man in the throat with a perfectly timed lunge.

The Shepherds continued to back up, Lissa half carrying Maribelle, and before long they hit the edge of the plateau and the start of the road.

“New formation!” Robin shouted over the din of battle, hacking away at a Plegian bandit who got too close. “Kellam and Frederick, block the road! Leapfrog with Sully and Stahl every five meters! Vaike, Chrom, Lon’qu, Themis, watch their retreats! Everyone else, keep up the pressure!”

They proceeded like this down the mountain, the knights and Kellam forming a moving wall of armour while the others watched their retreats and harried the Plegians, Robin switching to his spellbook and using small spells to take out individual enemies.

“Miriel, Ricken!” Robin called out as the road began to widen at the base of the mountain. “On three we hit them with everything we’ve got! Open up as much space as possible! Then we all make a break for the woods! Vaike, take Lissa and Maribelle and go now! We’ll catch up!”

_Where the hell is the army?_ Robin thought, looking around at the empty lowlands. They should have at least been unmistakable in the distance by now. Wait… There, on the road! A small plume of dust was closing the distance fast.

“Hold on!” Robin called to the other mages as he saw a pegasus in the sky coming closer.

Sumia landed her pegasus hard, panting.

“Themis has fallen!” she shouted without preamble. “Captain Hugo is dead and Roark is coming with every soldier he can spare, but it will be a delaying tactic at best so that the Prince and Duke can escape! Cullen and Phila are already en route to the Capital with the Exalt!”

Robin nodded grimly. At least Emmeryn was safe.

“No!” Maribelle cried out at the news, falling to her knees in Lissa’s grip.

“Monsters!” Duke Themis roared, brandishing his sword at the encroaching Plegians.

“Can your pegasus carry Maribelle and Lissa?” Robin asked Sumia.

“I think so, but not far,” she gulped.

Robin motioned the two girls over, and with the three women crowding onto the pegasus Sumia was off again, flying low. Maribelle was shell-shocked now, her eyes wide and vacant even as Lissa did her best to soothe her friend’s pain.

“Prepare to disengage!” Robin shouted as the knights from Themis drew closer. “Reassume the earlier position!”

The Shepherds formed a line again, minus Robin this time, as he, Miriel and a shaking Ricken began readying the most powerful spells they knew.

_If ever I needed the ‘Hammer of the Gods’,_ Robin thought, working through the hand motions for his Mjlonir spell, _it’s now. It’s going to be fun finding out what this spell does._

Dark clouds began to gather, centralized over the Plegian lines as Robin crackled with magical electricity, eyes glowing white with excess mana. Ricken stared distractedly at the man and lost grip of his own spell, hastily focusing and reigning it back in. Miriel was engrossed in her own spellwork, but still cast a glance at Robin.

At Robin’s count of three they let loose, Miriel shooting a jet of flame across the front of the Plegian ranks, charring armour and forcing them back. Ricken’s green tornado picked up and threw Plegian soldiers as more backpedalled, but Ricken was spent afterwards and collapsed, gasping and shaking. Robin’s Mjlonir was truly devastating, though; with a flash and a sound like a hammer on an anvil, a rain of lightning bolts descended from the black clouds above the Plegians, striking indiscriminately, before a giant hammer-shaped blast impacted in the middle of the Plegian ranks, throwing up men and annihilating those caught directly in the blast. Robin sagged as the spell dissipated, exhausted. They had cleared a good twenty meters between them and the Plegians, who were now looking much warier about charging again.

Before the Plegians could make up their minds, Roark and thirty-odd knights were closing in on them.

“For Themis! For Ylisse! Give no quarter!” he shouted as the white-armoured knights from Themis ploughed into the Plegian ranks. Robin was sad to see that five of Frederick’s sky blue-armoured knights were among them.

“Retreat!” Robin called hoarsely. “Into the woods! Make for Ylisse! Retreat!”

The first official battle in the war against Plegia was over for the Shepherds.

And they had lost.


	9. Chapter 9

Robin stumbled, losing his footing on a tree root and falling flat on his face with a yelp. The Shepherds had been walking through the woods with little rest for nearly three days since their defeat at Themis, trying to get back to Ylisstol without using any of the main roads. They were all exhausted; even the horses refused to bear riders any more. They couldn’t risk being spotted by making a campfire, so they ate whatever fruits and nuts that they could forage, something thankfully simple to accomplish in the abundant Ylissean countryside.

Many times had they been forced to hide under thick foliage to avoid the airborne Plegian wyvern riders passing overhead; something that had thankfully become less frequent as time had gone on and they had gotten safely further and further from Themis.

Twice now they had passed farms that Plegians had razed to the ground in their search for the Shepherds and twice now Robin and Frederick had needed to physically restrain Chrom from going and getting himself killed by hunting for the bandits. Signs of the Plegians were everywhere; abandoned campsites and discarded refuse dotted the thick forest. Robin was concerned by the sheer numbers the signs pointed to; obviously King Gangrel had been planning this invasion for quite some time.

Vaike stumbled over to Robin, the normally jovial man wordlessly helping the tactician to his feet before trudging on with a light slap on the shoulder, a wordless form of encouragement that actually made Robin feel a little better. They were all in this together; when one fell down another picked them back up. It was a comforting thought.

Fortunately it seemed like Sumia, with her cargo of Maribelle and Lissa on her lone pegasus had managed to evade capture and escape ahead of them. Robin thanked the gods for small mercies.

Stahl, Frederick and Sully were moving slowly and leading their exhausted horses by the reigns, not used to prolonged marches on foot. Frederick was faring best out of the three knights, being almost fanatical in his fitness regime, but was obviously as exhausted as the rest. Duke Themis, too, wasn’t faring well; the city of Themis and its surrounds were well known for producing some of the best horses and cavalry in Ylisse, so it was no surprise that the older cavalier was having trouble hiking through the thick forest.

Vaike alternated between supporting Miriel as they marched and limping ahead with Lon’qu to scout their path, the stoic swordsman doing by far the best out of the group, having been brought up in the harsh frozen forests of Regna Ferox.

Virion somehow kept pace, the dandy man showing impressive reserves of strength. He had even stopped complaining after the first day, due in no small part to Sully threatening to use her lance to pin him to a tree as a sacrifice to the forest spirits if he didn’t shut up.

Robin was far too tired to look for Kellam; a task that was difficult given the best circumstances. He just had to hope that the enigmatic soldier was keeping up in his heavy armour.

Ricken stumbled along, somehow managing to match their pace. The mage had collapsed the day before, and Frederick had coerced his mount into carrying the lighter boy for a time while he regained his strength.

Chrom had been silent for the entire march, besides the two instances where he had tried to confront overwhelming Plegian forces. He wasn’t taking the retreat or foreign occupation well.

Robin sighed. Hopefully they would make it to Ylisstol soon, and be able to move on in recapturing the ground they had been forced to give up.

*

The next day preceded much as the last one had; endless hours of walking, falling, getting back up and walking some more. Everyone was nearing their limit. Miriel and Ricken had been reduced to riding the knights’ mounts, the mages nowhere near fit enough after a lifetime spent studying magic rather than training. Everyone else simply trudged along in near silence, Robin and Chrom at the head of the group. The tactician looked up, tensing, as a shadow passed overhead, ready to call for the Shepherds to scatter and hide from another flight of wyvern riders, but he relaxed as his tired eyes recognized the shape of a pegasus, followed by at least nine more. The beasts circled for a few moments, and the more spirited Shepherds began laughing and shouting, waving their arms above their heads in greeting to the airborne knights as they descended.

“Prince Chrom!” their leader called, landing in amongst the Shepherds. “Milord! Where are you?”

“Here,” Chrom grunted, pushing himself forward.

Five of the other pegasus knights landed skilfully among the trees, the remaining four flying reconnaissance in an expanding circle around the Shepherds on the ground; a smart plan, Robin noted with satisfaction.

“My name is Capitan Erin and I’m here as your rescue party,” the older-looking pegasus rider said urgently.

It wasn’t until Robin noticed the stunning flame-haired pegasus rider from his first day in Ylisstol that the fact that these were the same veteran warriors he’d seen at the palace. Robin breathed a sigh of relief as everyone else sagged the same way.

Quickly they began organizing who would be evacuated and who would continue to march with the horses. Robin and Frederick had to force Chrom to acquiesce to being taken back by pegasus, while Duke Themis merely nodded silently and moved to the woman that would bear him safely to the capital. Robin was surprised to find that he, too, was going to be flown out; by the red-headed knight, no less. Ricken and Miriel were the others that would be evacuated, while Lon’qu and Vaike volunteered to remain with the knights. Virion, too, which had surprised Robin. Kellam spoke up that he would walk, as well, which made Robin jump out of his skin, much to everyone else’s humour. At least spirits were starting to rise again.

The exhausted tactician stumbled over to where the red-haired knight was waiting for him after ensuring that Miriel and Ricken would be okay for the return journey. Miriel had cast a very strange glance toward Vaike once his back was turned; strange even for the eccentric mage-woman. Ricken just about passed out as soon as he was on the pegasus, the knight bearing him laughing a little and moving to sit him in front of her rather than behind.

“Are you ready to go?” the red-head asked.

“I am,” Robin answered wearily, taking one last look around at the others.

The other six knights would accompany the remaining Shepherds back to Ylisstol, which was only one more day away by land. They had brought special rejuvenating tonics for the Shepherds to ease the progress, and proper food for the horses. Robin nodded, satisfied that there was nothing else he could do as Chrom mounted up behind Captain Erin. The woman kicked her pegasus into the sky and was reduced to a dot on the horizon in a matter of moments.

“Good,” the red-headed knight said with a smile that instantly reinvigorated Robin. “My name is Cordelia; have you ever ridden a pegasus before?”

“Yes, numerous times,” Robin said without thinking.

“Then hop on and hold tight; I’ll be flying fast and high, so you don’t want to fall off.”

Robin did as he was told, blushing slightly as he took hold of Cordelia’s waist. With a kick they were in the air, soaring much faster and higher than Robin ever had before. The wind whistling in his ears made conversation impossible, and Robin had to fight to keep his tired mind focussed on things besides the lithe beauty he was clinging to for dear life.

_Ah, death by falling. There’s a great distraction,_ Robin thought sarcastically to himself.

It was going to be a long flight, Robin realised as Cordelia’s lightly armoured form ground against his chest as she steered her mount higher.

*

When they touched down in the pegasus roost of Ylisstol’s palace a few hours later, Robin practically fell of the pegasus, trying in vain to push his wind-swept hair back forward. As it stood, he felt like he showed far too much forehead.

“That’s a good look for you,” Chrom joked weakly as he steadied his friend. “Very dignified.”

“Sure,” Robin groaned, stretching out his back. “Can I go and sleep now? Or perhaps I’ll just pass out here. That pile of hay looks comfortable. So does the floor.”

Chrom chuckled, a light smile breaking through the stormclouds in his face.

“Of course; we could all use some rest. Cordelia, could you carry Robin to his room?” The Prince asked.

Robin instantly shot to attention, blushing heavily. “I’m more than capable of walking there myself, Chrom.”

“Ooh, so shy,” Chrom laughed, poking at Robin’s shoulder. “I’ll remember this is your weakness next time I want something from you. But all the same, I’d feel better if Cordelia escorted you. In case you actually do pass out again.”

“Fine,” Robin grumbled, doing his best to walk upright, a stone-faced Cordelia in tow.

The walk to the barracks was a blur; as soon as Robin left the roost he felt his strength wane, and he was sure that on multiple occasions Cordelia had needed to steady him before he fell. Before long Robin came to his senses, just outside the Shepherds’ barracks, one arm slung over Cordelia’s shoulder as she practically dragged him to the building.

“Sorry,” he muttered, successfully managing to put his weight back on his own feet without collapsing. “I’ll be fine from here.”

“My lord bid me return you to the barracks,” Cordelia said in a manner very akin to Frederick’s. “And that is what I shall do.”

“Well, if you insist,” Robin muttered, leaning back on the woman’s deceptively strong frame. “I appreciate it.”

Robin barely noticed when Lissa and Maribelle came running out to help carry him. He vowed not to pass out this time, though, and clung to consciousness like a drowning man to driftwood.

“Robin! When did you get back?” Lissa asked, taking his free arm over her shoulder, carrying him inside with Cordelia and depositing him in the chair it was hardest to fall out of.

Maribelle was already preparing a medicinal tea of some sort. It smelled horrible, but Robin surmised that that was how he knew it would work. With Robin safely out of danger of falling down, Cordelia said her quick farewells, merely a formality to the noble-born Maribelle and Princess Lissa, and left. A sight Robin wasn’t ashamed to admit was just as pleasing as when she was walking towards them…

Robin shook his head, forcing down some of Maribelle’s tea. It _was_ terrible, but with just one sip he could feel his strength returning. Sumia chose that moment to come in from the stables, still favouring her wounded side.

“Robin!” she asked in surprise. “What are you… where are the others?”

“Don’t worry,” Robin said, leaning back and smiling tiredly. “They’re fine. Chrom, Ricken and Miriel are still at the palace with Duke Themis. The others are only about a day away, and they’re surrounded by pegasus knights now, so they’re out of danger, too.”

“Oh, Naga be praised,” Sumia sighed in relief.

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, too,” Robin said, glancing at the unusually quiet Maribelle.

“Yes,” she answered, looking sheepish for a brief second; a look Robin never thought to associate with her. “Exalt Emmeryn insisted I get the finest healing in all of Ylisstol; and with no one else here in dire need, the process was expedited immensely. You said my father was safe?”

“I did indeed,” Robin said, draining his cup.

“Very good, then,” Maribelle nodded, pouring him another cup.

“Yeah, you’re welcome for the rescue by the way,” Robin teased lightly, sipping his fresh cup.

“Am I not serving you tea like a common waitress?” Maribelle snapped, her usual venomous tone somewhat muted by the small smile quirking the corners of her mouth.

“Of course, my lady, thank you, my lady,” Robin joked, laughing and bowing slightly before draining his second cup.

The tea really had worked quickly; he already felt like he had the strength to resume working on strategies before the others got back and-

“Oh no you don’t,” Lissa said, grabbing his arm and dragging him towards his room. “You’re way too easy to read when you’re tired; you’re going to rest for at least eight hours and then eat a decent meal, mister. No strategy books for you. That’s an order from the Princess of Ylisse.”

Robin sighed, chuckling a little. “I suppose there are worse abuses of power…”

*

While Chrom and Duke Themis remained at the palace, Ricken and Miriel had returned to the barracks by the time Robin managed to force his weary muscles out of his cot the next morning. Miriel looked more gaunt and thin than usual, but her colour was returning and she was beginning to talk in those exceedingly long, indecipherable sentences again. Ricken, too, had regained much of his strength, and spent the majority of the morning talking happily with Lissa and Maribelle, and attempting to communicate with Miriel.

Maribelle, for her part, was almost like a different person than the spoiled brat she had presented herself to be when they had first met. She was much kinder, and even spoke to Robin at length about his involvement in the battle that took place in Themis, seemingly concerned for her home. She assisted Lissa with healing magics on Robin and the others, and even assisted with making lunch. It was enough to make Robin’s tired brain spin, so he put off thinking about it.  She still had some of the snark and pomp that had characterized her before; that was simply part of her upbringing as a noble, but she was much more grounded and approachable now.

Much to everyone’s collective relief the rest of the Shepherds returned that evening, all of them in much the same condition Robin had been in the previous day and being supported by their pegasus knight escorts. He and the others all rushed outside to help as soon as they realized what was going on, and with Vaike leaning heavily on his shoulder Robin re-entered the barracks.

“Thanks, bud,” Vaike groaned as Robin set him down on the floor close to where Miriel was setting down Stahl.

Robin grinned and gave the man the same kind of light shoulder-slap he had given him the day before, looking around at the others. All the other Shepherds were set down around the table, and Lissa and Maribelle set about using their staves healing magics. Ricken and Miriel went about making more of Maribelle’s tea that had rejuvenated them the day before, leaving Robin and Sumia standing off to one side, a little out of place.

“I…” Sumia began before trailing off.

“Hrm?”

“I’m worried… about the captain,” she said at length. “He probably hasn’t taken any rest since we returned.”

“Knowing him you’re probably right,” Robin nodded. “Maybe we should go check in on him while things are quiet here.”

“We can handle this,” Ricken chirped as he passed, arms laden with tea cups.

Robin and Sumia looked at each other, and with a shrug Robin led them out of the barracks and into the military ward.

“Wait!” Lissa called, running up to the duo, a small bag in her hand. “Give these to Chrom when you find him; tell him I said they’re a treat for working so hard.”

“That,” Robin said, accepting the bag of sweets and placing them carefully in his pouch, “is quite possible the cutest thing I have ever seen or heard. Ever.”

“You have a month’s worth of memories,” Lissa mumbled, blushing and retreating to the barracks. “Don’t make fun of me for loving my brother. That’s an order from the Princess, too.”

Robin and Sumia shared a light laugh before they began walking to the palace at a leisurely pace; Robin was still wiped-out from their trek through the forest, and Sumia’s wounds had to still be bothering her. They passed through the quieter night streets quickly and before he could gather his thoughts Robin was stepping through the doors into the palace’s Great Hall.

Sumia managed to trip on the top stair of the entry, snapping Robin out of his haze as he rushed to catch her by the elbow before she fell flat on her face, earning an embarrassedly mumbled thank-you and weak assurance that “it was the boots”.

_I have really got to start paying more attention to my surroundings_ Robin thought to himself as they passed through the abandoned hall and into the busier back areas, keeping an eye on Sumia in case she tripped again; something Robin was realizing she was incredibly prone to doing.

Once they got to Chrom’s quarters and realized that they were empty, Robin stood, stroking his chin.

“We should split up to cover more ground,” he said after a moment’s thought. “You go and search the other royal apartments and the war room, I’ll check the grounds; if we know Chrom he’s either planning or training.”

“Right,” Sumia agreed empathetically.

As the pair separated Robin made his way down to the walled palace grounds, making sure to stop by the kitchen and make sure Chrom wasn’t pilfering the larder. The fact that Robin was starving and that the palace’s pastry chef was known and talked about all over Ylisse as the highest authority on desserts was completely irrelevant. Exiting onto the carefully manicured lawn behind the castle while stuffing the last of his third éclair into his mouth, Robin saw Chrom standing under one of the great oak trees near the wall, arms crossed and gazing at nothing.

Wiping his sticky fingers on his jacket, Robin approached. As he got nearer, he heard Chrom let out a deep sigh.

“At last,” Robin remarked drolly, “I’ve found your hiding spot. I understand even the Prince needs a hobby, but isn’t it a little late to be tending the lawns?”

Chrom turned, chuckling.

“I could promote you to head tactician of the royal gardeners if you wanted,” he replied, matching Robin’s tone. “In fact after the war I think I might turn the entirety of the Shepherds into a gardening-force. Sounds a lot more peaceful, right?”

Robin was shocked to admit that, despite his glib tone, the Prince looked like crap; dark circles were under his eyes, and the skin on his face looked pale and sallow, like he hadn’t seen sunlight in days. Well, perhaps not that shocked, considering his penchant for stubbornness coupled with their current situation.

“Have you slept at all since we got back?” Robin asked, plopping down on the ground beneath the tree and next to Chrom, leaning back and supporting himself with his arms back.

“A little,” Chrom conceded, sitting down cross-legged much slower next to Robin. “I will admit; I am beginning to grow exhausted.”

“And here we all just thought that Royals could keep going forever without breaks,” Robin remarked with good natured sarcasm. “My everything hurts, but you’re still going strong.”

“You obviously haven’t seen Emm lately,” Chrom snorted. “I swear she hogged all the genetic political endurance.”

“Like you hogged all the stubborn pig-headedness?” Robin asked.

“Perhaps. I also managed to hog all of the devilish good-looks,” Chrom said, his mouth quirking into a grin.

The two were silent a moment before bursting into laughter.

“Gods I needed a good laugh,” the Prince said as their laughter subsided, wiping a tear from his eye.

“Well, if tactician and gardener don’t work out I guess I could look into a career as court jester. That, and running errands for royals. Here; a gift from your sister,” Robin said, passing Chrom the bag of sweets. “Something about a reward for your thankless hard work and sacrifice for the realm. I dunno, I was too busy making fun of her.”

Chrom sighed, smiling wistfully, before popping one of the sweets into his mouth; a piece of crystalized honey if Robin wasn’t mistaken, before he sunk back into the same reflective look he was wearing when Robin found him.

“Well? Are you going to share?” Robin asked, eyeing the bag.

Chrom laughed again, holding out the bag for Robin. “Are you sure you need this? I can see the crumbs from those éclairs you were sneaking all over your collar.”

“Really? Damn,” Robin muttered, dusting himself off before popping the sweet into his mouth.

“So whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout?” he asked around the candy.

“Honestly?” Chrom asked with a sigh as he leaned back into a similar position as Robin. “I was thinking about what Gangrel said. He may be a crazy warmongering madman, but that doesn’t stop him being right about the war my father perpetrated against Gangrel’s Great Uncle fifteen years ago. I barely remember it, I was so young… It was hellish, though. We had just lost our mother, and I realize now that father was using the war as an outlet for his grief. It was brutal for both sides, though. We lost almost an entire generation of young men, and Ylisse’s economy all but collapsed. And then our Exalt died from wounds sustained in the final battle. They spun the story, telling the citizenry that he fell in single combat against the Plegian Tyrant-King, but… in the end his life was claimed by a simple infection.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Robin said as Chrom went silent.

“Father left Emm with uncountable problems to fix, but with the help of Phila, Cullen and Franz she pulled it off and brought peace to our nation,” the Prince went on. “I still remember the hate she bore for simply being the daughter of our Father… The people of Ylisse needed someone to blame for the war, and she became their target. They hurled stones at her, for Naga’s sake; she still bears the scars. But she never once complained, never once blamed them. She has never shown anyone anything but patient kindness. And for what? So the bastard son of one of the last Plegian King’s nephews could claim the throne and instigate a war of revenge?”

“I know this is important, and I appreciate the history lesson,” Robin said as Chrom lapsed back into a brooding silence. “But who is this Franz I have yet to meet?”

Chrom chuckled absently, grinning. “He is the head of the Ylissean Council of elders; a statesman that taught Emmeryn everything she knows about leading a country. Hierarch Franz of Ylisstol… He tried teaching me, too, but I was more suited to the lessons Cullen and Frederick were giving me.”

Chrom shook his head, still grinning, and stood, dusting off his pants.

“Come on,” he said, helping Robin stand. “Let’s head back inside. There’s still work to be done, and since you’re here you may as well help.”

“Hey, Sumia came too; rope her into doing your dirty work,” Robin muttered petulantly.

Chrom chuckled as they began walking back to the palace.

“But she lacks your tactical brilliance,” Chrom said in an unmistakably mocking fashion.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Robin said, pretending to shine imaginary rings on his chest.

They laughed some more, before a voice called out, stopping them in their tracks and killing the jovial mood.

“Hold, lords.”

Both men spun, hands dropping to their weapons. Standing in the shadows by the wall was none other than the masked-man Marth.

“You really are stalking us, aren’t you?” Robin asked as they warily stepped towards the enigmatic man.

“Good evening to you,” he said casually, ignoring Robin, hands held clearly away from his weapons.

“How did you get in here?” Chrom asked warily.

The palace guards wouldn’t let a stranger in a mask into the palace during a time of war. Robin surmised it was probably lucky they had let him and Sumia into the palace so late at night, despite his being the Shepherd’s tactician and Sumia a Pegasus Knight.

“The cleft in the castle’s outer wall. The one behind the maple grove,” Marth said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, indicating back over his shoulder to the dark copse of trees off in the northernmost corner of the palace grounds.

Chrom reeled as if struck, head flicking quickly back and forth between Marth and the grove in question.

“There? But how would you… who in the hell are you?” the Prince stammered.

“I’m obviously missing something here,” Robin said, just as casually as Marth was speaking, eyes never leaving the intruder.

“It’s a hole I bashed in the wall while I was training with the Shepherds,” Chrom explained. “But I know I hid it very well, and no one ever told anyone else about it.”

“You bashed a hole in a stone wall!?” Robin asked incredulously, eyebrow shooting up.

“Your secret is safe with me. It’s not important at this time, anyway,” Marth said, becoming serious. “I’ve come to warn you against a plot on the Exalt’s live this very evening.”

“What do you know?” Robin asked dangerously, all fatigue forgotten as he drew his sword.

Chrom remained still though, before holding up a hand to forestall Robin’s advance. Marth, for his part, watched the Tactician with what he assumed was open interest. It was hard to tell while he wore the mask, though.

“That’s absurd,” Chrom insisted. “The Exalt is under constant guard, day and night. No one could even get near her. I’m her brother, and it even takes me fifteen minutes to see her right now.”

“What if I told you I’ve seen the future?” Marth said slowly, obviously choosing his words carefully. “Would you believe me? A future where Emmeryn is murdered here, tonight.”

“No,” Robin answered flatly, earning a raised eyebrow from Chrom.

“Have you lost your mind?” Chrom asked, despite his look at Robin.

“Yes, I expected you wouldn’t believe me,” Marth sighed, drawing his sword; an exact copy of Chrom’s sacred blade, Falchion. “So allow me to prove it.”

Chrom and Robin instantly fell back into defensive positions, Robin raising his beautiful rapier while Chrom made ready to draw Falchion.

Marth smirked at their reaction, indicating to the bushes off to the side with a nod. “I’m going to save your life. From him.”

At his words, a man in a black hood, his face painted grey with wode wielding a long, razor-sharp dagger the colour of storm-clouds burst from the bushes that he had been hiding in, aiming straight for the Prince. Chrom and Robin had no time to react before Marth skipped forward on one foot before leaping into a flip, slashing downward into the assassin’s neck as he flew through the air and landed neatly behind the fallen assassin.

“Skilfully done,” Chrom remarked, letting his hand drop as the assassin at his feet gurgled and went still. “How did you know-”

Chrom was cut off as a second assassin, dressed identically to the first, leapt out of the tree they were closest to, angling for Marth. Chrom’s hand flew Falchion’s hilt with lightning speed as Marth backstepped, but the masked man let out a small gasp as his foot caught on the fallen assassin’s discarded knife and he fell backwards, the second assassin’s blade missing his face by millimetres and cleaving the dark blue mask on his face in two.

Robin had time to notice a flash of long, dark blue hair falling to Marth’s shoulders as the tactician became a blur of motion, interposing himself between the assassin and the fallen man, striking high. They traded blows for a few seconds before the assassin dropped his guard for a fraction of a second, and taking advantage of the opportunity Robin ran him through. The Tactician kicked the lifeless assassin off his blade as he and Chrom, whose sword was now in hand, turned on Marth, who had just returned to his feet.

_Uh… Make that_ her _feet,_ Robin thought with some confusion, seeing the unmasked Marth for the first time.

“You… You’re a woman?” Chrom asked in a tone reflecting Robin’s thoughts.

“Called it!” Robin said triumphantly, pointing at Marth. “Back in Regna Ferox I said he looked a little effeminate, and I totally called it!”

“Robin, please try to focus,” Chrom said, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

“Yes, I am a woman,” Marth said, her voice raising a few octaves to what Robin guessed was her normal tone of voice. “And apparently I’m quite the actress, too, seeing as only your Tactician figured it out.”

Robin had to admit, her voice was rather pleasant; as was the rest of her face, now that he saw her unmasked. Strong lines spoke of a life of hardship, although she bore a striking familiarity that Robin couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Any further conversation, and admiration on Robin’s part, was cut off as an explosion rattled the windows in the palace, smoke spilling out of a new hole in the palace roof.

“Dammit!” Chrom cursed, breaking into a run for the doors. “Emm!”

“Stay where I can see you,” Robin ordered Marth, before hurrying to follow the Prince, Marth wordlessly following hot on his heels.

They caught up to Chrom at the large staircase behind the Great Hall, breathing heavily over the corpses of four more Plegian assassins.

“Wow, you’re getting really good at this,” Robin remarked, amazed at the speed with which Chrom was dispatching his opponents; he had only been out of their sight a few moments…

“This wasn’t me,” Chrom said, bewildered but obviously wanting to press on.

“Those kills are mine,” another new, strangely flanged, voice said from the shadows under the stairs.

Robin had to blink a few times to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him as the voice’s owner came into the lamp-light.

“Chrom, there’s a giant talking rabbit walking towards me. What do I do?” the tactician asked, his voice wavering a little as he raised his sword uncertainly.

The rabbit, easily as tall as Robin’s chest and as long as a horse, was covered in soft looking dark brown fur, its eyes glinting the same red as the blood on its wicked looking fore-claws.

“What fresh hell is this!?” Chrom shouted, practically jumping into the air as he levelled his sword at the creature.

“Peace!” Marth shouted, putting herself between the two men and the creature. “Lady Panne is not your enemy!”

The rabbit, ‘Panne’, sat up on her hind legs, sniffing at Marth.

“How do you know my name, man-spawn?” Panne asked curiously and not without hostility.

“I… know of you,” Marth said cryptically. “And I knew you would be here tonight.”

The three people and one giant rabbit all looked up at a loud crash from the top of the stairs followed closely by a woman’s scream.

“We don’t have time for this,” Chrom said decisively. “Lady Panne, if you assist us in driving off these assassins I will see to it you are rewarded greatly.”

“You may keep your human trinkets,” Panne said bitterly, moving to the bottom of the stairs, past a flabbergasted Robin. “I owe your Exalt honour for my kin; once it has been satisfied, I will leave.”

“Good enough,” Chrom muttered, charging up the stairs, the rabbit in tow.

“You’re quite the prophet, aren’t you?” Robin asked Marth suspiciously, matching her pace as they climbed the stairs.

“Indeed,” she said with a light chuckle, before turning serious again. “But I swear to you, Panne is your ally.”

“Like you are?” Robin prompted.

Marth didn’t have an answer for his question and looked away.

*

They came upon the first of the living assassins as they passed through the servants’ ready area, just off of the royal apartments. Seven assassins dressed identically to the ones they had seen so far stood around the room over the bodies of the servants too slow to escape. Panne was on the bulk of them in a heartbeat, her powerful legs launching her through the air like a bolt, claws extended. Chrom pealed left, looking to engage two assassins on that side, while Robin and Marth pealed right to where four more were trying to break open one of the pantry doors; probably mistaking it for passage into the apartments. Robin had to laugh at the absurdity of defending a pantry in such a fashion, a sentiment that his partner apparently didn’t share as she silently and grimly set to engaging the bandits.

Fortunately a giant, blood-coated rabbit was apparently a big distraction, and Robin and Marth found their foes to be easy to deal with. In a manner of moments the Shepherds and one skinny ginger-haired assassin were all that was left.

“Whoa there!” the skinny man said, throwing down a short, thin sword and raising his hands in surrender as three of the warriors advanced on him. “I didn’t sign on for this assassination crap! I’m just a thief!”

“Wait, so you can pick locks and stuff?” Chrom asked, his mind already working as Marth beat futilely on the door they needed to pass through on the opposite end of the room.

“Uh… yeah?” the thief answered uncertainly.

“Then by the authority granted to me as the Prince of Ylisse consider yourself conscripted for tonight,” Chrom told the thief quickly.

“Are you serious!?” the ginger-thief shouted.

“Tell me I didn’t just hear that,” Robin grunted, joining the conversation while he cleaned the blood from his sword on what he assumed was a napkin.

Panne sat off to one side, head tilted quizzically as her nose twitched, watching the humans.

“Fine, but I don’t work for free,” the thief said, recovering quickly and crossing his arms, leaning back against the wall.

He would make quite the salesman, Robin had to give him that.

“I don’t have time for this! You help us or you die like the rest of the Plegian-” Chrom shouted, scything his arm through the air to make his point. As he did, he knocked the bag of sweets Lissa had given him from his belt.

The thief’s eyes lit up as he dived to scoop up the candies that spilled out of the pouch, cutting Chrom off mid-rant. “Alright. Sold.”

The thief, while simultaneously stuffing as many candies into his mouth as it would hold, wordlessly set to work on the locked door as a Chrom and Robin watched the man, shocked to the point of silence.

“You can’t be serious,” Robin groaned as the thief worked. “Did you just buy a man with… candy?”

Within seconds the thick door was wide open.

“Name’s Gaius,” the thief said cheerfully as the other three passed him.

“Consider yourself hired, then,” Chrom deadpanned.

“Are you sure?” Robin asked.

Before Chrom could answer, though, the Tactician held up his hands. “Forget it. If you trust him, that’s good enough, and we’re in kind of a hurry, right?”

“Good call, Bubbles,” Gaius said off-handedly around a mouth-full of sweets. “You guys lead. I’ll just, you know, hang back and play support. Do thiefy stuff in the shadows, that kind of thing. Do you have any more of these candies?”

“Did he just call me ‘Bubbles’?” Robin asked Panne as Chrom and Gaius moved forward.

“Is your human hearing really so weak?” Panne asked in response.

“Never mind,” Robin sighed, jogging to catch up with the Prince and the thief.

Gaius jumped slightly when Panne moved up to him, but funnily enough took her appearance in stride as they tore through the servants quarters, Chrom at the fore cutting down the few lone assassins they came across. When they came to the passageway to the apartments Chrom cursed, slamming his fist into the heavy wooden door.

“It’s locked, too,” the Prince growled, shooting Gaius a look over his shoulder.

The thief huffed, rolling out his neck and pushing Marth to one side to get to the door.

“I suppose this is the part where I earn my keep? Stand back and let the master work,” he said disinterestedly, pulling lock-picking tools out of a pouch on his thigh.

Along with another sweet that made it into his mouth faster than Robin could identify it.

“I would hate to see what that man’s teeth look like,” Robin muttered, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall as the thief worked.

Marth chuckled slightly at Robin’s comment. Panne, too, obviously heard him, but just wordlessly tilted her head in confusion.

_My companions are getting stranger every day_ Robin thought to himself with another sigh, wondering if his life had been this interesting before he lost his memory.

“Aaaaaand that’s just about… got it!” Gaius said, putting the lock-picks away. “You stuffed-shirt types really don’t mess around with the locks, do you?”

“Come on,” Chrom said, ignoring Gaius’ comment and throwing the door wide open, charging through.

Robin shrugged, pushing off the wall and shaking out his sword arm. They hadn’t really seen many assassins yet; Robin assumed that would change soon.

*

“Me and my stupid interior monologue just had to jinx it,” Robin muttered as he ducked back around the corner he had been sticking his head around, magical fire and arrows ricocheting off the heavy stonework.

As soon as they had entered the Royal Apartments they had been almost overwhelmed. Gangrel had obviously sent every assassin at his disposal to kill the Ylissean royal family; Chrom, Marth and Panne were all coated in blood from the constant fighting, a lot of it their own; Gaius proved to be quite adept at combat, but kept to the rear, darting forward to strike under or around a guard before dancing back; Robin, for his part, made great use of his magical superiority in the tight confines of the hallways. With a gesture he sent a wall of flame around the corner, which Marth and Chrom followed as quickly as they could, hacking and slashing at the surviving Plegians as the other assassins screamed, burned by magical flames.

“You guys really don’t mess around either,” Gaius huffed, out of breath. “Think I could ride the rabbit for a bit?”

“I will pretend I didn’t hear that, man-spawn,” Panne growled, making the thief step back. “But please, don’t let that stop you from trying; the amount of sugar in your blood would make you taste extra sweet.”

“Enough!” Robin interjected. “Move up!”

Panne bounded up the hallway after Chrom and Marth after shooting Robin a withering glare without a word; Gaius just rolled his eyes and took off after her. Obviously the thief and the bunny had authority issues. Chrom kicked down the door to Emmeryn’s bedroom, shouting his sister’s name and entering the room sword-first, Marth close behind him.

What they found made Robin sigh and sag with relief. Emmeryn stood in the corner, perfectly poised, unarmed, but smiling at her brother.

“Thank Naga you’re safe,” Chrom sighed, pulling his sister into a rough hug.

“Family reunions later!” Gaius called in warning from the door. “More baddies incoming! Whoa-crap!”

The thief rolled away from the door as purple-black fire exploded through it.

“Kill the exalt! Leave no survivors! For the glory of Grima!”

Robin’s blood ran cold as he heard the voice from his dream, the dream when Chrom and Lissa had found him in the field; sure enough, surrounded by sword-wielding assassins, the Sorcerer from his dream came striding through the doorway. Chrom, Marth and Panne roared battle-cries as the dove into the assassins, the sorcerer hanging back in the doorway, eyes locked with Robin’s.

The sorcerer, Validar, was smiling at him.

“Hello, Robin,” the lanky man sneered, his face twisting into a cruel grin.

Robin froze, his eyes wide and his limbs unresponsive. Everything about the man screamed ‘danger’ to the tactician, and his eyes darted around the room looking for a way to escape from-

“Bubbles, wake up!” Gaius shouted as he dragged Emmeryn behind the relative safety of an upturned table.

Robin shook his head, and grunting with effort shot an elthunder bolt at Validar. The man laughed, casting another spell of dark fire, matching his strength with Robin’s as the two spells met mid-air, colliding with enough force to send some of the assassins sprawling from the impact’s shock-wave. Robin lost sight of the battle the others were fighting as he rolled forward under the flames from Validar’s follow-up spell, sending his own fire spell at Validar with a flick upwards of both of his wrists. Robin didn’t see the effects, having to roll to the side again as his opponent kept throwing that damned dark fire at him.

When Robin looked up he could see that he hadn’t touched Validar; he hadn’t even made the man move. The sorcerer just stood where he had started, a charred black ring around him on the floor and walls, utterly untouched. Robin shook off his growing unease, summoning as much mental strength as he could, before sending out a blast he had learned called Thoron. Several lances of white-gold lightning shot at Validar, and Robin was rewarded when Validar’s smile finally faltered and he was forced back a step.

“Impudence!” Validar snarled. “You dare raise your hand against me again!? I will make you suffer!”

Blasts of dark fire erupted all around Robin, making him throw himself around and use the shockwaves from the spells to gain momentum as Emmeryn’s fancy apartment was destroyed. Taking cover behind another upturned table like Gaius had Robin winced, flames dancing around the expensive wood and scorching the edges of his coat.

Before he could summon a retaliatory attack, a ginger blur appeared behind Validar, knife in hand. The sorcerer gasped once, convulsing, before falling face first to the ground as Gaius stood over him.

“That,” Gaius said, sheathing his dagger with a look of contempt on his face, “Was free of charge. Son of a bitch ‘conscripted’ me, too. You guys just offered a sweeter deal.”

Robin snickered as he rose slowly. Again, he had managed to drain most of his body’s mana supply, which hadn’t fully recovered yet after the battles at Themis, and he was feeling weak. Fortunately for him, it seemed that Chrom and the other two didn’t have any problems with the rest of the assassins, and were just finishing the last of them.

Robin popped open the small gourd he had prepared for just such an occasion in the brief lull, filled with Maribelle’s rejuvenating tea, and drained it quickly.

Chrom grunted, stabbing downwards with Falchion into the prone assassin under his foot, marking the end of the last of them. As if on cue, they could hear the shouts of the royal guard and the clanking of their armour as they charged through the halls, followed by the shouts of the assassins calling a retreat.

“Phew, glad that’s over,” Gaius said, falling into one of the plush chairs in the corner of Emmeryn’s room.

“Is anyone wounded?” Emmeryn asked, coming forward, an ornate healing staff in hand.

“I’m fine,” Chrom said, waving her off.

“I will be fine,” Panne said, wiping some of the blood from her face with a great taloned fore-claw.

“Me too,” Robin said, still catching his breath. “Marth? You okay?”

Robin turned to where the woman had been, finding only empty space.

“Dammit, not this time she doesn’t!” Chrom growled, spinning and charging out of the room. “Robin, stay with my sister! I’ll be right back!”

Robin shrugged. “Sure, fine, whatever.”

He was going to say more, but his train of thought was thrown way off when Panne sat up and transformed, shrinking considerably into a rather normal-looking woman. Well, normal if one didn’t count the large, floppy rabbit ears sitting on top of her long dark hair and the fur covering the backs of her arms; and as she turned Robin spotted a fluffy white rabbit’s tail, too. Her face was as severe as Robin had guessed it would be, though; even if she was moderately attractive in a ‘warrior-woman’ kind of way, all hard lines and toned muscle. She would probably be very popular in Regna Ferox.

“That’s definitely something I’ve never seen before,” Gaius commented, going still, mouth hanging open in shock.

Robin just raised an eyebrow and shrugged as armed soldiers piled in and secured the room, Cullen at their head with Sumia close behind. Half of them instantly began dragging the bodies out, as the other half set up a wall of bodies around Emmeryn. Robin had no doubt the scene was similar outside the door.

“My lady, are you alright?” Cullen asked, sinking to one knee before her.

Sumia came up to Robin, standing silently next to him while the superiors talked.

“I am fine, Cullen” Emmeryn said, smiling her unflappable smile. “Please, direct your men to secure the rest of the castle and tend to the wounded. I am safe here with Sir Robin.”

“When did I become a ‘sir’?” Robin whispered to Sumia, who responded by shushing him.

“Of course, my lady,” Culled answered, rising and retreating. As soon as he was in the hallway Robin could hear the man barking orders, and two men in heavy armour plate took up position inside the door, one on each side.

After he left Sumia made a sort of strangled noise before she turned and threw her arms around Robin’s neck.

“Thank Naga you’re okay!” she cried into his shoulder.

“Gah! Yes, I’m fine! Let go!” Robin said, dangerously close to losing his balance.

“Aw, ‘aint that sweet,” Gaius cooed mockingly from his corner.

“I was so worried about you and Prince Chrom and then I heard you guys almost single-handedly pushed all the assassins back and now we still can’t find Chrom and…”

“Sumia, you’re babbling again,” Robin said, extracting himself from her iron-like hug.

“I see you and Chrom have made new friends,” Emmeryn said, her voice like wind chimes as she approached Robin.

Gaius groaned weakly, waving once as his head lolled backwards.

“And my thanks to you, brave Taguel,” Emmeryn said, turning to Panne and bowing deeply.

Panne seemed conflicted for a moment before her scowl returned.

“You call me by my people’s ancestral name,” she growled, narrowing her eyes, “and yet stood idly by while my people were slaughtered by your kin?”

Emmeryn seemed prepared for this, and bowed low again. “I know my words mean nothing, but please accept my apology and condolences for your brave people.”

Panne snorted, crossing her arms and turning away.

“And, uh, thanks for your assistance tonight, too,” Robin added.

“Honour has been satisfied, human,” Panne said shortly, turning to leave.

“Wait a sec,” Robin said, stopping her. “Why don’t you stick around for a while? You’re skills are, well, nothing short of phenomenal, and we’re kinda short on man-power right now. Er… rabbit-power? We’re short on bodies.”

“So you wish to make me your pet!?” Panne shouted, turning and advancing dangerously on Robin.

Sumia took a step back at the woman’s tone; her eyes practically blazed red in the dark room as she advanced.

“No,” Robin said, trying to placate the Taguel. “I wish to make you our ally. Completely different thing. No collars. Unless you’re into that kind of thing, but I’m not.”

“And why would I assist the people that slaughtered my entire race?” Panne growled, stopping just short of the tactician and glaring at him.

Robin shrugged. “Honour?”

Panne stopped, quirking her head to one side, eyes narrowed.

“Explain yourself,” she demanded.

“Think about it,” Robin said quickly, grasping at straws. “You say you want to fulfil your people’s honour? What better way than killing lots and lots of humans? Which we will, uh, be doing once the army moves out. I assume.”

Panne stopped, quirking her head slightly to consider this. Emmeryn made a small disapproving sound as she watched Robin’s reasoning, but he wasn’t about to let such a powerful ally slip out of his grasp.

“Your point is clear,” Panne said after a moment of intense thought. “I will accompany your army.”

“Great! Ah, you will need to take orders from me, too…” Robin added.

“Fine,” the Taguel growled, obviously taking a lot of effort to get the word out. “But only yours. I will suffer no other man-spawn’s orders, am I clear?”

Robin nodded profusely, looking at the others.

Sumia looked terrified of the woman; Gaius had fallen asleep, probably from a sugar crash. Emmeryn looked like she wanted to reprimand Robin for his train of thought, but realised that he had gained them a powerful ally, so stayed silent with a slight frown on her face.

Chrom took that moment to re-enter the room, and Sumia launched herself at the Prince without a second thought, in much the same way she had Robin. Suddenly, while Sumia was busy babbling into Chrom’s shoulder, Robin had a thought, and mirrored Chrom’s earlier exit.

“I’ll meet you back at the barracks!” Robin called to them as he raced down the hallway.

*

Robin leaned against the stone post holding the archway on the western side of town, slowing his breathing and gathering his thoughts, resting in the small circle of light the entrance’s lone torch gave off. In one hand he was holding a small bag, everything he could grab on such short notice. He had run straight there, hoping to catch Marth before she disappeared again, operating more on a hunch than anything. The streets were deserted, the army having put a strict curfew into effect after the debacle at the castle.

Before long he spotted the woman’s blue hair in the distance. She froze for a moment when she saw Robin, but continued her approach.

“It’s good to see my skills in reading people are still sharp,” Robin said conversationally, crossing his arms as Marth drew closer.

He could see that she was frowning. She hadn’t been expecting this meeting.

“I had a hunch you’d head for one of the smaller exits,” Robin explained when the woman stopped before him, just outside of the circle of torch-light. “One of the ones pointing west, considering that’s the way that we’ll be marching.”

“Congratulations,” Marth deadpanned. “You have caught me. Now what?”

Robin shrugged, uncrossing his arms and putting his hands out palm up. “I wanted to thank you.”

Now it was Marth’s turn to cross her arms and look incredulous. “You went through all of the trouble of racing to an exit you weren’t even sure I would be taking just to thank me?”

Robin shrugged again.

“I’m sure Chrom already thanked you for helping us save the Exalt,” Robin explained. “So I won’t give you another big long spiel about that. But when we first met out in the forest, you saved my life. I wanted to finally than you for that.”

Marth looked uncertain for a moment, uncrossing her arms and looking at Robin with confusion clearly writ on her face. Finally she sagged a little and looked away.

“You’re welcome,” she said quietly.

“Here,” Robin said, placing the burden he had so hastily prepared on the ground and stepping away. “I know asking you to join us is pointless, but I pulled some provisions together; dried food, a waterskin, a blanket you can use and some silver coins I had lying around. It’s not much, but it’s my way of saying thanks.”

Robin smiled, nodding once, and began walking away.

For some reason he thought he heard Marth sniff like she was about to cry, but looking back over his shoulder he saw that she had picked up the bag he had left, and her stance was as strong and composed as ever as she walked away.

Robin put it up to his over-active imagination as he walked back towards the Shepherds’ barracks.  

_But first I should probably make sure that the cake pantry is still properly secured,_ Robin reasoned, turning and heading back to the palace.


	10. Chapter 10

Chrom walked quickly through the palace halls, shouting out orders as he went. All around him junior officers and other servants were scurrying about in a desperate attempt to comply with the Prince’s instructions. There was much to do in the wake of the Plegian assassination attempt the previous night, and no time for rest.

Cullen and Duke Themis were in the middle of organizing a garrison to remain in Ylisstol, coordinating with Flavia’s Lieutenants; mostly the Royal Guard and regular army, along with the warriors from Regna Ferox. Flavia and Basilio had returned to Regna Ferox temporarily for some Feroxi festival they were honour-bound to attend, but would return within the week. Phila, however, was preparing a smaller force, which would be joined by the Shepherds, to take Emmeryn to the relatively safer Eastern City-State in the forests and mountains on the Eastern coast. The centre of the area was a castle named Castle Jagen after the knight that had guided the Hero-King Marth in the old legends, still had its full complement of soldiers, and Chrom trusted the Duke of the area, Duke Aerir, as a true ally to his family.

Emmeryn was wholly against the idea, but the entire Council had voted against her staying. She was the face of Ylisse; the face of peace. If Emmeryn were to die, the Ylissean army’s morale would be crushed.

Chrom stopped suddenly, brow twitching as his second shadow stopped a foot behind him.

“Frederick, I said I’m safe in the palace,” Chrom groaned exasperatedly, massaging his temples.

After the previous evening Frederick hadn’t moved more than two feet away from Chrom, his overzealousness starting to get on the Prince’s very last nerve.

“Apologies, milord,” Frederick said with a respectful bow. “But as I stated the last seven times, I cannot again grow lax in my duties to protect you like last night.”

“And for the eighth time, Frederick, you were unconscious; I have forgiven you for your temporary lapse in duty,” Chrom said, silently pleading with his eyes ‘go away’.

“And as a knight it is my sworn duty to ensure that it never happens again!” Frederick said with more conviction than Chrom could stomach, clenching a fist over his heart for emphasis.

Chrom sighed and started walking again, giving up for the eighth time. This was obviously not an argument he was going to win any time soon, but that didn’t stop him walking slightly faster than before in a vain attempt at out-running the over-bearing knight.

*

Robin woke that morning to two red, rabbit-like eyes staring down at him from a very small distance above his face. It took a few moments before Robin realised what was happening, and in that time the owner of the eyes managed to get a sentence in.

“Do all humans sleep so exposed on their backs? It’s really quite foolish.”

“Gwuh!” he shouted, jumping. “Panne, what the hell!?”

The Taguel woman hopped back a step as Robin shot into a sitting position; fortunately her reflexes were fast, or Robin would have hit her with a perfect headbutt, which would not have been the ideal way to start his morning.

“It is late in the morning,” Panne pointed out, frowning. “And I have yet to slay a single of your promised man-spawn.”

More like she hadn’t stopped frowning since Robin had shown her and Gaius to the barracks the previous night. She struck Robin as a very joyless person, very focused on her revenge. Which was now beginning to become irritating, Robin realised as he tried to coax himself into full consciousness. He was beginning to think that he’d never get a good night’s sleep again.

“We don’t kill allied man-spawn,” Robin groaned, drawing the sentence out as he stretched.

“You gave your word,” Panne growled, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“All right, all right,” Robin moaned, swinging his legs out of the bed and shooing the Taguel away with one hand, running the other through his hair. “Let me get dressed and we’ll go see Chrom at the palace and find out when we march.”

“You said I would get the chance to kill many man-spawn,” Panne repeated.

“And you will,” Robin yawned. “But not before I’m wearing pants.”

*

Robin shuffled out of the room he usually shared with Vaike and Virion at the barracks, scratching his head and yawning, Panne only a few steps behind him.

“Morning!” Lissa called cheerily from the barracks’ small kitchen area.

It was almost like any other day at the barracks; Vaike, Lon’qu Sully and Stahl training, Virion sipping tea, Kellam fading into the background. Unlike other days, though, Sumia was absent. In her place Gaius was reclining lazily on one of the chairs, flicking sugar-coated beans through the air into his mouth. And of course the revenge-obsessed Taguel that wouldn’t leave Robin alone like a fluffy second shadow.

“Where’s Maribelle?” Robin mumbled to Lissa, helping himself to an apple from the counter.

Sumia would be at the palace with the rest of the Pegasus Knights; Frederick would be on Chrom like a bad smell; Miriel would be in the Royal Library like any other day; and Ricken was supposedly collecting the things he would need from the Mage Academy for the campaign against Plegia. What Maribelle was doing today was a mystery, though.

“She’s with her father at the palace,” Lissa explained, beginning to wash the dishes from breakfast. “She wanted to be there to represent the people of Themis during the war council.”

“You mean the refugees?” Vaike asked, coming inside and placing his axe back on the rack next to the door.

“Yes,” Lissa huffed, shooting the man a dirty look. “I was trying to be a little more tactful, though.”

Vaike shrugged.

“No point in tact,” he said, wiping his face on a towel. “Refugees ‘s what they are now; why sugar-coat it?”

Robin almost laughed out loud when he saw Gaius’ head whip around at the term ‘sugar-coat’.

“The spiky man-spawn speaks truth,” Panne said, stepping around Robin and crossing her arms. “You should not deny the truth for the sake of fragile human feelings at a time of conflict.”

“Spiky?” Vaike mumbled, reaching up to feel his hair unconsciously.

“You’re probably right,” Lissa sighed. “I’m just not used to all of this.”

Panne looked at the princess, up to her elbows in dish-water, for a moment before nodding once.

“I will be in the stable,” she said, turning to Robin before striding out into the stable. “You will come fetch me when we are to ‘march’.”

“Of course,” Robin sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Much to his annoyance it was still retaining its swept-back appearance from the other day when he had ridden back to Ylisse. He was starting to worry it would never return to its previous position.

“She’s… intense,” Lissa muttered after Panne had left.

“You would be too if you went through what she has,” Robin said softly.

He could only imagine how it felt to be the last of her kind, surrounded by none but the race that had caused her loneliness. It was no wonder she chose to keep the company of the horses rather than the Shepherds. In a way Robin could understand her loneliness; having no memories meant that at first he, too, had been utterly alone. But the Shepherds had taken him in and shown him nothing but trust and friendship, and Robin had hoped they would do the same for the last of the Taguel and dissuade her from her desire for revenge.

“I reckon she’s just rude,” Vaike muttered, leaning on the counter next to Robin.

Virion snickered. “Coming from you? That’s amusing.”

“The Vaike is not rude!” Vaike retorted. “He’s just… Unrefined!”

*

Robin stretched his back, hands clasped above his head as the Shepherds stood around in the castle courtyard. All of the Shepherds were present, as was two full squads of Pegasus Knights led by Wing-Commander Phila herself. They would be spiriting Emmeryn out of the city and to a castle somewhere near the Eastern coastline; that’s what Chrom had told them, and that’s all Robin knew about the matter, despite being put in charge of marching orders. The rest had been decided by authority above his head. He had come up with what he hoped would be a passable marching order, though; Emmeryn, Phila and the Shepherds in the middle; one squad flying reconnaissance ahead of the main group, while the other more heavily armoured veteran squad flew as a rearguard. It was a simple and elegant strategy, something that would only go wrong if things went catastrophicall _y_ wrong.

Robin looked up as he noticed a flash of red hair and spotted Cordelia. She saw him at the same time and gave him a nod before returning her attention to her squad-leader’s briefing. He supposed it was too much to hope for the knight to give him a girlish smile and wave; she was a knight after all, even if she was the most gorgeous thing on two legs he had ever seen…

“Robin?” Lissa asked.

“Huh?”

“You zoned out there. Are you okay?”

Robin blushed slightly as his train of thought caught up with him, and coughed.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Are we almost ready to move?”

“Yep. We’re just waiting for Frederick and my brother, and then we can move.”

Robin could see Sully looking grumpy as she stood holding the reins for her own horse and Frederick’s near the palace steps.

Robin nodded. “Good.”

He looked over the assembled Shepherds, taking special care to ensure that Kellam was present and that Vaike had his axe. Robin was only slightly surprised to see Gaius standing next to Lon’qu looking bored; he had honestly assumed that the thief would just disappear in the night, but the man seemed to be drawn to the Shepherds much the same way that he had been. Either that, or someone had sweets that he wanted.

More surprising, though, was Maribelle, fully kitted up in her pale pink riding clothes astride a strong looking horse, holding a delicate looking staff in one hand and a frilly pink parasol in the other. Robin had thought that after her ordeal in Themis that she wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the front lines, and she certainly didn’t strike him as one for camping.

“Maribelle?” Robin asked, approaching the woman. “Are you sure you want to come with us?”

“Oh, Robin,” Maribelle tsked, shaking her head slightly. “I already had this conversation with Daddy; I am a Shepherd, and I will go where I am needed.”

Robin shrugged, satisfied with her answer. As condescending as her tone was…

“I’m not complaining,” he said, making an effort to smile and be friendly. “The more the merrier, after all. Plus healers are something we can’t really have too many of.”

“Indeed,” Maribelle said, irritatingly still managing to seem like she was humouring him even while agreeing.

“Shepherds!” Chrom called, emerging from the Palace and coming down the stairs in a regal flourish of cape and white clothes. “Prepare to march!”

Frederick followed the Prince, taking the reins of his horse from Sully and mounting up in one fluid motion. Emmeryn emerged from the palace next, still looking regal and delicate wrapped in a traveling cloak. Phila came with her, walking alongside the Exalt rather than mounting her pegasus. A third man, bowed with age and seemingly very agitated to Robin, came with them. Robin guessed that he was the Hierarch, Franz, which would be accompanying them.

They set out immediately, Robin doing one last check that everyone was present and accounted for and that Vaike had his weapon. Panne was marching close to him, curiously watching the Shepherds as they left the city and set off on the Eastern road.

“These Shepherds,” she said at length as they began marching through the light woodlands outside of Ylisstol. “They all fight as one?”

“It’s my job to make sure they do,” Robin answered, proudly looking over the assembled soldiers talking and joking amongst themselves.

They had almost automatically split into their little groups; Lissa and Maribelle chatting as the Princess walked alongside Maribelle’s horse; Sully, Stahl and Frederick wordlessly leading the way, weapons at the ready; Vaike, Lon’qu, Gaius and Virion following behind them simply talking about nothing and everything at once; Kellam off to one side, weaving in and out of the others who seemed to miss him no matter what he did to get their attention; Miriel and Ricken quietly discussing the attributes of advanced wind magic; and Chrom, Phila, Emmeryn and Sumia taking up the rear, talking fondly about Ylisse. Even so, Robin knew that when battle was called they would blend together seamlessly at his word. Robin couldn’t help but feel a distinct amount of pride at the realization.

“And they do this… willingly?” Panne asked, seemingly confused about something.

“Of course,” Robin said. “Why do you ask?”

“It is…” Panne hesitated, trying to choose her words. “Among Taguel, so many different scents would confuse us and hamper any strategy; warriors from different warrens would also more than likely attack each other as often as the enemy.”

“You mean… we all smell different? Is that going to be a problem?”

“I have long since gotten used to the stink of man-spawn,” Panne scoffed. “It simply intrigued me.”

Robin was silent for a moment before his curiosity got the better of him.

“So we all smell different?” he asked again.

“I have already stated as much,” Panne answered, a note of irritation in her voice.

“What do we smell like?” Robin persisted.

Panne’s ears twitched slightly. “Does it really matter if you cannot smell it?”

Robin shrugged. “Not really, but it’s a long march, and we have time to kill.”

Panne sighed, conceding Robin’s point. “Would that we had man-spawn to kill instead…”

“The knights at the fore,” she said, pointing ahead. “The one in the middle smells of steel and patience, the one in red smells of metal and wrath, and the one in green smells of many different foods. The spiky one smells of earth and sweat; the dandy smells of tea leaves, but not from this region; the swordsman smells of leather and cold stone. The thief, sugar.”

“And me?” Robin asked, taking in her words, again overcome with curiosity.

Panne sniffed again.

“Books, paper. Sand and dry earth,” she said. “Curious. Perhaps that is where you are from?”

Robin nodded, trying to hide his elation at the same time he was mentally recalling the maps in his mind with a sinking sensation in his stomach. Where was there sand and dry earth? The only place he could think of, according to the maps, was…

“Plegia…” he muttered, paling slightly.

“Are they not our enemies?” Panne asked, quirking an eyebrow. “You would make war against your own kin?”

“They’re not my kin,” Robin said a little harsher than he meant to.

Robin was silent for a long time afterwards, trying to recall any other places that might have a desert climate. Panne continued to walk with him, apparently untroubled by his brooding as she curiously watched the other Shepherds.

*

The party made camp at the base of the first of the mountain passes just as the sun was beginning to set. With a few shouted orders from Frederick and Phila they moved to the side off the road and began to clear a space not far from where a small creek bubbled quietly in the sparse woodland. As opposed to camping traditionally, though, Robin watched as the Pegasus Knights all began setting up tents from their packs; two women to a tent. Robin watched this scene repeat itself throughout the Shepherds, too, as he wandered through the small clearing where Frederick was busily preparing a fire, already having set up Chrom and Lissa’s tents in half the time it took everyone else to set up one.

Chrom looked at Robin and stopped, eyes widening.

“I don’t get a tent, do I?” Robin asked with a bemused sigh.

All the Shepherds in earshot stopped what they were doing and looked at Robin and Chrom.

“I completely forgot that you didn’t already have one,” Chrom said quickly. “You can share mine; I’ll just put the armour rack and other junk somewhere else.”

Robin waved him off, wary of the glare Frederick was no-doubt shooting him from behind.

“Forget it,” Robin said dismissively. “It’s still warm out, it doesn’t look like it’s going to rain, and I like to see the stars anyway.”

“Are you sure?” Chrom persisted.

“Yeah,” Robin laughed. “Besides, I’m used to sleeping on the ground, right?”

The Shepherds around them laughed at the tactician’s lame joke, Chrom shrugging indifferently and maintaining that his offer stood. Robin, free now of the time-consuming need to set up a tent, chose to continue his tour of their camp before Chrom could protest further, but as he walked away he could hear the Prince muttering “I could have sworn I organized an extra tent…”

The Tactician watched as the Shepherds slipped into old habits, preparing cooking fires, chatting, setting up tents with great difficulty in Vaike’s case, and basically acting like they had done this a hundred times before. Robin was sad to admit he felt a little left out.

Lissa and Maribelle’s tent was large enough to accommodate six people; Vaike’s was barely large enough for the man to lie down in; everyone had a different sized tent, a different pattern, a different style. Robin strolled past Emmeryn’s, marvelling at the fact that it was basically the size of a small house, the crest of Ylisstol emblazoned on each canvas wall.

He veered off, leaving the camp, shuffling down to the stream and quickly rinsing his face and neck, gasping at the icy water; apparently this was melt-water from higher up the mountains. Fortunately the path they would take remained relatively low in altitude, and they would avoid any snow or foul weather. A proper wash could wait for later, though; he didn’t smell that bad yet, anyway.

Robin sat down on the small sandy bank, brooding again.

He only had about a month’s worth of memories at present. This was a fact. For the last month he had been steadily drawn further and further into a war he was now beginning to question the validity of; it was simply becoming a competition of tit for tat on a national scale. Undoubtedly, the Plegians needed to be stopped; they were looting and pillaging and hurting innocent people. But just how clean were Ylisse’s hands in all of this? It wasn’t just the Plegians that needed to be stopped here, but Chrom was right in saying that there was no peaceful solution at this stage. Gangrel was obviously deranged and insistent on perpetrating evil; Chrom was the flip-side of that coin, righteous and justified. So why did Robin feel so uneasy about involving himself in the war?

He would have been lying to say that the seed of doubt Panne had planted in his mind about his origin had nothing to do with his current feelings. What if he was Plegian? He would be fighting against his own countrymen. But… They were the invaders, causing chaos and death to innocents. Would he really have joined in their wanton destruction if his memories remained intact? Or would he have had memories of the Ylisseans invading his country, and stood against them with the rest of the Plegians? He couldn’t imagine working for a man like Gangrel, though…

Robin shook the thoughts from his mind as he found a soft spot under a tree close to camp and laid out his sleeping roll, before throwing himself on top of it, resting his head on the softest spot of his lumpy pack.

He was a Shepherd now; what he had been was irrelevant. He had sworn himself to the defence of Ylisse and her people, and defend them he would, doubts be damned; he could figure out his inner-turmoil and find a way to reclaim his own memories once the war was over.

Munching on some of the dried fruits he had brought with him he took what felt like the first moment in weeks to relax. He pulled out the book Sumia had loaned him and vowed to lose himself, if only for a few hours. When dinner was called Robin ate and laughed with his friends like always, ignoring the seed of doubt in the back of his mind, before returning to his bedroll and his book. When it got too dark to read, Robin conjured a small flame from his fingertip with a weak fire spell. The book was just getting good, after all.

*

Robin woke in the dead of night to a soft, musky-scented hand clasped over his mouth. As his eyes adjusted his heartrate slowed as he forced himself to calm down, realizing Panne was squatting next to his head, a single finger pressed to her lips in the apparently universal sign for ‘be quiet’. After Robin signified his understanding with a nod she released him and stood, motioning for him to follow her before walking away from his bedroll without a sound. She led him silently away from the camp, into the small wooded area further away from the road.

“It should be safe to talk here,” Panne said quietly, stopping and turning to face Robin.

The moonlight was doing funny things to his sight, though; the Taguel looked much more human in the weak silver light cascading through the trees, not an unattractive sight in all honesty, and Robin’s tired mind began to wander to strange reasons she could have called him out to the woods away from the camp. Every time she moved the moonlight reflected on her long hair rippled, making it seem like some sort of liquid night was draped over her. Her eyes reflected the weak light, too, strong and predatory in the dark. Robin swallowed, feeling his pulse quicken slightly again as-

“While the man-spawn were eating the one that they all call ‘Hierarch’ snuck away from camp,” Panne began. “I do not trust any of you, but he seemed to be acting strangely, so I followed him. He met with a man that reeked of Wyvern; unfortunately the wind was against me, and I could not hear what they spoke of, but the Wyvern man headed back to the mountains as the ‘Hierarch’ returned to camp. I felt you should be made aware of this.”

Robin found himself instantly awake, any stray thoughts lingering in the back of his mind being quashed by his analytical mind waking up.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly, already considering the implications of what she was saying.

A trap? Was the Hierarch betraying them to Plegia? True, their position was precarious, but that was no reason for one of what essentially amounted to Ylisstol’s rulers to defect.

“I am certain,” Panne answered with a note of irritation in her voice.

“Thank you, Panne,” Robin said, crossing his arms and stroking his chin. “That is troubling news. I will have to tell Chrom immediately.”

Robin began to walk back to the camp, no other thoughts in his mind but telling Chrom as quickly as he could and figuring out how to proceed, before Panne stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“You may wish to wait until morning,” she muttered, moving closer to him.

Robin arched an eyebrow, at a loss for words as his mind instantly returned to his earlier train of thought; she was so close to him right now he could feel her breath on his exposed neck, see the way her lips separated slightly as she looked up at him as his eyes followed the hand on his arm back to Panne’s shoulder and down to her...

“Why is that?” he asked uncertainly.

“I spotted the clumsy pegasus-woman sneaking into your Prince’s tent as I came to find you,” Panne whispered, clearly only wary of alerting the others to their meeting.

Robin’s face instantly turned scarlet from a combination of feeling stupid at his own train of thought and thoughts of the scandal, making him glad it was dark and Panne couldn’t make out his face. Or at least he hoped to whatever gods were above that she couldn’t.

_In the middle of a march, Chrom? Really?_ Robin thought, trying to get a handle on his blushing. _Have you no shame?_

Apparently, Panne could see much better in the dark than he could.

“I do not see why you would be embarrassed by this information,” she muttered, crossing her own arms. “Humans have such strange morals… It is a perfectly natural to-”

“Please,” Robin pleaded, holding out his hands to silence Panne. “I don’t need to know. I just… want to crawl back into my bedroll and talk to Chrom in the morning.”

Robin was pretty sure that Panne was rolling her eyes as she brushed past him to return to camp.

“I swear I will never understand man-spawn, even if I live to a hundred.”

Robin sighed.

_I really need to get a handle on these hormones_ he thought, running a hand through his hair as he returned to his bedroll. _Preferably before I make an even bigger arse out of myself._

*

Robin woke to Frederick’s wake-up-call. “All right, break’s over! Up and ready to march in thirty minutes!”

The tactician yawned, rubbing his eyes with one hand as he looked at the rustling leaves of the tree above him lulling him dangerously close to falling asleep again. He had barely slept at all with that bombshell that Panne had dropped on him last night running through his head, and now it felt like he had just drifted off as Frederick woke the entire camp.

Attempting to sit with a resigned sigh, Robin intended to head down to the creek quickly to give his face another rinse before seeing if he could steal Chrom away for a few minutes. Unfortunately, the tactician’s plans were derailed as he realized something was atop his chest, preventing him from rising.

Lowering his vision, Robin’s heart stopped as he saw dark hair and two large ears holding him down, the ears twitching slightly as their owner mumbled and resettled herself after Robin’s moving.

_Deep breath in…_

“For Naga’s sake, Panne!” Robin shouted, throwing himself away from the woman in a panic. “Have you no sense of personal space!?”

Panne, obviously irritated at being woken in such a manner, leaned on one side on her elbow, yawning wide and running a hand through her long hair.

“What’s the matter, man-spawn? You act as if you woke next to a snake,” she mumbled, blinking a few times before yawning again.

“Why the hell am I waking next to anything!?” Robin shouted. “I feel so… violated!”

“I was cold,” Panne said by way of explanation.

“So you couldn’t simply move closer to the fire!?” Robin cried, scooting a little further away from the Taguel.

Panne stretched her arms above her head, moving to sit cross-legged, giving a contented groan before continuing.

“Taguel prefer to share body-heat. It is perfectly normal.”

Robin climbed to his feet, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, humans prefer to at least be asked before being snuggled with.”

“Ah,” Panne nodded. “Apparently I have crossed some strange human boundary. I apologize. I will ask next time.”

With that she stood, stretched again and was off in the direction of the woods.

“Thank you,” Robin sighed, relaxing slightly. “Wait! No, there’s not going to be a ‘next time’!”

Too late; Panne was gone, lost in the woods. Robin sighed again, bending to collect his bedroll and pack. He still had to meet with Chrom and try to eat some breakfast.

_Hell of a way to start the day_ , Robin thought as he plopped a piece of dried apple into his mouth. _I guess now I can’t give Chrom any crap about his little tryst last night… Damn. I spent half the night coming up with witty lines, too._

*

“I see,” Chrom nodded with a troubled expression on his face.

Robin had just finished explaining his conversation with Panne from the previous night to the Prince behind his tent, Frederick keeping watch, Chrom now mulling over the facts. Robin studiously ignored the circles under the Prince’s eyes; apparently he hadn’t gotten much sleep, either, but Robin assumed that Chrom’s night had been far more pleasant than his own.

“So who do we trust?” Robin asked conspiratorially.

“The Hierarch is one of my sister’s oldest retainers,” Chrom said slowly. “But I cannot find reason to doubt Panne’s loyalty to her, either. This is troubling.”

“So we just watch both of them,” Robin said through a yawn. It was still early, after all.

Chrom nodded, not seeming to be satisfied but understanding they didn’t have many other options at this stage. Robin would simply have to keep an eye on the Taguel woman and trust that Chrom’s gaze wouldn’t linger constantly on Sumia.  

“By the way,” Chrom asked slyly, his demeanour changing instantly. “What was all the yelling about earlier?”

Robin blushed, frowning and turning away from his friend.

“I don’t know, Your Highness,” Robin huffed, crossing his arms. “But I swear I heard strange noises coming from this general area last night; perhaps we should increase your guard?”

Chrom blushed, too, before starting to laugh. After a moment Robin joined him.

“Ah,” Chrom sighed, wiping a tear out of his eye. “Thank you, Robin. That’s a hell of a way to start the day.”

“Yeah,” Robin groaned, “You’re not the first one to think that this morning…”

*

“Oh gods,” Robin groaned, coming alongside Chrom with great effort. “My legs feel like pudding. Your endurance is inhuman.”

Chrom laughed. “Would you like me to carry you?”

“Yes,” Robin started to say before he was interrupted and shoved rudely aside.

“I’ll take that offer!” Lissa gasped, coming up behind them. “No, seriously; I’m okay with you carrying me.”

“Frederick, call a short break before our delicate princess passes out,” Chrom called to the knight, teasing his sister in the same breath.

Lissa gave a cross between a grunt and a huff, apparently too exhausted to properly rebut Chrom’s teasing as she plopped onto a large rock on the side of the road.

They had been climbing the difficult mountain roads all day; it was obvious that the road wasn’t often used, the rough and uneven dirt barely being worth being classified as such, a sheer drop on one side of the road with an even steeper cliff on the other. Thankfully the road was at least very wide; wide enough that four wagons could travel side by side and not risk tumbling off the edge. Frederick led the way for them, clearing stones as he went so that none of the others would trip while the others simply trailed along as best they could. Ricken and Kellam, too, seemed to be having a rough time; never mind that Robin had spotted Ricken’s difficulty much earlier than Kellam’s.

The sky had become overcast with the threat of rain, too, and Robin had even been assaulted with the occasional raindrop, but luckily the heavens saw fit to hold on to their bounty. Which didn’t stop the tactician from grumbling and drawing his hood up as another drop hit his nose dead centre.

“I hate the mountains,” Lissa groaned, massaging her feet. “Can’t we march across some nice, gently sloping fields?”

Chrom chuckled, sipping from his waterskin. Robin watched as Sumia landed her pegasus and catered over, the look on her face making the tactician miss whatever snappy remark Chrom had for Lissa’s complaining.

“Is everything okay?” Robin asked when she got nearer, passing her a waterskin.

Sumia drank deeply before answering.

“I couldn’t see the advance party,” she told him. “It’s not… not a big deal, but I’m worried anyway.”

Robin made a thoughtful sound, stroking his chin as he gazed into the distance.

“Maybe they just flew too far ahead?” he reasoned. “I’m sure they’ll wait for us to catch up with them.”

Before Sumia could respond a light, furred hand grabbed Robin’s bicep and dragged him a few feet away.

“Wha- Dammit Panne, what now?” he asked exasperatedly.

“The Hierarch reeks of fear and anticipation,” she explained quietly into his ear. “We had best make ready; something will happen soon.”

“How can you be so sure?” Robin asked, shaking her off and adjusting his coat.

“Animal instinct,” she deadpanned before turning on her heel and striding away.

_I wonder if she even understands what sarcasm is,_ Robin wondered as he headed back to where Chrom and Lissa were resting in the shade of the cliffs, giving Sumia a reassuring smile and nod as he passed.

The woman still seemed intimidated by Panne, but at least she wasn’t overtly showing fear anymore. As Robin approached he was beaten by Emmeryn, Phila and the Hierarch, who looked a little pale and fidgety, even from a distance.

“Please, Emm, don’t encourage him,” Lissa was pleading, while her two older siblings laughed.

“I’m sorry, baby sister,” Emmeryn cooed, lightly stroking Lissa’s cheek. “But it is not very often I get to play the role of an older sister anymore.”

The Hierarch was seemingly oblivious to what was going on, sweating and looking over his shoulder up the road that climbed further into the mountains.

“Is everything alright, Hierarch?” Robin asked the man loudly and without preamble, cutting off the Royal family’s banter.

Phila gave Robin a strange look that almost seemed like she had caught wind of the older man’s strange behaviour as well, which galvanized the younger man.

“I… I… yes; yes, everything is fine,” he stammered, mopping at his brow with a handkerchief that had probably cost more than all of Robin’s clothes put together before pushing the small glasses he wore back up his nose.

“Are you sure, Hierarch?” Emmeryn asked kindly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I understand that this journey cannot be easy for you.”

“N-no, Your Grace,” he managed, looking even more stressed. “I assure you, I am…”

Panne chose that moment to come running through the assembled Shepherds.

“Prepare yourselves!” She shouted. “Fliers approach! They are not riding pegasi! Prepare your man-spawn weapons, damn you!”

Chrom looked to Robin for half a second before drawing his sword at the same time Robin did. Frederick materialized at Chrom’s side, eschewing his mount and drawing a long, two-handed sword from seemingly mid-air. Lissa was on her feet now, too, helping Phila, who held an ornate lance one handed, shield Emmeryn from potential threat. Two Plegians dropped from the cliff above them, shouting battle cries obviously directed solely at Chrom. They didn’t even make it to the ground before Panne intercepted them, breaking their necks as she landed atop them.

“More coming down the road!” she shouted, he voice once again bearing that strange flanged quality Robin assumed was due to the transformation.

“Dammit! How did they know we were here!?” Chrom growled, glaring directly at the Hierarch.

Sure enough at least thirty Plegians on foot came charging down the road towards them as a dozen or so wyvern riders swooped towards the side.

“Take their leader alive!” Chrom yelled, looking like he was about to bolt for the front line himself. “I want answers when this is done!”

“Frederick, take the Knights and hold the road!” Robin ordered as Chrom joined Phila and Lissa in Guarding a still serene looking Emmeryn.

“Shepherds, on me!” Robin shouted to the rest of them.

Robin stopped Sumia before she could fall into formation. “Sumia, find Captain Erin and bring her up; we’ll need her Pegasus Knights. Go, now!”

Before anyone could move, the Hierarch turned and ran. Robin almost rubbed his eyes in disbelief as the older man ran, much faster than he would have thought possible, directly towards the Plegians.

“Wait! Wait, I say!” he wheezed. “I’m the one your King told you about! Wait!”

The Plegians didn’t even stop; one simply swept his axe and the Hierarch fell, dead, underfoot as the black-armoured line continued to advance.

“Damn them!” Chrom roared as Frederick and the other armoured soldiers moved up and made a line.

Fortunately it looked like the wyvern riders wouldn’t press their aerial advantage as they swooped in above the foot-troops.

“Back up Frederick’s team!” Robin ordered, starting to cast lightning bolts at the wyverns. “Anyone that can, take down those wyverns! The rest of you, take anything that gets past the knights!”

Robin was satisfied as the wyverns dropped like stones, crushing many of the charging Plegians beneath their corpses; clearly there was no experienced, or even novice for that matter, tactician amongst their enemy. Their charge was stopped dead by Frederick’s line, Sully roaring a challenge as she lashed out. Unfortunately the road was too wide for them to hold alone, and the Plegians started slipping around the Ylissean soldiers, only to find Panne, Vaike, Lon’qu and Gaius waiting for them, blades and claws at the ready. Virion, Robin and the two mages did their best to harry the advancing troops, keeping an eye out for any wyvern riders and taking them down as soon as they reared their scaly heads.

Despite the ease with which they were beating the Plegians back Robin was growing uneasy.

As if on cue he heard shouting from the rear.

“Prince Chrom, beware! Enemies attack from the rear!”

Robin cursed.

“Frederick, hold this damn line if it kills you!” he shouted, trusting the knight to hold. “Panne, Lon’qu, with me!”

Robin strode purposefully back the way they had come, the other two in tow. As he watched, a lone pegasus knight with flame red hair all but crashed into the road, Lissa and Maribelle jumping to help her.

“Chrom, are you coming?” Robin called as he passed.

The Prince grinned ferally as he joined the trio and they made a rough line. There were at least ten wyverns flying towards them at full speed.

“You really know how to challenge me,” Lon’qu commented to Robin, rolling out his neck.

“I have been waiting for this,” Panne growled softly, flexing her claws beneath her.

“Let them come!” Chrom declared, brandishing his sword in an unmistakable challenge. “None shall pass!”

Robin shook out his shoulders, gripping his sword in one hand. With the other Robin used the last of his mana to conjure a dark cloud that spat lightning into the wyverns, forcing them low to the road where the Shepherds could engage them.

Lon’qu let out a low whistle in admiration of the tactician’s magic.

“Impressive,” Panne admitted, sounding like it was almost difficult to say the word.

“You never cease to amaze me,” Chrom muttered, stepping back into a ready stance.

The wyverns closed quickly, swooping low to avoid Robin’s magical lightning, and directly into the waiting Shepherds. Panne pounced immediately, taking one wyvern down with a vicious bite to the neck, completely ignoring the man riding it. She was on a second before the three other men were finished with their firsts. Lon’qu nimbly slid on his knees beneath the pole-arm of his first foe, reaching behind himself and using it and his leverage to unseat the man and flip him off his mount before slicing open its neck one handed, spinning the pole-arm and burying its spiked tip in the rider’s back before dancing on to the next foe. Robin opted to hang back, assessing the situation and acting as rearguard. Chrom swatted the axe of the nearest wyvern rider aside, spinning and slashing out, leading with his shoulder and cutting the man almost in half, his terrified mount taking flight almost immediately. Panne was on to her fourth wyvern, wrestling it to the ground as Robin heard flapping from behind him. In a flash of white and red Cordelia was amongst the wyverns, masterfully spinning her lance and driving it through weak points in the Plegians’ armour.

Robin watched awestruck as the woman, already wounded and dripping blood from a nasty looking gash on her forehead, single-handedly fought off the last two of the wyvern riders, within moments flying her pegasus triumphantly over the last of the scaled creatures she had felled.

“Now that was impressive,” Lon’qu muttered, eyeing Cordelia warily.

Chrom was already heading back to Emmeryn, and Panne was sniffing and pawing at the bodies of the Plegians, making sure they were all dead. Robin shook his head in amazement, casting a glance over his shoulder to where Frederick was directing the Shepherds in mopping up the last survivors of the foot-raid. Satisfied they had matters in hand, Robin approached Cordelia.

“That was amazing, Cordelia,” he said, coming up to her side; when she didn’t answer immediately Robin reached out, only to have her slip from the saddle, barely conscious.

He barely caught her in time, gently lowering her to the ground and calling for Lissa.

“Dammit,” Robin cursed, lifting the bottom edge of her breast-plate slightly to see the red-stained white cloth beneath. “Cordelia, wake up! That was way too cool an entrance for you to die now!”

She was muttering something, and Robin had to lean close to hear her properly.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I’m sorry…” she repeated over and over quickly, beginning to hyperventilate.

Robin started as Lissa gently lifted the wounded woman from his arms, laying her flat on the ground and setting to work.

“It’s okay, Robin,” she said as Maribelle joined her. “We can handle this; why don’t you go and make sure Vaike didn’t hurt himself? Or lose his axe again?”

“Right,” Robin said a little numbly.

He began heading in the direction of the others, where they were all grouped around what Robin assumed was the leader. As he got closer he could see Chrom was crouched low over the man, Falchion pressed to his throat.

“He sold you out,” the man laughed through a gurgle of blood welling up between his lips.

“Explain yourself and I will ease your passing,” Chrom growled, pressing a little harder with his sword.

The Plegian laughed wetly. “Your own pre… precious hierarch betrayed you for amnesty from our gl… glorious king. Heh heh… who will… you… t-trust now, eh Princeling? Who… Now…”

The Plegian choked a few times before his head lolled back, a sick smile still plastered on his lips. Chrom rose and stepped back, Sully and Stahl instantly moving to drag the body away.

“How are we for injuries?” Robin asked Virion quietly, eyes not leaving Chrom as he walked back towards Emmeryn and Phila.

“Nothing our healing maidens and a few awful-tasting poultices will not fix,” Virion answered, fiddling with the head of an arrow.

Robin nodded his thanks, and jogged lightly over to Chrom and the Exalt.

“We can’t turn back now!” Chrom was shouting at Emmeryn as Robin approached.

_Great, I drop myself into the middle of another family argument_ , Robin thought bitterly.

“Chrom, one of the Council betrayed us,” Emmeryn calmly explained. “I have no doubt that Plegian spies will have already leaked news of Franz’s betrayal to the people of Ylisse; it will incite a panic. I must return to Ylisstol. You will circle on to Castle Jagen and then pass into Regna Ferox. Meet with Duke Aerir and Kahn Flavia and bring us reinforcements.”

“And abandon you!?” Chrom asked incredulously.

“I will have Phila,” Emmeryn said, casting a glance to the older woman who nodded reassuringly.

“Sister, I cannot-“

Emmeryn forestalled any more of Chrom’s argument with a raised hand.

“As your Exalt I thusly command you,” she said softly, but with steel in her musical voice Robin had never heard from the woman before.

“Dammit, Emmeryn!” Chrom shouted. “Why? Why are you in such a hurry to throw your life away!?”

“It is not about my life,” Emmeryn answered sadly. “But about the lives of our countrymen. One day you will understand. I must speak with Lissa before I depart. I love you, Chrom.”

With that, Emmeryn strode off.

“Dammit,” Chrom cursed, leaning back against the cliff face dejectedly.

“Chrom,” Robin said hesitantly.

“I know,” Chrom sighed, pushing off the cliff and moving to Robin’s side, Phila behind him. “Let’s try to work this lovely shit-storm out before things get worse.”

They walked over to where Cordelia was sitting up, drinking water that Lissa had given her while Maribelle used her healing magic on Cordelia’s pegasus.

“Cordelia, report,” Phila said shortly.

The red-head shot unsteadily to her feet, catching herself and standing at attention.

“Wing-Commander, I regret to inform you that with the exception of myself Captain Erin’s squad has been wiped out. The Captain bade me warn milord of the impending rear ambush, and my squad sacrificed their lives to ensure I could escape. But… Not a half-day’s march behind them is another force of Plegian soldiers, outnumbering what we just faced by a margin of ten to one. I will accept any punishment you deem necessary for my cowardice and failure, ma’am.”

“You risked your life to give us this message, Cordelia,” Phila said softly. “I would not be so quick to throw away your squad-mates sacrifices.”

“Then at least allow me to accompany the Exalt as her honour guard against the Plegians!” Cordelia pleaded.

Phila seemed to think for a moment.

“No,” she said at length. “No, you will accompany Prince Chrom and see that he makes it safely to Regna Ferox. I will be guarding the Exalt myself.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cordelia said smartly, all military precision.

“Phila, please,” Chrom pleaded quietly as they left Cordelia to Lissa’s healing arts. “You have to try and talk some sense into Emm. She’s going to get you both killed!”

Phila smiled sadly at Chrom. “Not so long as I draw breath, milord.”

She left Chrom standing dumbstruck alone with Robin.

“I don’t get it,” Chrom said, sounding lost.

“She’s doing what she sees as right,” Robin guessed, trying to sound like he understood it himself. “She sees this as the only way to protect the people.”

“You’re probably right,” Chrom said with another sigh. “I just… I don’t like it.”

“I know,” Robin sighed. “And I agree with you, but… she’s technically in charge. It’ll be alright. We’ll work this out somehow.”

The prince sighed and nodded, staring at the ground for a few moments before straightening.

“I should go and say goodbye,” Chrom mumbled, heading off after Phila and leaving Robin alone.

Personally, he was amazed at the fortitude Emmeryn possessed to stick to her beliefs in such a fashion. Robin envied her strength of will. He only wished that if it came to such a decision that he would have the strength to follow her example.


	11. Chapter 11

Castle Jagen loomed forebodingly above the Shepherds; rough, tall and bare stone walls that were completely opposite to the clean and precise white lines of Ylisstol were all Robin could see. They had passed through a small farming village that morning, but the party’s pace hadn’t even slowed, powering on to the castle itself in the late evening. They were all exhausted from the battle earlier in the day and disheartened by Emmeryn’s decision to return to Ylisstol alone, but Chrom stoically led them further, so not a word of complaint was uttered, even from the usually vocal Virion. In fact the Shepherds barely spoke at all, which was a lost opportunity for Robin to learn more about the silent saffron-tressed Pegasus Knight flying recon with Sumia at present.

Robin wiped the sweat out of his eyes with the cuff of his coat, looking up at the castle’s parapets above him. The keep itself was huge, great walls surrounded an interior courtyard rivalling the Exalt’s palace in Ylisstol for size. But whereas Ylisstol’s palace was one of ordered, aesthetic beauty, Castle Jagen’s grounds were of military precision, soldiers drilling across its otherwise empty spaces while blacksmiths could be heard off to one side, hammering away. Robin had to guess that at least two hundred men were currently drilling across the yards, with Naga knew how many more inside.

“At least someone was ready for the war,” Robin muttered, eyeing the blue-armoured spearmen running combat drills in neat, orderly lines.

The soldiers didn’t even stop their drills to watch the Shepherds pass, such was their incredible focus.

“Castle Jagen is always like this,” Frederick answered before Chrom could. “Although I must admit, there is an electricity to the air now that was lacking before…”

“Frederick is from this area,” Chrom explained as the knight trailed off, watching men in armour similar to his own lay into each other with wooden swords.

“Really? How does it feel being back home?” Robin asked conversationally as they reached the keep’s gates.

“This is not a social visit,” Frederick pointed out irritably. “The sooner we’re done here, the sooner we can move towards Regna Ferox and back to Ylisstol.”

Robin looked to Chrom, who shrugged and simply continued to follow the knight. The other Shepherds were led by a retainer in blue and white livery to a building around the side of the keep, squires taking their horses and pegasi to be fed and cared for. Before Chrom, Robin and Frederick could continue into the keep alone Cordelia ran up, limping slightly as she straightened her damaged breastplate.

“Shouldn’t you go and rest?” Robin asked, falling into step with her behind Chrom and Frederick.

“I can rest when I am dead,” Cordelia said tonelessly. “Until then I am sworn to service of milord Chrom, and I will not leave his side.”

“Oh gods,” Chrom moaned as they were shown through the entry hall to an ostentatious receiving room. “Please, not you, too. One Frederick is enough…”

Robin resisted the urge to laugh out loud as the large doors on the opposite end of the room swung open, admitting what he assumed to be the Duke and his retinue. The tactician did a double take, convinced that a second Frederick was approaching them dressed in regal blue and white robes with an ornate sword in its sheath clasped in one hand.

“My lord Chrom,” the Frederick clone said, bowing deeply before the prince, sword pressed over his heart. “It does me good to see you alive and well, sire.”

“Duke Aerir,” Chrom greeted in return with a shallower bow. “Would that we were meeting again under better circumstances.”

The man straightened and nodded to Chrom, before his gaze fell on Frederick. As soon as comprehension dawned he threw his sword to the nearest retainer without even looking at the startled man, who barely caught it, before rushing up and heedlessly embracing the armoured knight in a crushing bear-hug.

“Good to see you, baby brother!” Duke Aerir thundered, lifting Frederick off the ground, armour and all, with his hug.

“Gah! Brother, please!” Frederick groaned, flailing weakly as he tried to get loose.

Chrom and Robin laughed as Frederick was eventually released. Even Aerir’s retainers were smiling, chuckling at the Duke’s antics like they were used to it. Apparently he was the polar opposite of Frederick’s serious nature.

“I’m sorry, it’s just been so long since you’ve been home!” Aerir said, clapping his hands on Frederick’s shoulders. “Come! I will have rooms and refreshments prepared for you!”

“Thank you, Aerir, but that will not be necessary,” Chrom said, sobering. “We must push on North with all due haste.”

The older man seemed to consider this a moment.

“Surely your men deserve to rest for at least one night,” Aerir said, opening his arms in an inviting gesture. “You can be off in the morning, and I get the chance to catch up with my only brother; everyone is happy.”

“Wait, how do you know what we’re here for?” Robin asked, confused.

Aerir turned on the Tactician, beaming an amused smile that looked completely out of place on a face so similar to Frederick’s.

“Please,” he laughed. “We’ve been prepared to march for a month now. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why you’re here.”

“Of course,” Robin mumbled, looking down.

“We simply await the direction you want us to march in,” Aerir laughed, slapping Robin hard on the back.

“Enough of this!” Aerir said boisterously, indicating that the Shepherds follow him. “Come! We shall take rest and food, and you can get us all caught up on this awful war.”

*

The more Robin watched Aerir he began noticing subtle and not so subtle differences between the man and Frederick. Of course, their personalities were completely opposite, but Aerir still held himself with the same confident poise and posture that Frederick did. Aerir’s hair was also shorter, and starting to turn to grey around the temples, but aside from that they looked like twins.

They, as well as Robin, Chrom and Cordelia, were sitting in a smaller and cosy sitting room in the Duke’s personal apartment, having just finished a massive dinner that Robin was pretty sure was only for his benefit. The other Shepherds had also been catered for, although he had been told that the Taguel had made a break for the forest as soon as she had gotten the chance. Robin was starting to suspect Panne couldn’t actually eat human food, a thought that popped into his head and was filed away for more consideration later.

Robin found himself sitting contentedly by the fireplace on a short sofa while Chrom, Frederick and Aerir talked of the events of the war so far in detail, Aerir’s Guard Captain Seth joining them at a low table covered in maps. He was more than content to simply sit for the time, leaving Chrom to explain the current situation, something he was doing an admirable job of, making Robin feel a little put off; he was supposed to be the tactician, after all. Robin assuaged his pride by telling himself they weren’t discussing anything new, Chrom was simply going over what they already knew. Surely they would ask for his input on any new plans. He perked up as Cordelia crossed the room, now clad in a flowing white dress while her armour was being repaired by Aerir’s personal blacksmith and her clothes were washed, although she strangely was still wearing her battered breastplate over the dress.

“I’m on to you now,” Robin said lightly.

Cordelia looked at him quizzically as she took a seat near him.

“You just wanted to join us just for the feast Aerir threw for his little brother,” Robin elaborated with a mischievous grin.

Cordelia chuckled tiredly, cradling a cup between her hands as she sat next to Robin.

“Sadly that is not entirely true,” she said, looking into the fire. “I spoke the truth about my duty to Prince Chrom. The feast was simply a bonus.”

“Hell of a bonus,” Robin groaned as he stretched, extending his legs and resting his hands behind his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so well in my entire life, and I can comfortably say that even with the amnesia.”

Cordelia smiled a little at Robin’s comment before sobering again, her eyes taking on a faraway look.

“So what was it like growing up in Ylisstol?” Robin asked conversationally, trying to steer Cordelia away from whatever was bugging her.

“It was lovely,” she said after a moment. “I had many friends; in fact, most of the Shepherds all grew up together.”

“That explains so much,” Robin said, chuckling at the revelation.

“Sumia and I in particular have been close since youth,” Cordelia went on. “When I enrolled in the Knight Academy a year ahead of her she redoubled her training regime so I wouldn’t leave her behind in terms of skill.”

“Ha! I would have loved to have seen that!” Robin chuckled.

“She has always been… so earnest,” Cordelia agreed, giggling a little herself. “Even after she was accepted into the academy, she didn’t change a bit.”

The Pegasus Knight went quiet again, Robin having run out of things to say. The silence stretched on uncomfortably, Cordelia idly fingering the hastily-mended scar on the side of her plate before finally breaking the tense atmosphere.

“Excuse me,” she said, rising without further elaboration and exiting the room silently.

Robin quizzically watched her go. After what she had been through, though, he could understand her desire to be alone. Once again he was reminded he only had a little over a month’s worth of memories and faces to go with them; he would be crushed if the Shepherds were to die and he were the only survivor. How then, would he feel if he had trained with and fought alongside them for years, only to run from battle as they died to ensure his escape?

Robin sighed, scratching his head and standing, mind made up.

He would definitely want to talk to someone, that much was for sure.

*

The sitting room and Aerir’s apartment were on the top floor of the keep, which had a rather impressive balcony with an even more spectacular view of the surrounding mountainside. The only downside was the temperature; the castle itself was already in the mountains, and the balcony being one of the highest points on the castle meant Robin’s breath misted in front of his face as he poked his head out the door, trying to catch a glimpse of red and white that would tell him where Cordelia had run off to.

She hadn’t been in the room she had been given, or the kitchen, or Castle Jagen’s desert pantry (Robin had been very scrupulous about checking there), or in any of the other common areas. Which left the balcony. Or the rest of the castle, but Robin’s caring only extended about as far as the servants passages, which still left a full three quarters of the castle to check, and there was no way in hell he was wandering around a cold and drafty castle in the middle of the night. Fortunately for him, Cordelia was indeed on the balcony. Unfortunately, now he would have to share the custard tarts he had ‘liberated’ from the kitchen.

“Cordelia!” Robin greeted in his friendliest voice, declaring his presence. “I noticed you skipped desert, so I liberated you some tarts! Well, I mean I liberated me some tarts, but I have no problem sharing…”

He hesitated a moment as the Pegasus Knight turned away from him, hugging her bare shoulders and sniffling as her entire form shuddered.

“Ah, Robin,” she said, wiping at her face hurriedly. “Sorry, it’s just so damn cold out here, I can’t seem to… to get my nose to stop… to stop…”

Her excuse was cut off by a strangled sob as she clutched her shoulders even tighter. Robin, being as dense as a brick and unused to human contact as he was, did the only thing he could think of. Balancing the tarts one handed he removed his worn old coat and put it on Cordelia’s shoulders, gently wrapping her in its folds.

“Robin: one. Cold: zero,” he said kindly as Cordelia looked up at him, her surprised face streaked with tears. “Now are you going to help me eat these tarts or not?”

She let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob before taking one of the small pastries from Robin. He had set out with many more than the two he arrived with, but he had been searching for some time, and… well, pastries were apparently one of his greatest weaknesses. Robin was satisfied to see his call about bringing food had been spot on, too; Cordelia had picked disinterestedly at her dinner, barely eating anything and had excused herself before desert. She practically inhaled the small tart, not even leaving as much as a crumb on her fingers. When she was done she sniffled again, her head dropping and her hair falling forward to cover her face.

“Wanna talk about it? It might help,” Robin asked gently, polishing off his own tart and brushing the crumbs off his shirt lazily.

Cordelia was silent for a moment, seemingly considering whether or not to open up to Robin, who was essentially still a stranger. Even if he was a stranger that now would essentially hold her life in his hands every time they rode into battle.

“How…” she began, taking a deep breath to calm herself. “How is it fair that I stand here, eating desert, while my entire squad lie dead on the road? How can I even call myself a knight now? I failed them all.”

“I don’t think you failed them,” Robin said, letting instinct take over as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders as he looked out over the moonlit mountains. “Neither does Chrom, or Frederick or anyone else. You risked your life to warn us of the impending danger, and even fought on, while wounded, to protect your Prince and your Exalt. It’s because of you the Shepherds and Exalt Emmeryn all got away unharmed today.”

“But my squad… Captain Erin… they’re all…” Cordelia croaked, pressing herself to Robin’s side.

The tactician winced a little as the edge of her breastplate cut into his side, but he ignored the unpleasant sensation in his ribs and pressed on.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through,” Robin sighed. “One of the drawbacks of being an amnesiac. But if you ever want to talk, or anything like that, my door is always open. Uh… tent-flap. As soon as I get a tent… You know what I mean.”

Cordelia nodded once, before taking another deep breath and pulling away from Robin and taking a few steps away.

“I’m sorry, sir Robin,” she said, regaining her composure and wiping at her eyes. “My behaviour is unbecoming of a knight. I will endeavour to steel my heart for the campaign at hand.”

“Sure,” Robin said, approaching Cordelia slowly. “But you’re human, too, and I’m not going to blame you for being sad right now.”

Cordelia looked away again, before practically bowling Robin over as she grabbed him around the chest, crossing the distance between them in a flash and burying her face in his shoulder and weeping freely. Robin let out a quiet squeak as the freezing breastplate was forced into his chest, grinding against him painfully. He was dumbstruck for a moment, before he relaxed and began to softly stroke her hair in what he hoped was a comforting fashion, grimacing every time she shuddered and the plate shifted. This really was uncharted waters, as far as Robin was concerned, but after a few minutes Cordelia quieted.

“Feel better?” Robin asked, still holding her.

“Yes,” she answered simply, still holding on tightly and sobbing occasionally.

Robin stood there, letting Cordelia get her grief out; he knew that she would have to bury it all away, but something felt unhealthy about doing that, so he way happy to let her vent. Even if having her steel breastplate ground into his chest hurt like hell.

“Thank you, Robin,” she said at length, her voice much calmer now. “I appreciate you listening to me rant and rave like this.”

“I honestly had no idea what I was doing, but I’m glad I helped,” Robin admitted.

Cordelia shook with mirth against him, her death-grip on his torso finally slacking as she let her arms drop and stepped back, and Robin let out a subtle sigh of relief as the breastplate finally separated itself from him.

Her face was still streaked with tears, though, and again acting on instinct Robin pulled the small handkerchief he carried around and never used out of his pouch. With as much tenderness as he could muster he began wiping the traces of tears from Cordelia’s cheeks. She started at first, but allowed him to finish.

“There,” Robin said with a smile. “Now you look every bit the knight again.”

Cordelia blushed and looked away, pulling his coat tighter around herself before she started and realised what she was doing.

“Thank you, again,” she said, quickly pulling off the coat and handing it back to Robin. “I think I will retire, now; the day’s events have left me drained. I would appreciate it if no one else found out about our little… Talk.”

“Of course,” Robin answered, pulling his coat back on.

He had felt naked for a moment there.

“Thank you,” Cordelia repeated, moving to the door. “And good night, sir Robin.”

Robin watched her leave in a graceful wave of red hair and white dress, before strolling back over to the balcony’s railing and leaning on it with his elbows, massaging his bruised ribs. As far as new experiences went, that one had been… Interesting, to say the least. And painful, but still mostly interesting. Robin let out a deep sigh, realizing as he breathed back in that his coat now smelt of Cordelia.

_I honestly don’t know how to feel about that_ , Robin realized, running a hand through his hair. _Maybe sometimes you just have to talk to a stranger about these things?_

Robin stood in quiet contemplation for a few more moments before grunting and pushing himself back up.

_Bugger it; I’m going to go get more tarts._

*

When Robin woke in the morning it was to a familiar sight.

“Good morning, Panne,” he yawned. “How was the forest?”

“Cold. You still sleep so exposed,” Panne chided, still leaning over his face.

“Maybe not so much,” Robin said with a grin, pulling the blanket covering him down to reveal the dagger strapped to his belt that his hand was resting on. “Besides, my faithful Taguel bodyguard is apparently never far off when I sleep.”

Panne huffed, finally stepping back.

“The noisy blonde one asked me to come and find you.”

“Thanks,” Robin said, sitting up and stretching. “I’ll be right down.”

When he looked over Panne was gone, the door to his room swinging closed again. Wondering if all Taguel had been as strange as she was, Robin rose and set about preparing for the day.

*

After breakfast prepared by Lissa and Maribelle and a quick farewell from Aerir, the Shepherds were back on the road again.

The Duke had seen them off in full battle-kit as his soldiers were scurrying about behind him in ordered chaos, preparing for the march ahead of them with Guard Captain Seth barking orders and kicking rears if they took too long to respond. The Duke’s armour was basically the same as Frederick’s, but with silver gilt edging and a lush looking red cape. Aerir seemed uncomfortable in the suit of armour, constantly tugging at the breastplate, but had vowed to lead his troops in person none the less. The plan, which Robin had formulated before going to sleep, called for Aerir to wait for three days before sending his forces to the capital; that would give the Shepherds time to pass North to Regna Ferox and march South with the Feroxi troops.

Robin was interested to see that Duke Aerir had given them a covered caravan to be pulled by a strong-looking draft horse, to keep their gear in while they were marching, as well as two horses so that Chrom and Lissa wouldn’t have to walk. After some deliberation Robin decided to stow his sleeping roll and cooking gear in the cart, but carry everything else. As he was sorting through his belongings to put in the caravan he reached into his pouch and found the stuffed rabbit he had picked up before Themis. Looking quizzically at it he shrugged and put it back in his pouch next to his spellbook and the latest book Sumia had suggested for him.

Even better, though, was the new tent that the Duke’s people had supplied them with for Robin. “I have my own tent!” Robin had shouted gleefully, overcome with excitement when he found out.

Now they were marching along the road heading north at a good pace; they would reach the Longfort before nightfall and make for the Coliseum first thing in the morning. Robin marched along with Vaike, Virion and Lon’qu this time, the four of them doing a lot of laughing and joking, making Robin feel completely at ease with his place among the Shepherds. Any doubts he had been entertaining seemed to fade away as they talked about nothing and everything. Eventually, of course, the topic turned to women.

“Ah, the beauteous flowers that grace us with their presence,” Virion sighed theatrically as Cordelia swooped low to deliver the scouting report to Frederick. “Truly I am blessed to bear witness to such grace and poise.”

“What the hell’d he just say?” Vaike asked, leaning conspiratorially to Robin.

“I have no idea,” Robin answered truthfully.

“Bah,” Virion said, waving his hand dismissively. “By now one would think I would be used to my silver tongue confusing mere peasants.”

“He said he’s grateful that all the women in the Shepherds are pretty, and called you both stupid,” Lon’qu said in his stoic, deadpan tone.

The four of them all burst out laughing, Vaike clapping Virion on the back as they walked. It was great that they could all get along despite the different walks of life that they had come from. Virion was quite clearly a man of noble birth, but had somehow fallen from grace and been forced to join the Shepherds; Vaike was a street urchin who had joined the Shepherds for a roof over his head; and Lon’qu, despite coming from a completely different nation, still managed to round out the other two. Robin, for his part, seemed able to float between any of the little groups among the Shepherds, talking with any of them and making friends with everyone.

“So,” Vaike said, grinning maliciously at Robin. “A little birdy might’a said something about a certain tactician gettin’ cosy with a certain scary shape-shiftin’ lady.”

The other three began to chuckle again as Robin became flustered and blushed a little.

“I hope a certain incomprehensible scientist lady performs unspeakable experiments on a certain lout,” Robin countered, crossing his arms and regaining some composure.

Vaike simply laughed harder. “Only if I’m real lucky!”

Robin chuckled along with the others, reflecting on the strange people he had found himself travelling with. It was good, though; variety was the spice of life, after all.

As dusk was falling they spied the Longfort in the distance and Chrom called a halt.

“We’ll make camp here and make for Regna Ferox in the morning,” Chrom ordered.

The Shepherds instantly set about preparing the camp off the road, finding a small shallow creek for water and clearing away underbrush as Robin approached Chrom.

“I’m sure the Feroxi won’t attack us a second time,” Robin said, only half-jokingly.

Chrom just looked at Robin with a lopsided smirk.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t take the chance either,” Robin conceded, fetching his tent from the caravan.

*

Robin was proud to admit that he had many skills; he had tried his hand at every type of weapon the Shepherds had access to, and had been passable with all of them; his skill with magic was well beyond average; he could ride a horse and a pegasus, and he suspected, a wyvern, too, if he wanted to try; not to mention his tactical skills. But as he leaned over the pot of watery, foul smelling liquid with crunchy orange chunks in it, he was forced to admit that cooking was obviously not among his repertoire of skills.

“That smells… interesting,” Sumia said hesitantly, ladling herself a shallow bowl.

“By Naga, did you make this from the carrots or the laundry-soap?” Vaike asked, his eyes widening as Sumia slopped some into his bowl next.

“Just eat it and be grateful we have hot food,” Lon’qu said, accepting his own bowl as the line moved along.

“Fascinating,” Miriel muttered, poking at a burned chunk of carrot as she was handed a helping.

“I almost want bear,” Lissa muttered, before looking up from the bowl in her hands apologetically at Robin. “Sorry Robin! I’m sure it tastes better than it looks! Or… smells.”

“You’d lose that bet!” Vaike called from his seat on a log next to Miriel, who was still poking at the burned pieces.

“Don’t worry,” Chrom said kindly, patting Robin on the shoulder and taking an extra-large helping. “I can’t cook either.”

“Yes, but you don’t burn water,” Frederick muttered as he shuffled forward in the line, looking disdainfully at the pot.

Robin sighed dejectedly, and beat a hasty retreat with a bowl in each hand before his ego took any more of a hammering.

_And carrot stew had sounded so easy…_ he lamented.

Robin had thought to do something nice for Panne and make her something he assumed the Taguel could eat so that she could join them during dinner, but as the scent of the dishes wafted up to his nose he realized that he might have sabotaged himself before he even began. He found Panne sitting behind the tents, diligently watching the road that they were a short way off of despite not being on guard duty.

“What do you want, man-spawn?” Panne asked with much less hostility than Robin had been growing used to.

“Well, you never eat with us, so I thought I would make something that you might like and you would join us.”

Panne sniffed the air, turning slightly to face Robin.

“Is that dish made from carrots?” she asked.

“Yes…?” Robin said somewhat hesitantly, his answer sounding more like a question.

“I will try it,” Panne declared.

Robin nodded, but inside he was pumping his fist furiously in the air in victory as he handed the bowl to the Taguel. Panne took a sip, using her bowl as a large cup, as Robin watched expectantly.

“I like it,” she said after a moment, much to Robin’s surprise.

“Seriously?” Robin asked, a little put off.

“I would not lie about food,” Panne snorted, taking another sip.

Robin sighed with relief. “Well, would you like to come and sit with the others?”

“I would not,” Panne answered simply without looking up at Robin.

He stopped for a second before he switched tracks and latched on to another idea.

“Perhaps I could eat with you, then, and you could tell me more about your people?” he suggested.

Panne seemed to consider this for a moment, casting a suspicious glare at Robin before snorting and nodding assent. The tactician sat down heavily next to the Taguel and began to eat slowly. It tasted horrible, but at least Panne found it passable.

“So…” Robin began. “Are there other shape-shifters besides your people? I mean that turn into other animals?”

“Yes,” Panne said. “There are stories of bird and beast tribes on a nation across the sea. Whether or not they still live or have faced the same fate as my own clan…”

She trailed off and Robin sighed, realizing his error. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“Do not apologize,” Panne said quickly. “You were not responsible for the deaths of my people, and you should not share in my gloom. What is your next question?”

“Um… What foods to Taguel eat?” Robin prompted. “I mean, besides carrots?”

“We eat many things, although we rarely cooked them,” Panne explained hesitantly. “Meat and vegetables, for instance, were always eaten raw. We also foraged fruits and nuts from the forest.”

“But if you can eat that stuff, why have you been avoiding meal time?” Robin asked curiously.

“Two reasons,” Panne shrugged. “I am not yet accustomed to eating my food cooked, and I do not enjoy the company of man-spawn.”

Robin cast Panne a sideways glance as he reluctantly choked down the last of his stew.

“I’m sitting right here, you know,” he deadpanned.

“You are… different,” Panne said quietly, staring into her bowl. “You do not smell like the man-spawn that murdered my people. Many of the others do.”

Robin was silent for a moment as he contemplated this.

Another sin to lay at the feet of the Ylissean people was obviously the genocide of the Taguel race. He had done some asking around the camp; many of the Shepherds were too young to remember it directly, but Frederick had given him an unsettlingly detailed explanation of how the ‘Coney-hunts’ would work, how they would track them with dogs and separate one from its pack, before trapping it and killing it. Even the usually stoic Frederick had looked uncomfortable as he recounted the only successful hunt his father had taken him on; Robin could only imagine the brutality that Panne’s people had been forced to endure. But for all of that, Emmeryn seemed to regret the actions of the last generation for more reasons than just the war with Plegia, and had seemed to genuinely want to make reparation to Panne for the treatment of her people. The other Shepherds, too, only wanted to get to know her.

“The Shepherds are all good people,” Robin said as his contemplation ended. “I suppose we’ll just have to get you used to spending time around them. But until you’re comfortable with the others, I’ll keep you company during meal time myself.”

Panne was silent for a moment before she began to laugh; something Robin was wholly unprepared for. It was honestly more surprising than hearing that she had liked the stew.

“What? What did I say?” he asked.

“It is nothing,” Panne said, still chuckling. “You are just terribly good natured.”

“I guess I’ll take that as a compliment,” Robin said with a shrug. “So tell me, what were your people like? I’m curious about their culture; namely, what kind of festivals did they have?”

Panne seemed to relax for the first time since Robin had met her as she went into detail about the Taguel reverence for the earth-mother and the festivals they had reflecting such. Robin listened raptly, carefully soaking up everything she was saying. The best part of losing his memory was getting to learn about new cultures a second time. He doubted he had learned about the Taguel at all, the first time, but listened all the same.

*

Robin sighed as he stretched his arms above his head, his shoulders giving a satisfying crack. He had just finished the book Sumia had given him, and was on his way to return it and ask if she had any other suggestions, but on the way there he heard a strange rustling sound coming from the edge of camp, close to where the creek was; it sounded like someone was trying and failing to move stealthily through the underbrush hiding the creek from view.

Robin quietly drew his sword, tucking the book back into his pouch, and snuck over to where he had heard the sound coming from, all thoughts of books and stories forgotten. Who among the Shepherds would be taking such pains to move silently? Fearing a Plegian assassin or worse, a Risen attack, Robin burst into the bushes with his beautiful sword at the ready, only to find Vaike crouched behind a particularly large fern with a terrified look on his face.

“Vaike?” Robin asked, sheathing his sword. “What the hell are you doing? I almost stabbed you-”

In one swift movement Robin found Vaike clamping a hand over his mouth, violently shushing him with the other.

“Dammit, Robin!” Vaike hissed, dropping his hands. “Shut yer gob before you give me away!”

Robin craned his neck to see what Vaike had been staring so intently at near the creek, thinking he was hunting or…

The tactician’s eyes widened and he turned scarlet as a very naked Sully passed in front of his vision, her back fortunately turned. Come to think of it, he could just make out the sound of the other women talking and splashing as they bathed, too.

“Are you out of your freaking mind!?” Robin hissed back, attempting to drag Vaike away from the creek.

“Hey, lay off!” Vaike whispered angrily, shaking his friend off. “Ain’t no harm in admirin’ the flowers! ‘Sides, I’m not hurting anyone!”

“If they catch you they’ll tie you to different horses and shout ‘go’!” Robin warned in a low tone.

“Then you’d best sod off before you give me away,” Vaike reasoned with a grin and a wink.

Robin was about to rebut before he felt something snort hot air down his neck. Whirling and backing into Vaike he found Sully’s horse staring directly into his eyes, manic rage written in the beast’s depthless orbs.

“Is that… Sully’s horse?” Vaike asked over Robin’s shoulder, going pale. “It looks kinda pissed.”

“I think it knows what you’re doing,” Robin said quietly, backing away from the animal, hands outstretched, palm up.

The two men stood in a stand-off with the horse for a moment as it snorted and dug at the soft ground with its hoof.

“Run! It’s gonna charge! Every man for himself!” Vaike shouted, losing his nerve first and taking off like a bat out of hell, leaving Robin alone with a very angry looking horse.

“Nice horsey,” Robin said, trying to calm the creature with a shuddering voice as he backed further away.

The horse gave a loud whinny, reared up and began to charge at the tactician.

“Waugh!” Robin screamed, running back in the direction of the camp as fast as his legs could carry him. “But I didn’t even do anything! I was trying to stop Vaike! Damn you, Vaike! You’ll pay for this!”

*

Robin all but tumbled into Sumia’s tent, forcibly closing the flap behind him as the horse charged past. After a few tense seconds he let out the breath he had been holding, slumping forwards as the adrenaline started to fade.

“Robin! You scared the life out of me! You should really knock first!” Sumia complained from her position at the small table reading by candlelight, hand on her chest.

Fortunately she was fully clothed, or things might have gone from bad to worse.

“I’m so sorry,” Robin gasped, doubling over with his hands on his knees. “But there was Vaike… and an angry horse… and… it’s not important. I wanted to return the book you gave me.”

Robin took deep breaths as he fished the book out of his pouch, trying in vain to calm his racing heartbeat.

_I swear this time I will kill Vaike when I get my hands on him_ , Robin thought irritably.

“Did you like it?” Sumia asked excitedly, putting her own book down and standing.

Or at least trying to stand, and falling flat on her face in the process as her foot caught the corner of the small table she was at.

“Geez, Sumia,” Robin said, helping her up. “Yeah, I actually did enjoy it. I’ve been up late far too many nights in a row reading it, in fact. The showdown at high-noon was especially epic.”

“I’m so glad you liked it!” Sumia said, doing a little jump and clapping her hands in excitement.

“Do you have any other recommendations?” Robin asked, finally starting to catch his breath.

“Yes!” Sumia said excitedly before hurrying to a chest she had next to her sleeping roll and beginning to rummage through it.

“So tell me, Robin,” she asked as she assembled a stack of tomes. “Are you a fiction or non-fiction person?”

“A bit of both, I suppose,” Robin said with a shrug, moving to help Sumia with the books.

“I just love a good novel,” she continued. “I get so caught up in them I sometimes forget my own sad little life. I can pretend to be a knight in shiny armour! Or maybe an evil mage or something like that!”

“I know what you mean,” Robin agreed, carrying a large pile of books to the small collapsible table in the corner of Sumia’s tent. “I always feel a little sad when a good story ends.”

“Oh, I know the feeling,” she sighed. “I finish and then it's back to reality for Sumia! Back to sad, sad reality... Er, but then I think about the next story and get excited all over again!”

“Come on, your life isn’t all that sad!” Robin said.

“Says he who does not constantly fall on his face or screw up everything he tries to do,” she countered, a little more bitterly than she had probably intended to.

“Did you not eat dinner tonight?” Robin laughed. “I don’t think the others will ever let me near the food again.”

Sumia giggled. “True.”

“And there’s one more thing I know for a fact you haven’t screwed up,” Robin said slyly. “You did manage to capture the affections of a certain blue haired pr-”

“Oh look how late it is!” Sumia said, loudly cutting off Robin as she turned a deep shade of red. “Here you go! Now go get some sleep, okay!?”

The flustered Pegasus Knight shoved three random books into Robin’s hands before bodily forcing him out of her tent where he stood, chuckling to himself for a moment and looking at the books Sumia had all but thrown at him before he heard a very equine snort.

“Oh for the love of the gods!” Robin shouted as he started running, not even bothering to look over his shoulder, knowing instantly Sully’s horse had found him again. “You stupid horse, I was trying to _stop_ Vaike! Leave me alone! Help! Mad horse! Vaike you bastard, I swear I’ll get you for this!”

*

“Wha…?” Robin mumbled as something opened the flap to his new tent, letting a blast of cold air in that woke him up. “’S there?”

_Please tell me that freaking horse isn’t back for round three,_ Robin pleaded internally, casting his small fire spell to see in the dark as he reached for his sword. At this point he didn’t care whose mount it was; if that horse was back, he was turning it into glue. Robin blinked a few times, relaxing as his tired eyes finally adjusting to the gloom.

“I am cold again, man-spawn,” Panne said softly from above him.

“So curl up with the horses,” Robin grumbled, dispelling the fire spell and pulling his sleeping roll tighter around his shoulders, rolling onto his side.

After a few moments of silence when he didn’t hear Panne leave he sighed.

“You’re still there, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“You’re not going away, are you?”

“I am cold.”

“Let’s not make a habit out of this,” Robin groaned, scooting to one side as Panne settled onto the thin mat he had laid out on the floor of the tent beside him, pressing herself to his back.

“I swear if I wake up with you in my face again I will not hesitate to headbutt,” Robin warned, trying to get comfortable again.

“Be silent, man-spawn,” Panne growled tiredly. “I am trying to sleep.”

_Why me?_ Robin thought irritably as the Taguel behind him began snoring softly. _What could I possibly have done to deserve this evening? Now I’ll never get to sleep…_

*

When Robin woke in the morning it wasn’t to Panne’s face over his.

“Mornin’” Vaike said with a giant grin plastered on his face.

Robin sighed empathetically, pulling the sleeping roll over his head. “Go away.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Vaike persisted. “I even brought you breakfast!”

“You don’t have to bribe me to keep your ‘flower-watching’ a secret,” Robin grumbled, his voice muffled by the sleeping roll. “But if you did want to, letting me sleep more would definitely be the way to go. Honestly, why does everyone have to come into my tent…”

Vaike guffawed and put the tray he was holding on the ground next to Robin’s head.

“I’ll just leave this here anyhow,” Vaike said. “In case you change your mind.”

After Vaike left, Robin sighed and sat up, letting the sleeping-roll fall off his face and inspecting the breakfast Vaike had brought him. His tone of voice had sounded… Suspicious. Fresh fruit, a fresh waterskin, some oats… And was that a bowl of leftover stew?

Robin groaned, retreating under his bedroll again, his stomach churning as the scent reached his nose. It was definitely the stew. Gods, he hated Vaike sometimes.

*

Robin yawned wide as the Shepherds passed through the frigid Feroxi countryside a few days later. Despite their misgivings from the previous night, crossing the border had been a simple affair; no doubt made easier when Robin had ordered Lon’qu to march at the front with Chrom, Frederick and himself.

Robin was marching on his own on this day, too tired to hold a proper conversation after the events of the last few days. He cast wary glances at Sully’s horse, which in turn glared at him every chance it got.

The Shepherds made good time, coming up to the Coliseum just after a short lunch break on the fifth day. In which time Robin was constantly kept very far from the food preparation. As they walked through the streets and alleys of the Coliseum behind Lon’qu Robin was forced to admit that the air was very different from the last time they were there; firstly, there were a lot less people around, and those that were went wordlessly about their tasks, as if in a rush to complete them. Robin knew from the reports that most of the Regna Ferox army was currently camped just behind the Longfort, ready to march as soon as Kahn Flavia gave the word. As they entered the arena proper they were met immediately by a very agitated looking Flavia, Raimi at her side, calm and cold as usual.

“Well met,” Flavia greeted them, clasping hands with Robin and Chrom, offering the rest a nod. “Given the current circumstances I wasn’t expecting to see you here in person, Prince Chrom.”

“What circumstances?” Chrom asked warily.

Robin’s stomach sank as Flavia gave them a pitying look.

“Perhaps we might speak somewhere… quieter,” she suggested. “Raimi, bring the Shepherds someplace warm. Prince Chrom, if you would follow me?”

Flavia led Chrom, Robin, Frederick and Cordelia, who slipped in on the end obviously still taking her duty to Chrom a little too seriously, up to the great room they had drank and celebrated in last time they were in Regna Ferox. The space was cold now, and dark, as if Flavia wouldn’t be using it again until she returned. There was an air of hibernation about the place which Robin found to be unsettling.

“Prince Chrom, before we begin I want to assure you that you have my full and unwavering support, no matter what course of action you chose to follow,” Flavia said quickly, leading them to a set of chairs.

“What has happened?” Chrom asked, hand tightening on Falchion’s grip.

“We have received reports that Gangrel’s forces have captured the Exalt,” Flavia said with clenched fists, fire in her eyes. “And that he intends to execute her as a war criminal.”

“No!” the four Shepherds shouted at once.

“They can’t!” Cordelia gasped.

“Monsters!” Frederick thundered, his composure well and truly gone. “I will kill every Plegian that I see with my bare hands until Her Grace is returned to us unharmed!”

“Well, you’ve definitely got the right idea,” Flavia said wryly to the enraged knight.

“Chrom?” Robin asked, noticing the Prince had gone still.

Chrom looked up, meeting Robin’s eyes. The pain Robin saw in his friend’s eyes cut him like a knife, but Chrom’s next words were clear and unrushed, carefully thought out and considered. They were the words of a prince and a leader.

“We march for Plegia immediately. This insult will not stand. We will rescue my sister and smash Gangrel’s ambitions to dust.”


	12. Chapter 12

Robin could see, as he wiped the sweat from his brow on his coat’s sleeve, just why the Plegians would be so eager to invade a country as rich in resources as Ylisse. Dry, cracked earth crunched under his feet as he walked along a long empty river-bed, dead water grasses and plants surrounding the banks with the wind whistling through dry stalks as the sun beat down on the small scouting party mercilessly.

Robin, Chrom, Lissa, Panne, Gaius, Vaike and Lon’qu moved silently through enemy-held territory, fortunately not yet having run afoul of any of the Plegian patrols that were constantly marching around. However, considering the amazing tracking skills Lon’qu was presenting them with, Robin amended his internal monologue that fortune had little do do with their current predicament.

In a vain attempt to keep the sun out of his eyes and off his face Robin had drawn his hood up, cutting his field of vision; considering the much more experienced eyes around him, he had no doubt it wouldn’t matter anyway. Frederick had almost had an apoplectic fit when Chrom had ordered him to stay behind, but he and the other knights would just be a liability in the desert terrain on a scouting mission like the one they were on; Robin wasn’t much happier about having the Prince and Princess accompany them, but had been much more graceful than Frederick in his acceptance. Even Cordelia had looked on to their discussion, frowning her disapproval silently the entire time. Chrom wanted to come, and that was that. Lissa had been much more argumentative about Robin trying to leave her behind, and he had eventually caved.

Mobility was the key for this mission, so Chrom had opted to forgo most of his armour, reverting again to the single shoulder guard and blue leathers he had been wearing when they had found Robin some time ago. Everyone else in their little group was accustomed to fighting without armour, and in Vaike’s case most of his clothes; Robin had chosen speed over strength for their party. Discretion was, after all, the better part of valour.

Frederick, along with the rest of the Shepherds and the majority of Ylisse’s standing army and Feroxi allies were camped in what was now the ruins of Themis, ready to move across the border on their signal. Maribelle had wept openly while her father silently raged as they passed through the ruined streets; the Plegians had simply sacked the city and retreated across the border, not even leaving a holding force. They had accomplished their goals when they had captured Exalt Emmeryn and pulled back en mass; after all, Gangrel now had his bargaining chip for the Fire Emblem.

The small group’s goal was simple; find where the enemy was, collect information so that the Ylissean-Feroxi army wouldn’t be charging in blind, and send the much swifter Panne back to Themis to summon the army, which was waiting for the order to advance. Kahn Flavia, Commander Phila, Dukes Themis and Aerir were all at the head of the various divisions with Frederick at the head of the Shepherds, waiting for Robin’s orders while Commander Cullen kept the final division of soldiers at Ylisstol in reserve. This was, honestly, what Robin had been hoping to avoid; having the entire armies of two combined nations under his control. But now that Chrom was in charge he had dragged the Tactician kicking and screaming up the ranks with him, for better or worse.

_So no pressure or anything,_ Robin thought somewhat bitterly.

Robin winced as he stepped on a crack that made a particularly loud crunch as it crumbled, earning dirty glares from the stealthier members of the group. He sighed softly as the trudged down the river bed. Gaius was a thief; Panne and Lon’qu were expert trackers and hunters; Vaike was apparently exceedingly skilled at moving unseen, as Robin had found out a few nights previously; the only others moving with as much noise as he were Chrom and Lissa, and they were Ylissean royalty, so they got no glares.

Lon’qu called a halt with a raised fist as he slithered up the river bank on his stomach, checking the coast was clear.

“Clear,” he said quietly.

“We need to move further south,” Robin said, taking a peek himself.

“Too much open ground,” the Feroxi replied with a shake of his head. “We may be able to use the sand dunes to some effect as cover, but we’d still be completely exposed to aerial scouts.”

“Well we can’t keep sneaking forever,” Chrom grunted, kneading Falchion’s grip.

“I could,” Gaius pointed out.

“Yeah, but that’s in your job description,” Vaike said, trying to create some shade for himself with his axe’s blade, holding it above his head.

“Regardless,” Robin said, trying to steer the conversation back to the topic at hand, “The Plegian army won’t be camped near a dried out river; they’ll be close to water.”

“How do we find it, though?” Gaius asked drolly. “That’s the real winning question, ain’t it Bubbles?”

Before Robin could reprimand the thief for his irritating nickname, Panne bounded up the dry bank and stood with her nose in the air, taking deep breaths.

“Panne?” Lissa asked, an edge of concern in her voice.

“I smell water,” she said after a few more seconds. “I only caught it briefly as the wind shifted, but there is definitely standing water in that direction.”

“Problem solved,” Chrom said, climbing the bank and beginning to move in the direction Panne had indicated.

“Dammit, Chrom,” Robin muttered as the others began to follow the Prince. “What part of ‘stealth op’ didn’t you get?”

*

“Well, your nose was right on the money,” Gaius muttered to Panne. “Now what do we do?”

Spread out beneath their position on a high sand dune was a small village next to an oasis, palm trees and tall grasses swaying in the wind next to the large pond. Camped near the village, though, were at least two hundred Plegian troops; in the distance Robin could just make out more camps around other oasis’, each with no doubt similar numbers.

“There’s no way this is all of them,” Chrom muttered, looking through a long thin tube with a lens of glass at either end that Miriel had invented called a ‘magnifying lens’, which made objects far distances away seem closer. Robin took the lens, looking further off in the distance.

“I think I can see more camps at other oases, but I can’t be sure,” he muttered absently.

“I’ll go find out then, shall I?” Gaius asked with a sigh.

“We’ll wait here,” the Tactician said, handing the Thief a piece of paper and another small tube of Miriel’s invention. “If you get caught, point this at the sky away from your face and twist the top; it’s supposed to send a jet of green sparks into the air. We’ll come running while Panne gets the rest of the army, and we’ll just have to take our chances. On the paper is a map; mark the troop dispositions you find and their rough numbers on it.”

Chrom nodded in agreement, and in a small cloud of sand Gaius was off. Chrom and Robin continued to watch the small village in the late morning sun while the others rested in the shade of the dune. After about a half an hour Chrom broke the silence.

“It might make Gaius’ job easier if we made a distraction for him,” the Prince suggested not-so-subtly.

“Don’t even think about it,” Robin muttered back. “This. Is. A. Stealth. Op. So no one’s supposed to know we were here.”

“I just hate this waiting,” Chrom growled, snatching the lens back from Robin.

“Gods, you’re worse than Panne,” Robin muttered with a grin. “Don’t worry; we’ll get Emm back.”

“I know,” Chrom said, his voice softening somewhat. “How can we not with such a brilliant tactician leading us?”

“Ugh, don’t start,” Robin groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Wait,” Chrom said.

“No, I’m serious; you’ve already roped me in to leading your entire army, so let up on the--”

“No, I mean ‘wait, something’s happening in the camp’ wait,” Chrom said, his voice going hard again as he passed the lens back to Robin. “Look. What do you make of it?”

Robin watched as the Plegian soldiers began to move about more frantically, obviously searching for something. “Crap. Do you think they’ve found Gaius?”

Chrom shook his head. “We would’ve seen Miriel’s toy go off.”

“Well what…”

Robin didn’t finish his sentence; as he watched a man not wearing the Plegian uniform cut through the back of a tent and climb through, dragging a young girl by the wrist with him while he carried his sword in his other hand. She was resisting, clearly not wanting to go with him as he ducked behind the tents, obviously trying to not be seen. The man had dragged her to the edge of the oasis before two of the Plegians caught sight of him and began attacking, forcing him to release the girl so he could fend them off.

“I vote we save the girl,” Robin said, handing the lens back to Chrom. “By the oasis.”

“I see her…” Chrom muttered, before standing and sliding down the back of the dune to where the others were waiting, Robin right behind him.

“Shepherds-” Chrom began before Lissa cut him off.

“We already know, and we’re ready to move,” Lissa cut him off, a determined set to her usually soft features.

“How…” Robin began, but spied the look Panne was giving him, remembering her superior senses. “Never mind… Let’s move.”

“No strategy?” Vaike asked as they jogged around the dune in the direction of the Plegian camp.

“Sure,” Robin said with a shrug as he drew his rapier. “Find the girl, save the girl, kill the Plegians.”

“Simple,” Lon’qu said with a dark smirk. “I like it.”

As they rounded the dune they began to hear shouting.

“No! Go away! Leave me alone!”

“Shepherds!” Chrom shouted, all pretence of stealth gone, “Attack!”

The girl, a small thing in fairly revealing, strappy clothes with long, pale green hair looked up in shock as the Shepherds streamed around her, Lissa stopping to shield her and check for wounds. More Plegian soldiers had shown up, and now the mysterious man was backpedalling as he blocked and parried strikes from seven opponents. As Robin watched the man saw an opening and struck down three of the seven in quick, precise strokes that spoke of a lifetime of practice and some not inconsiderable skill. Shouts were coming from the Plegian camp, though, so Robin wanted to wrap things up quickly before they had the entire Plegian army breathing down their necks.

“Into them!” Robin snarled as they smashed into the surprised Plegians with the force of a cavalry charge.

Panne had changed shape at some point during the run and bit and kicked indiscriminately among the Plegians as Vaike and Lon’qu danced through them. Robin and Chrom skidded to a halt in front of the mystery man, swords up.

“Keep that creep away from me!” the girl shouted, hiding behind Lissa.

“Wait, I say!” the man shouted back in a strange, thick accent, ignoring the two swords pointed in his direction. “Why you no comprehending, wee one!?”

“Just get away!” the girl shrieked, clinging to Lissa’s dress. “Everyone just leave me alone!”

The man cringed and looked over his shoulder back at the Plegian camp. “Please, be keeping down with the voice! You give away position! Very bad!”

“Um, excuse us…” Robin tried.

“My throat is dry, my shoes are filled with sand, and some big weirdo is trying to kill me!” the girl cried plaintively.

“Oy, you break Gregor’s heart! Why you treat like villain?” the older man, apparently named Gregor, groaned.

“Enough, fiend!” Chrom growled, evidently losing his patience. “You will not harm this maiden!”

The other Shepherds were done with the Plegian soldiers now, and created a rough circle behind Gregor, weapons up. For his part, Gregor only seemed to notice Chrom and Robin were standing in front of him as Chrom spoke.

“Who is fiend?” he asked confusedly. “You mean Gregor!? No no no friend, you having wrong idea!”

“Yeah right, creep!” Lissa called, brandishing her staff like a sword before her.

Gregor cast another glance at the camp, his face falling, muttering. “This day being nothing but insults and blows to groin… Gregor is never doing good deed for free again.”

“Listen, friends,” Gregor tried again, “Gregor is only trying to-”

Before the older man could finish he was cut off by a blast of dark purple energy flying by his head.

“Oy!” he cried, ducking and covering his head with his arms. “Watching Gregor’s face!”

“They’re on to us,” Robin warned, stepping sideways around Gregor and the other Shepherds.

“You stupid mercenary!” an old, malnourished looking robed man was shouting as he strode towards them, a squad of heavily armed Plegian soldiers and mages at his back, his wrinkled hands flaring with dark energy. “Did you honestly think we wouldn’t notice the girl missing!? You will face Grima’s wrath, interloper!”

“Oy crap,” Gregor groaned, reaching into his pocket. “Is not good. Now they make with the catching of us!”

“Why are you all after this girl?” Chrom asked, sidestepping to the opposite edge Robin had as the other three Shepherds backpedalled to make a rough line.

“All?” Gregor asked, slipping into the line between Lon’qu and Panne. “Who is all? Gregor is not one of all! Look close; maybe you not see through heat haze, but Gregor is having innocent baby face!”

“Not how I’d describe it,” Robin muttered, flipping through his spellbook one handed as he drew his hood back with the other.

“Gah! Never be minding!” the mercenary announced. “Gregor will prove he is not enemy by slaying many Plegians! Will prove his innocence!”

“This is making my head hurt,” Chrom groaned as the Plegians advanced slowly through the loose sand. “We’ll sort him out later! For now, protect the girl!”

“You… you’re going to help me?” the girl asked quietly.

“Yeah, just stay behind me,” Lissa told her, smiling reassuringly over her shoulder. “No one can beat Robin and my big brother!”

“Oy wee one! Catch!” Gregor shouted, turning slightly and throwing a red gem the size of an eyeball attached to a golden chain towards the girl.

The girl’s eyes widened as she darted out from behind Lissa, catching the gem close to her chest. Before Robin could question what had happened another blast of dark energy threw sand up into the faces of the Shepherds, the Plegians being much closer now and closing to attack.

“Shepherds, fighting retreat!” Robin called.

“This guy has terrible aim,” he muttered to himself, throwing several fireballs into the charging Plegians with one flick of his wrist.

The Plegians reeled, but pressed on doggedly, at least twenty moving up at once. Chrom and the others braced themselves and pushed back as the Plegians hit their line, not giving an inch of ground. Vaike howled as a spear bit deeply into his shoulder, but he rallied and cut the haft with his axe before spinning and delivering a death blow tho the soldier that had been wielding the offending weapon, Lissa moving closer instantly to administer healing magic. Lon’qu ducked and weaved, his graceful style of swordsmanship never ceasing to impress Robin; the man was there one second, someplace else entirely the next, his sword a red blur in his hands. Panne was doing her best to compensate for the reach of the Plegian spears, but was having little luck and had been struck numerous times, Chrom coming to her aid and parrying, buying her time to move back. To Robin’s surprise, Gregor was a whirlwind of destruction; his fighting style was similar to Lon’qu’s, but heavier and blunt, relying on strength more than speed as he smashed Plegians aside with his sword in one hand, punching and striking necks and weak points in armour with his free hand. An arrow shot out of the fray, nicking Robin’s leg and ruining his pants, leaving a gaping hole in its wake.

It wasn’t looking good for the Shepherds as another wave poured into them, forcing them all back a few more meters, before…

“Go away!” the girl screeched from behind them, before a sheet of flame enveloped the foremost Plegians.

Shock evident on their faces, the other Plegians began to retreat, falling over each other to get away. Robin spun, expecting to see that Miriel or Ricken had followed them against orders and were engaging, buying them time to escape. He was not, however, expecting to see a rather large green dragon preparing to breathe another blast of flame. This one, too, flew over the Shepherds, wreaking more havoc amongst the Plegians, even going so far as to light some of the tents between the village huts on fire. Its wrath vented, the dragon lowered itself to the ground and began shrinking, turning back into the girl who was now kneeling on the ground, gasping and out of breath.

“Chrom, the little girl just turned into a dragon,” Robin called, voice quaking.

“What?” Chrom asked, spinning. “What’s happening? Did you make that fire?”

Robin shook his head, pointing to the girl.

“Fools!” the old Plegian mage shouted, readying another spell as his soldiers panicked, trying to put out the fires in the camp. “I’ll kill you all myself! For the glory of Grima!”

The mage lifted his hands, another spell primed and ready to fly, before jumping a little and falling forward, a man in black Plegian armour standing over him, a dagger in each hand.

“Can we leave now? This armour is really hot.” Gaius asked, pulling off the helmet of the suit of armour he was wearing.

“Nice disguise,” Robin said as he lifted the girl into his arms, retreating with the rest of the Shepherds. “Your sense of timing is also impeccable. Have you got the report?”

“He is really good at that,” Robin heard Vaike mutter as he held a hand to the wound on his shoulder.

“I aim to please,” Gaius said with a shrug, pulling a strap on the side of the armour and letting the breastplate fall to the sand before handing Robin a crumpled piece of parchment that might once have been rolled.

“Still up for that run, Panne?” Robin asked over the top of the gasping girl-dragon in his arms.

Wordlessly the Taguel took the report in her mouth before bounding off, easily outpacing the Shepherds and disappearing into the distance.

“We go to safe place now, yes?” Gregor asked, slightly out of breath. “Gregor is being too old for the running and fighting like this.”

“You still here?” Robin asked, looking over his shoulder to check for signs of pursuit; thankfully it looked like the fire was proving to be an efficient distraction.

“Yes!” Gregor said with a big, happy smile. “Is good you came! Gregor just added new name to list of angry former employers!”

“Well, you take care of her then,” Robin said, dropping the dragon-girl into Gregor’s arms and stifling a laugh from the look of surprise on his face.

“This is just the worst. Day. Ever,” the girl in Gregor’s arms sobbed.

“Ho now, wee one!” Gregor said cheerfully. “Do not make with the crying of tears! The evil people are now dead people! This is good, no?”

The girl quieted, before smiling a little as well.

“You’re right! And I’m sorry I was so mean to you before; I get nervous when I’m around people out of my age group. I’m Nowi,” she said, smiling over at Robin before looking back up at Gregor. “You can put me down, now.”

Gregor acquiesced, lowering the girl to the ground with a hearty laugh. “Is no worry! Besides, Gregor is being much closer to age group than others!”

“Less talking, more running!” Chrom called from the top of the dune they were at the base of.

When Robin, Nowi and Gregor made it to the top Chrom stopped Gregor, pointing to the girl. “Gregor, was it? Can you watch her? We can’t linger here.”

Gregor seemed to consider this for a moment. “Gregor is mercenary, yes? You hire Gregor to watch wee one. True, Gregor just finish killing former employer, but if you no harm wee one, Gregor have no problem with working for you.”

“Yes, fine, whatever,” Chrom said distractedly, looking back at the camp with the magnifying lens. “Just move and keep the girl moving.”

“The ‘girl’ has a name!” Nowi huffed angrily. “It’s Nowi!”

“Sorry, Nowi, but he gets distracted easily,” Robin said with a shrug, doing his best to forget the girl was really a dragon. “Why don’t you follow us to safety?”

*

Panne was waiting for them at the rendezvous point just inside the Ylissean-Plegian border, where the land was still flat dry badlands rather than sand dunes. Maribelle, Cordelia and Sumia were waiting with Panne, standing idly by their pegasi and horse as the Shepherds climbed out of the dry riverbed they had used to infiltrate Plegia.

“Oy, a welcoming party of beautiful women just for Gregor!” the old mercenary said, happily spreading his arms when he saw the three women. “Must be Gregor’s lucky day, yes?”

“Captain!” Sumia said, instantly by Chrom’s side. “Are you wounded? Let me help you!”

“Lissa, darling,” Maribelle greeted her friend, shading her with her ever-present parasol.

“Can you help me with Vaike’s wound? I’m a little out of breath,” Lissa asked tiredly, before the two of them set to work on Vaike’s wounded shoulder.

Lon’qu and Gaius wordlessly beelined right for the waterskins hanging off of Sumia’s pegasus’ saddle, Gregor and Nowi following them. Robin breathed a sigh of relief, finally relaxing now that they were out of danger.

“It looks like first blood of the campaign goes to you,” Cordelia said with a light smile, holding out a waterskin for Robin, who gratefully accepted it and drank deep.

“That’s one way of putting things,” Robin muttered, wiping his mouth with the cuff of his coat.

“What’s the other?” Cordelia asked curiously.

Robin cast a glance over at Nowi and Gregor, currently arguing animatedly with each other over the largest waterskin.

“Getting my arse saved by a little-girl-who-just-so-happens-to-be-a-dragon before picking up yet another eccentric addition to our ranks?” Robin said with a shrug.

Cordelia quizzically raised an eyebrow, but before she could speak a signal horn sounded in the distance, blaring out three clear, precise notes, followed by several more horns signalling in the same fashion.

Robin watched, conflicting emotions playing out in his head, as one thousand Ylissean cavalrymen and Knights began to charge down the road, led by Duke Themis at the fore, his banner snapping proudly in the arid desert wind, from the mountain pass where they had confronted Gangrel not so long ago. Wings of Pegasi flew overhead, their bodies all but blocking out the sun as Phila flew cover for Duke Themis’ charge. As the mounted soldiers raced past, Robin’s eyes were drawn again to the ranks of Feroxi foot soldiers, outnumbering the knights and pegasi five to one, led by Flavia who was easily distinguishable in her ornate red plate at the front of the force, as they charged after the knights, heading straight for the camps that the Shepherds had marked out during their scouting mission.

“I feel like I should say something,” Chrom said sadly as he and the others gathered to watch the procession.

“Wow,” Nowi gasped. “That’s a lot of soldiers!”

“Is good thing they rescue us when they did, yes?” Gregor said to Nowi sombrely. “Otherwise we be caught right in middle of what is to come.”

“Will it be enough?” Sumia asked tentatively.

“It had better be,” Robin said, crossing his arms and watching as a smaller group peeled off from the Feroxi and began to head their direction; evidentially the other Shepherds were now coming to meet them, too. “We didn’t really keep many of our forces in reserve.”

“It will be enough,” Chrom said with much more conviction than Robin felt.

*

Night was falling as Robin strode through the camp, barking orders and pointing between scribbling notes on a parchment.

“We need to dig in here!” he shouted to the adjutants following him. “Secure the oases and set up a more permanent foothold on this side of the border! Organize a rotation of new recruits building defences on the stable land; organize pegasi flights over the sand approaches!”

“Sir!” one of the men said, saluting and running off.

“You, you, and you!” Robin said, pointing at three men. “Check all the divisions and make sure they have adequate supplies; weapons, food, water, temporary lodgings; I won’t have even one man in this army sleep without a tent! I want full reports within the hour!”

“Sir!” the three of them saluted, running off in different directions.

Two men remained, and Robin turned on them next.

“You and you; I want reports on scouting rosters on my desk before lights out! Focus mainly on the fliers and specialist units like thieves and assassins! Don’t forget the mages; they’ll move easier through the sands! Go!”

Saluting, the last two men headed off, leaving Robin standing alone just outside of the circle of tents that the Shepherds had set up in the heart of the camp, next to one of the oasis’ that had been liberated by the afternoon’s fighting.

He tiredly shuffled into the circle, where a merry bonfire was burning directly in the centre, tended to by an ever-attentive Frederick. To one side Robin could see Lissa, Maribelle, Sumia and Stahl all busy at work preparing dinner while Nowi hovered around them like a fly; Robin decided to steer clear of that whole mess and opted instead to continue moving around them. Lon’qu and Vaike (mostly Vaike) were busy explaining to the rest of the Shepherds just what had happened on their stealth mission, and it looked like Sully was busily cleaning the sand and grit out of her armour.

“Is good group, yes?” Gregor asked, coming up beside Robin, a chunk of jerky in his hand.

“Gregor,” Robin greeted the older man. “Glad to see you approve of our little band of misfits.”

“Yes!” Gregor laughed, popping the last of the jerky into his mouth. “Is very misfit! Makes Gregor feel like young man again! And many beautiful women, too! Gregor thinks he is dying and gone to heaven.”

“Oh gods, not you too,” Robin groaned, rolling his eyes. “I get enough of this from Vaike.”

“Spiky haired man have appreciation for fine women, too? He and Gregor should talk,” Gregor asked curiously, pulling a vial out of his pocket and knocking it back in one gulp. “Blech. Never get used to such taste.”

“What was that?” Robin asked, eager to change the subject.

“Is special medicine,” Gregor explained, still making faces like something had died under his tongue. “Tastes like bottom of old well, but is very good for you.”

Gregor held out another vial of the brackish liquid to Robin. “Here; you drink, yes?”

“Uh… I don’t know if…” Robin started before the older man cut him off.

“Pah! Gregor not being so hasty to poison new employers,” Gregor said with a hearty laugh and a huge grin. “Is good for you! Makes Gregor fight like younger man; can only imagine what effect it has on actual young man!”

“Alright,” Robin said reluctantly, taking the vial and drinking it much the same way Gregor had.

And instantly regretting it.

“What in all of all the hells did you just give me!?” Robin coughed, the harsh liquid burning its way to Robin’s stomach.

“Give potion time,” Gregor laughed. “Will start to work soon. Tactician Robin fight like lion tomorrow!”

“Was there… Was there Feroxi firewine in this?” Robin wheezed, passing the empty vial back to Gregor.

“Yes! Am glad you recognized it!” Gregor said. “Is integral part of potion; alcohol is killing all bad things in stomach, making Robin feel much better. Potion also have roots and fruit juices, all kinds of fancy thingies! Does not come cheap.”

“Wait,” Robin said, stopping and looking wide-eyed at the big mercenary. “You’re charging me for it?”

“Hmmm… Consider first one gift from Gregor; free sample,” Gregor said, wrapping an arm around Robin’s shoulders. “Next ones will cost, though! Gregor even give Robin special employer discount.”

“What makes you think I’ll want more?” Robin asked, sagging under Gregor’s admittedly massive arm.

“Is addictive,” Gregor smiled. “Special kind of little brown bean is roasted, crushed and put into potion! Makes you feel like thousand suns burning inside, but also makes you want more.”

“Did you just drug me!?” Robin asked as he slipped out of Gregor’s embrace, terrified.

“No! No no no no no!” Gregor said, shaking his head empathetically. “Is all natural! Gregor is going to eat foods now. Was good talking to young Robin!”

As Gregor walked away Robin felt his awareness begin to expand as his tired limbs felt renewed. Looking around he could even see better in the dark, and easily spotted the first of the adjutants racing up to deliver their reports.

_Maybe this stuff isn’t so bad after all?_ Robin thought tentatively, practically bouncing over to meet the men.

*

After three more hours of planning with exceedingly well-prepared soldiers and leaders Robin was exhausted, despite Gregor’s mystery tonic. He slumped into the small Shepherd compound for a second time, dragging his feet. The bonfire had already burned low, and many of the Shepherds were preparing to rest for the evening.

Robin had been buoyed enough to deal with the final preparations from the army officials, talk strategy with Chrom and the other leaders in a last minute meeting, and even tour the lines where the defences were being erected; spiked logs being buried in the earth facing outwards to stop cavalry charges was really the only thing they could do on short notice, but it would suit their needs just fine. He shuffled over to the table that had been used for the food-preparation, realising how late it was and hoping against hope that someone had had the foresight to save him some.

Finding only a stack of freshly washed pots and bowls, Robin’s hopes were dashed.

He opted to go and find the provisions they kept in the Shepherds’ private caravan, grabbing handfuls of jerky, dried fruits and a small wineskin from the crates piled up the front of the wagon. Safely cradling his spoils, Robin headed back for the fire. As the tactician sat he hissed in pain, remembering the arrow from earlier in the day. Setting down his burden carefully at his feet, Robin began rummaging through his pouch, looking in vain hope for a salve he knew he had used the day before.

“Dammit, I knew I shoulda restocked on that stupid thing…” he muttered softly.

Robin perked up as his hands closed on a small metal container nestled between some light bandages at the bottom of the pouch.

“What in the hell…?”

“I noticed you were out, so I restocked your medical supplies this morning before you left,” Cordelia said happily, coming up behind him and leaning on a javelin. “It probably would have been a better idea to tell you first, though.”

“Cordelia?” Robin asked, beginning to apply the salve to his injury. “You don’t miss a single detail, do you?”

To say that the Pegasus Knight was a godsend for Robin would be an understatement. In the week that had passed while armies prepared to march on Plegia Robin had found himself more and more thrust into the role of quartermaster for the expanding roster of Shepherds; a job that wouldn’t have been so bad had it not been for the task of organizing two nations’ armies almost single-handedly. Fortunately Cordelia had taken to caring for the Shepherds and picking up the slack that Robin was dropping, doing a better job than he could ever hope to.

“I just like to stay on top of things,” she replied with a slight shrug. “By taking stock of everyone's equipment, I know when anything needs replacing.”

“That’s commitment, right there,” Robin said distractedly. “Wait, you mean everybody’s equipment? As in all of us? In your head? Yeesh, Cordelia, even I need to keep notes for that kind of thing.”

“Of course,” Cordelia laughed lightly, her whole face lighting up. “Imagine the chaos that would ensue if our equipment ran out? Or, heaven forbid, that lummox Vaike didn’t get thirds of a meal?”

Robin tried moving his injured leg a little before putting the salve away, satisfied the wound was treated.

“Gods, I can certainly see why everyone calls you a genius,” he said idly. “You’ll put me out of a job at this rate!”

“Do not call me that!” the Pegasus Knight snapped suddenly.

Robin turned at Cordelia’s outburst. Her good cheer had vanished, instead leaving a pained grimace on her face as she clutched tightly to her javelin.

“Hey, I’m sorry, okay?” Robin said softly, trying to smooth things over. “I didn’t mean any offense by that; it was meant to be a compliment.”

“No, of course you didn't,” Cordelia sighed. “Please forgive me. It's just that...my superiors called me that from the moment I joined the knights. It was so very hard sometimes... Little Lady Genius, they called me. They teased and taunted me... They mocked me, too... My appearance, and my javelin technique...”

“Wow, I’m really, really sorry,” Robin said, shifting on his seat to face her. “I had no idea. I mean, I guessed being a knight would be difficult, but that’s kinda harsh. You know I didn’t mean anything by it…”

“I know, I know,” Cordelia sighed, her mask sliding back into place. “I’m just overly sensitive about it is all; pay me no mind.”

“Well, if you ever need to talk…” Robin offered.

“I know, ‘your tent-flap is always open’,” Cordelia said with a tired smile. “Since you offered, though, I’d like to know what you think of this javelin. I’m not quite sure about the balance, myself.”

“Uh… that’s not what I… I mean… uh…” Robin stammered, confused by the abrupt change of topic before shrugging and stuffing a particularly large piece of a dried apple into his mouth. “Sure. I’m no weapon-smith, but why not? Hand it here.”

*

Robin groaned, stretching out his neck and rubbing his eyes. He’d been pouring over the strategy books Chrom had ordered brought from his quartes in Ylisstol, and the flickering candlelight he was forced to read by was giving him a headache. It was late now, and Robin knew they had to march early, but still he couldn’t sleep. Performance anxiety or something similar; he couldn’t help it, if he screwed up people would die and he was starting to panic.

“Where did I put that stupid _Treatise on Tactics_ …” he groaned, looking through the pile of books for the tome in question.

Advanced tactics were adding to his headache. He would simply look up a few basic principles and retire for the evening. Much to his disappointment he hadn’t even gotten started on the books Sumia had given him…

Just as he found the offending tome, he was startled to hear a slight gasp from the direction of Chrom’s tent, which was the next one over. Robin instantly went for his sword, fearing the worst, before he heard a light giggle. Apparently Chrom and Sumia were still up, too.

“Oh for the love of…” Robin muttered darkly, putting his sword down and snatching up his coat as another giggle floated over, followed by a hurried shush.

_There is no way in hell I am sitting here and listening to that all night_ Robin thought irritably, planning to put his tent much further away from the Prince’s next time.

Robin stomped away as loudly as he could on the dry and soft earth, hoping Chrom would get the message. Stopping some distance away he pulled on his coat; he found that the desert night air was particularly chilly, but it didn’t feel like a new revelation to him. Shaking such thoughts from his head, trying to replace them with ‘ _I’m sure there are plenty of other deserts in the world_ ’ Robin made his way to where the fire was still fitfully burning, running low on fuel. Robin tossed a few more logs onto it, warming his hands on the renewed flames.

“I thought you would be asleep by now,” Panne said, sitting up from across the fire and making Robin jump a little at her sudden appearance.

“Not with Chrom and…” Robin started, before stopping himself. “I mean, uh… nerves. I’ve got pre-battle nerves.”

Panne nodded, moving to sit with Robin.

“I, uh, didn’t wake you, did I? Why are you sleeping out here, anyway?” Robin asked before he could stop his tired mind.

Panne shrugged. “It is warmer than in a tent next to the fire, and I find the horses do not lie down to sleep during marches. They tell me that they get nervous.”

“You can talk to animals?” Robin asked incredulously.

Panne nodded. “Not in the way I speak to you or the other man-spawn. We… understand each other, though.”

“Wow,” Robin breathed. “That’s impressive.”

“There is much I find strange about humans, too,” Panne said dryly.

“I’ll bet,” Robin chuckled. “We’re a pretty funny bunch.”

“Such as why the Prince and the clumsy one feel the need to hide their affections,” Panne continued.

Robin shrugged, surprisingly not as embarrassed as he thought he would have been about the topic. Maybe Vaike’s vulgarity was starting to rub off on him.

“It’s wartime, and Chrom’s the leader,” Robin explained. “People need to see him as level-headed, unbiased to the troops, undistracted. She was probably only in there to offer him comfort, anyway, considering the way things have gone for him and Lissa lately.”

“You speak of the Exalt’s sacrifice?”

“No,” Robin corrected quickly. “Not a sacrifice. Not yet. Not before we save her first.”

Panne chuckled darkly. “Your confidence is inspiring. Are you so certain it is not already too late?”

Robin nodded. “It would be a huge demoralization to all of the troops; Gangrel wouldn’t be able to stop himself from rubbing our noses in it.”

“I spoke with her before we separated,” Panne said after a moment of thought. “She seemed truly apologetic for what happened to my people. I came to the capital full of hate for all man-spawn; I still am full of hate, but…”

“Not for all of us?” Robin ventured as Panne trailed off.

“No,” Panne agreed. “Not all of you. She… opened my eyes.”

The two were silent for a moment before a thought struck Robin.

“Is there a reason you’re not bothering me to be your human-heater tonight?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Panne looked away slightly. “I was under the impression it bothered you.”

“Urgh. Not as much as what’s going on in the tent next to mine…” Robin muttered, sure that Panne would hear him.

Robin stood, stretching his tired limbs a little as Panne laughed quietly at his bleak joke.

“Well, this man-spawn is tired. And particularly cold tonight,” he added, shooting a glance at Panne. “I could use a fluffy Taguel heater…?”

Panne shook her head as she stood, moving to her previous position by the fire.

"Clear heads, no distractions and all that, huh?" Robin asked a little sadly.

"I am trying to sleep, man-spawn," the Taguel answered him, a cross between amusement and sadness in her voice.

Robin sighed and shrugged as he walked away. "Just make sure you don't roll into the fire; I'm not overly fond of roast rabbit."


	13. Chapter 13

The next morning thoughts swum around in Chrom’s groggy mind as he tried to pull himself from his deep slumber. The Prince gave a mighty yawn, trying to organize his thoughts. There were the lingering thoughts of the war; troop dispositions, enemy movement reports, but mostly he was replaying the events from the previous night when he had been speaking to Sumia for what seemed like the entire evening.

If her were to be completely honest, he was beginning to think he had fallen madly in love with his childhood friend.

Even through all of the trials that the war had thrown at them so far, she had stood firmly by his side; the only person outside his family that he valued as much as her was Robin, for some strange reason; the tactician had been a good friend, listening to him complain and treating him like Chrom the man, not Chrom the prince, like so many of the others did.

A soft moan from his chest brought his thoughts back to his current situation. He and Sumia had talked late into the night as he shared all of his fears and hopes for the campaign and the future of Ylisse itself; he had revealed to her that the greatest reason he wanted to rescue Emm was because he didn’t feel up to becoming the Exalt. He was no ruler; he may be a military leader, but there was no way he could captivate the hearts and minds of the people of Ylisse like Emmeryn could.

Sumia had sat, listening silently until he was finished, before taking his hands in hers, and telling him quite frankly that he was wrong. That he was a wonderful leader, and would make a fine Exalt. He had sworn to her then that if they didn’t rescue his sister, that if the worst were to come to pass, that he would spend the rest of his life living up to her ideals. He had sealed the promise with a kiss.

Then they had given in to each other and… Well, Chrom didn’t want to dwell on it while the woman was still in his arms, as naked as he was least he lose himself to his baser urges again. He was sure, too, that they had woken Robin the previous night. He would have to apologize for that.

As the haze of comfortable sleep lifted Chrom began to realize something was wrong.

He became instantly aware of a number of things as he jolted back to awareness, sleep receding instantly like a curtain being yanked off of his mind.

Firstly, there was a lot more noise outside his tent than there should have been given the time of morning it was; they weren’t supposed to march until an hour after sunrise, and through the crack in the tent flaps Chrom could tell that the sun was just now beginning to rise.

Second, Chrom could smell smoke; not cooking fire or torch smoke, but burning tent and flesh smoke.

Third, as he tried to rise, there was still a fitfully dozing Pegasus Knight using his chest as a pillow.

“Sumia, wake up!” he said, shaking her awake. “We’re under attack!”

*

In the burning camp Robin was everywhere at once.

He was directing the mages from both the Shepherds and the Royal Mage Academy that had accompanied the army in using wind spells to suck oxygen from the flames while others used fire spells to try and keep the blaze localized to the few tents that were already burning.

He was shouting orders to ready defences, making damn sure that the men in question would be rousing Themis, Phila and Flavia as their first ports of call; those three could handle the bulk of the troop deployment and free up Robin to take a more overall look at the situation.

Most importantly, though, he was slashing and felling every man in a Plegian Assassin’s outfit that threw himself at the Shepherds’ little compound while the Shepherds hastily donned their armour and prepared for battle.

And he hadn’t even had time to throw on his coat yet.

Lon’qu, Panne, Vaike and Ricken were with him, holding back anything that got too close and was wearing black. It was pretty obvious who the Plegians targets were.

“How did so many get past the sentries!?” Ricken shouted over the din.

“Don’t matter!” Vaike answered as Robin retreated to shout more orders to the Ylissean and Feroxi soldiers. “Kill first, ask questions later, kid!”

“Ricken, I need you on those fires!” Robin shouted, grabbing the boy by the shoulder to get his attention. “Find Miriel and do exactly what she says!”

“Right!” Ricken nodded, his voice breaking before running off in the direction of the burning supply tents.

The poor kid was terrified; and he should have been. The Plegian surprise attack had come out of nowhere. It shouldn’t have been possible. Hell, even Robin was unnerved by the sudden appearance of the assassins. One moment he had turned around, the camp empty behind him, and the next when he turned back he had been surrounded. Fortunately they were lightly armoured, and no amount of leather would stop a lightning bolt.

Another assassin leapt at Robin and he realized that they weren’t fighting Plegians as he stabbed the man in the chest and he burst into purple-black smoke and ash.

“Risen!” Robin shouted as loud as he could.

This shout made the Shepherds come running from where they were trying to put out the fires, Gregor at their head with his massive sword swinging. The Risen had been all but silent for weeks, becoming little more than a nagging thought in the back of his mind that would need dealing with once the war with Plegia was over. But now here they were, obviously intent on killing the Ylissean command structure; a fact that did not bode well in the least.

Robin took a few steps back as the rest of the Shepherds slammed into the Risen, beginning to rout the enemy easily with their skills and numbers as Robin grabbed the first Ylissean soldier he could find.

“Are the perimeter sentries still in place?” he snarled above the din of battle all around them.

“Uh… y-yes milord, they should be!” the man stammered.

“Should be isn’t good enough! Go double check!” Robin ordered, giving the man a light shove in the direction of the perimeter.

At least by Chrom giving him almost total authority in the army Robin could get things done.

A bucket line had formed from the closest oasis, and now that the Risen threat was safely under control Robin joined it, sure that the Shepherds were roused they could handle the last of their foe. Nowi followed him, looking lost as she stumbled around wide-eyed and shocked by the destruction. Eventually they managed to put out the fires, and after the soldier Robin sent off returned with his report he began to breathe easy again.

There was a flash of familiar blue hair in the corner of Robin’s vision and he turned expecting to see Chrom approaching, only to see someone disappearing around the corner of one of the tents. Before he could investigate another soldier was demanding his attention, asking him how they were to redistribute the supplies, and Robin forgot all about the blue-haired shade.

Chrom found him later, well after the sun had properly risen, the tactician covered in soot and dirt as he dug through the remains of one of the supply tents. The Prince was still wearing the lighter gear from the previous day, Robin noticed, although it, too, was smudged with soot and dirt now.

“What happened?” Chrom asked without preamble.

“Well good morning to you, too,” Robin grumbled, sitting on one of the less-damaged crates before launching into his explanation. “We were ambushed; the Risen simply appeared in the middle of the camp. All of the perimeter defences are intact, all of the guards reported in, and no tracks lead in from the desert.”

“So… what? The Risen can suddenly teleport behind our lines?” Chrom asked, kicking at the ash on the ground in frustration.

“I’m saying that’s what it looks like, but I don’t know,” Robin conceded. “That, or Plegian spies have figured out a way to summon them. Reports came in while you and the others were dealing with the Risen; most all of the soldiers were unharmed, a few minor burns and injuries, no fatalities.”

“A group of Risen appears in the middle of camp and there are no fatalities?” Chrom asked incredulously.

“It appears they wanted us,” Robin said.

“The Shepherds?”

“No; you and me,” Robin said, deadly serious. “They were growling our names. It’s scary enough to think that the monsters can talk, but that they were specifically after us…?”

“That is… disquieting,” Chrom admitted. “But it doesn’t change anything. We march south for Plegia’s capital as soon as we break camp.”

“Well,” Robin said, getting up and brushing his pants off, “On the bright side, at least there’s a little less camp to break now, eh?”

“I think it’s your sense of humour that’s broken,” Chrom said, rolling his eyes.

“I need my coat,” Robin admitted with a self-depreciating smile. “I’m off my game without it.”

*

“It is confirmed; the Exalt is to be executed at the castle today.”

Robin nodded grimly at the news.

He, the two Feroxi Khans, Phila and the two Ylissean Dukes were meeting with Chrom, when Basilio’s chief spy had barged in warning of dire news. Chrom, to his credit, didn’t flinch or falter.

“We were expecting this,” he said evenly. “Despite the attack this morning we must continue with the plan.”

“Your prediction was right, Robin,” Basilio rumbled quietly, obviously thinking, before dismissing the spy with a wave of his hand, who slunk out silently as if he had never been there.

“Why am I not reassured by that thought?” Robin muttered darkly.

“Chin up, lad!” Flavia said boisterously. “It’s your predictions and thinking that’s gotten us this far; show some confidence! You’ll need it soon when you’re knee deep in Plegian blood!”

“This plan is risky, but only if we fail,” Aerir said with a nod to the tactician.

“We can make it work,” Phila assured them confidently.

“This time tomorrow we’ll all be swapping stories with the Lady Emmeryn on the road back to Ylisstol,” Duke Themis said, encouragingly clapping a hand on Robin’s shoulder.

“You’re right,” Robin said, faking a smile to cover the uneasiness he felt.

“For what it’s worth,” Chrom said with a smile. “We all believe in your plan. You don’t even have to any of the heavy lifting, either, so what are you worried about?”

Robin nodded as the assembled leaders chuckled. When they had all filed out of Chrom’s tent, Robin lingered.

“Chrom,” he said, standing before his friend. “When the fighting starts I want you to know that no matter what, I’ll be right there by your side.”

“With little more than a coat and a spellbook for protection?” Chrom asked playfully, pulling his own breastplate on over his head.

“Uh…” Robin stammered as Chrom started to laugh.

“Look in the bag in the corner of the room,” he said, pointing.

Robin did as he was told, eyes widening as he saw what was inside.

“You know,” Robin said with a big grin breaking out on his face. “I think if we did this to Vaike, he still wouldn’t take the hint.”

*

Despite the arid, oppressive heat, Robin freely admitted he would rather dry up and float away than not wear his coat. It was dirty, it was tattered, it was in dire need of a good mending, and it was far, far too hot to be wearing such a heavy garment, but the thought of even carrying it under his arm made Robin shiver. The only other thing he really owned was his spellbook, and if he were to be entirely honest he was just as overprotective of it as well.

His spellbook, in his own mind, was just as unique. Albeit in much better shape than the coat was, living safely in his pouch most of the time. Robin had noticed during his interactions with the other mages that it was indeed unique, though; their spellbooks were much smaller, usually only containing one or two spells and eventually losing their focusing power after a period of prolonged use. Robin surmised his was special, and focused power from within his body, rather than the book itself, explaining why he ran out of mana so much faster than the others, but also why his spells were usually so much more devastatingly powerful. According to Miriel it was ‘old-fashioned’ spell-casting that had long ago fallen out of favour for the more expedient ‘disposable tomes’ that the majority of mages used out of convenience. Unfortunately, if he wasn’t careful it also meant that he may start to shorten his lifespan if he kept abusing his mana and working himself until he dropped. It also explained the messy, handwritten quality to his spells, and why they were all subtly different to the others’ versions. His ‘thunder’ spell, in particular, was at least three degrees removed from the average thunder spell, from what he’d seen in Ricken’s tome.

So as they trudged along with the rest of the army, behind the mounted divisions but ahead of the foot-soldiers, Robin had his hood up and his shirt unbuttoned, fanning himself with some of the blank loose leafs from the tactical manual he was busily compiling in his spare time for fun, thinking fondly of his spellbook; he was really quite proud of the grimoire, to be honest.

But not as proud as he was of his coat.

“I know we have to march in armour,” Stahl panted eventually, “But why on earth are you wearing that bloody coat?”

Robin simply shrugged. “I like my coat. Besides, not wearing armour is going to bite me in the arse one day soon.”

Vaike sidled up, grinning maniacally. “It just gives you plenty of manly scars like Teach has!”

“Vaike, the only reason we let you fight without armour is to scare the new recruits into wearing it when they see how beaten up you get,” Lissa said, walking up alongside them. “And of course I’m the one that always has to put you back together.”

At some point the girl had foregone her horse, donating it to one of the knights whose mount had been wounded. She was nothing if not altruistic to her people, Robin thought with a grin. Vaike had shrugged, illustrating Lissa’s point perfectly when he flinched, his shoulder wound from the previous day causing some pain.

They all laughed so hard at that that they coughed after inhaling the ever-present desert dust, even Vaike.

*

The capital of Plegia was in the middle of the desert, sitting next to the old, giant bones of the dark dragon Grima that had been slain millennia ago. Strangely, Gangrel’s castle was actually constructed atop the ancient skull, almost like a parasitic growth that had refused to die when its host had. Even stranger was the fact that there was no oasis in sight, and the capital would have had to import water from elsewhere. Chrom had explained that the Plegians’ main national religion was ‘Grimleal’, a cult worshipping the Dark Dragon as a god, much the same way that the Ylisseans worshipped Naga. The word Grimleal had set Robin’s non-existent memories awhirl, his head pounding as something tickled the back of his mind. Something about the word had seemed to scream importance in his life, but nothing was coming to the fore of his brain, so he decided to ignore it.

The capital city itself was built on the more solid land of a giant salt-flat, the uniformly smooth, empty plain stretching out for miles in all directions around the buildings. No cover, no defence, not even any sparse shrubs or desert weeds. It was as if the very land around Grima’s ancient skeleton had withered and died.

Robin looked up at the castle, tugging down on the gorget on the new breastplate Chrom had commissioned for him that he wore under his coat, dread settling in the pit of his stomach. Many of the other soldiers had gone quiet with the knowledge that the final battle was upon them.

It was almost as if the tactician could hear whispering on the wind; dark, rasped phrases that he couldn’t make sense of, coming from the direction of Plegia’s castle. Robin had to think they were coming from the castle; the thought of the whispers coming from Grima’s gigantic, ancient skull made him break out in a cold sweat.

_“Even as they resist, they write your return with each step o great one.”_

Robin started, eyes wide, looking for where the voice had come from. After a few seconds he shook his head. Nerves… It was just nerves.

*

The Plegian army stood arrayed before them, stationed outside of the capital city’s walls, weapons pointed directly at the Shepherds, waiting for them. Robin stood beside Chrom, Duke Themis, Kahn Flavia, Basilio, Commander Phila, Duke Aerir and Frederick, looking out over the Plegian army as the Ylissean army moved into position beneath them.

“That’s a lot of men,” Flavia muttered excitedly under her breath.

“I’ll take the thousand on the left, you take the thousand on the right,” Basilio said lightly. “First one to finish gets the quarters at the Coliseum.

Robin stared silently, the sensation of memories on the tip of his brain’s proverbial tongue causing splitting pain in his head as the Kahns went about their back and forth.

“Robin?” Chrom asked, noticing his friend’s discomfort.

“It’s nothing,” Robin lied, trying to focus. “There… there’s less Plegian troops than we were expecting.”

“There must be an ambush somewhere…” Chrom muttered, scanning the oceans of sand around them.

“It doesn’t matter,” Robin said decisively, before raising his voice to speak to all of the assembled leaders. “You all know your roles in this battle, yes?”

A chorus of affirmative answers greeted him.

“Then go to your divisions and make ready!” Chrom ordered, turning and walking toward where the Shepherds were waiting at the front of the army. “This war ends today!”

*

Duke Themis was the first to admit that he was a proud man; and why should he not?

His daughter, the apple of his eye, was so strong-willed and beautiful it brought a tear to his eye just thinking about her. She was the spitting image of her late mother, whom he had loved with all his heart until the day she had passed; now Maribelle’s strong sense of justice had her serving the Prince of the Haildom himself, who could very well end up being the next Exalt, a fine stepping stone setting her on the path to being the first woman magistrate in Ylisse’s history, something he couldn’t be prouder of.

His once powerful city-state, Themis, had been so beautiful and strong that he had taken its name as his own. Her men had held the border against countless incursions from the Plegians over the years, and it had been his cavalry that had ridden with the previous Exalt during the final charge against the bastard Gangrel’s uncle during the final days of the last war.

That Themis could say, with pride in his voice and his hand over his heart, that he had served the Exalt and her father to the fullest of his abilities as a Knight, as a Duke and as a trusted retainer was  the greatest light in his life, second only to his beloved daughter.

When the call to arms had gone out after Themis City had been destroyed, he hadn’t faltered before ordering the last of his men to prepare for battle again, and to their credit they were still standing beside him, ready to ride into the mouth of hell itself if he so ordered.

Because that was a Knight’s one true duty; obedience to the Crown, and to the blood of the Exalt.

It was as the Duke sat astride his great grey warhorse Invincible, his gold-edged white armour gleaming like freshly fallen snow in the sun, one thousand mounted Ylisseans at his back with his banner flapping behind him, the bear rising before the Brand of the Exalt ready to defend it with its life, that Duke Themis realised he was ready to die if need be.

“Are the men ready?” Themis asked without turning.

“Aye, milord,” Roark answered, holding the Duke’s standard.

Themis nodded. He liked Roark immensely; having no sons and unwilling to force his daughter into becoming the Duchess of Themis once he passed, the Duke had been grooming Roark to take his place for years. The man was strong, fast, skilled with blade and lance, and most importantly, he was clever, with a firm sense of right and wrong. Despite having been atrociously wounded during the retreat from Themis City, Roark had forced Duke Themis to take him with the war host, swearing to follow behind on foot if he had to. Roark had lost his eye to the Plegians and now wore an eye-patch over the empty socket, and his sword arm was still a little slow on a backswing, but there was none he would rather have had at his side that day.

“Sound the order to advance,” Themis said.

Horns blared and the Themis began to slowly advance, the first rank moving with him as the others fell in behind them. They slowly picked up speed as they advanced, going from a trot to a full blown charge, a cloud of dust flying in their wake. The Plegians began to fire arrows into the charging cavalry, for what little good it did; most of them missed, or were simply ignored as they found heavy Ylissean plate armour. Themis raised his sword high and the men of Ylisstol and Themis roared as they struck the Plegian lines like a hammer striking an anvil.

The Plegian line instantly buckled, and Themis’ world turned into the chaotic maelstrom of battle as he swung his weapon left and right, felling enemies with every swing.

*

Duke Aerir watched as his friend led the initial charge, sighing and rolling out his shoulders.

“I should really get a horse one of these days,” he muttered to Seth as they jogged forward, preparing to hit the Plegian lines at an angle from the western flank while Themis’ cavalry had their attention.

“Don’t bother, milord,” Seth replied frankly. “I believe all the riding talent in your family was passed on to your brother and cousin.”

“Pah!” Aerir spat, slipping his high-crested helmet on. “I just never got the chance to practice! I was too busy being the Duke!”

“I’m sure that’s it, sir,” Seth replied, balancing the Duke’s standard and his axe in one hand as he donned his own helmet with the other.

Aerir found himself thinking again, as he so often had been the past few days, of his little brother Frederick. Not that he was so little any more, but to Aerir he would always be the lad who was getting scolded by their father for spending the afternoon trapped under his heavy breastplate when it had fallen on him while he was playing dress-up. After their father had passed and Aerir had taken up the mantle of Duke of Jagen he had lost any time to spend with his family, although it had been one of the proudest moments of his life when Frederick had been accepted into the Royal Knights as a squire to Knight-Commander Cullen himself. It had been good to see him again, even if the man had a knight-sized pole up his arse these days; although Aerir could tell from the look in his brother’s eyes he had been happy to see him too. Aerir was determined to spend more time with his little brother once the war was over, already constructing some cockamamie story to get him to spend some time in Ylisstol to be closer to him. Perhaps he would even call their cousin Azolla back from whatever border garrison she had stuck herself in, and they could all act like a family again, if only for a little while. If they survived the next few hours, anyway.

Robin’s plan had been simple, indeed. The Shepherds would save the Exalt while the rest of them fought the Plegians in a distraction. Themis would charge the front; Aerir would hit them from the West, and the more mobile foot troops from Regna Ferox under the leadership of Khan Flavia’s second in command, Commander Raimi, would hit them from the East.

Aerir had liked the woman; she knew her duty, and carried it out flawlessly without mucking around. He could appreciate a practical woman like that. If only he were a few years younger…

Jagen was the third of the Ylissean City States, and famous for its soldiers’ ability to fight in heavy armour, both on foot and on horseback. Aerir wouldn’t admit it, but Seth was right; as a horseman, he was rubbish. Better to fight with his feet planted firmly on the ground, where he was an unmovable force of armour and lance.

Even if it had been far too long since he had worn his father’s ornate blue and white armour, instead focusing on his swordsmanship. Even now he was one of few in the charge with a sword strapped to his hip as his back-up weapon.

Aerir swung his shield experimentally as they drew closer to the Plegian lines. They were starting to take notice of the second force drawing closer. And Aerir knew for a fact that the enemy never appreciated being run down by horses and then spanked by two thousand heavily armoured soldiers with spears and axes. 

Aerir raised his heavy lance above his head as he ran, and the men responded with a hearty roar, horns blaring the signal to engage.

He couldn’t help but think that this was going to be a long, long afternoon.

*

Robin stood with Chrom and Flavia now as they watched the rest of the army advance towards the Plegians.

“I should be at their head,” Chrom said bitterly as the Knights broke away and began to charge.

“We need the Shepherds to rescue the Exalt,” Robin reminded him, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “That means all of the Shepherds; I need you on this one, Chrom.”

Chrom nodded, looking away from the ensuing battle.

Their plan was elegant in its simplicity; the army would charge, distract the Plegians, and the Shepherds and a squad of elite soldiers from Regna Ferox led by Flavia would swoop in and rescue Emmeryn before the Plegians could execute her. They would then retreat, and Naga willing, the combined Feroxi-Ylissean forces would triumph over the Plegians and take the capital. If not, they would simply retreat with Emmeryn and plan their next step from the safety of Ylisstol.

Simple. But as the old saying went: ‘The best plans never survive contact with the enemy’.

“If we move quickly we can be back in time for the push into the capital,” Flavia offered helpfully, and somewhat hopefully if Robin was reading the woman right.

Chrom just nodded as he strode to the front of the Shepherds.

Robin rolled out his shoulders, tugging down on the silver breastplate again. He would have to get his coat mended; the breastplate was so nice he felt foolish wearing it with his current clothes. At least he could buy new clothes when the war was over; the coat would be mended, though. And he was admittedly also growing rather fond of his worn old boots, too.

The Shepherds began to move, going back through the dunes they had passed through and emerging nearer to Grima’s giant skeleton than the capital with a minimum of chatter. There was no need; they had their job to do, and they would see it through. Once they neared the exit to the dunes, though, the sounds of fighting became immensely clearer without the high mounds of sand to mute them.

“Sounds rough,” Vaike muttered, grimacing.

“It most assuredly would be,” Virion muttered in agreement.

Robin silently agreed with their sentiments. The Plegians were outnumbered, yes; but they were on their home turf, defending their very capital from an invading army; couple that with their no-doubt gratuitous amount of experience fighting in the desert climate, and the Ylissean-Feroxi army was at a serious disadvantage. The only advantage the Ylisseans had was the Order of the Pegasus Knights, and Robin had drafted plans relying heavily on their mobility for hit and run and harassing tactics in the rear ranks of the Plegian army to keep them occupied. Hopefully, given the Pegasus Knights and the high concentration of mages from the Royal Mage Academy and the clerics and priests that worshipped the Divine Dragon Naga by practicing healing magics present, the fatality rate would be low.

A few times as they moved Robin thought he had seen flashes of blue in his peripheral vision, like someone following them. The Tactician had no doubt in his mind that Marth had found them again after the last time she had risked her life to save the Exalt. In fact he was sure he had seen her that morning, too, after the fires had been put out. It was comforting to think that the enigmatic woman was watching their backs and at the very least she was good with a sword; they could always use another heavy hitter.

As they came out of the dunes, Robin’s eyes widened.

“Back!” he hissed at the Shepherds, silently cursing his own distraction. “Back, damn you!”

There was at least two hundred Plegian soldiers gathered in the shadow of Grima’s colossal rib-cage; something Robin had not planned on. To make matters worse it looked like the entire Plegian capital had turned out to watch the execution, and the dunes opposite the Shepherds’ position were packed with civilians.

“What do we do now?” Flavia asked, deferring to Robin.

“Wait…” Robin whispered, holding up a hand.

Shouted words began to reach Robin’s ears as they drew nearer.

“We all remember the crimes of Ylisse!” Gangrel was shouting theatrically, his voice magically amplified, no doubt by the scantily clad woman that had been with him on the border and was again by his side. “Would you have their witch-queen answer for their crimes!? Here!? Today!? Now!?”

The crowd’s roar of approval was almost deafening, even from this distance. The sand dunes themselves vibrated, causing small avalanches to slide down to the Shepherds’ feet.

“Finally we will have justice!” Gangrel raved, spinning to face the rib-cage. “Executioner! If you would be so kind!”

Robin’s eyes darted up to one of Grima’s protruding ribs. Standing atop it, at the very edge, was Emmeryn, dirty and clearly having been beaten, yet unbroken and unbowed, even with a Plegian spear pointed at her back.

“I have a shot,” Virion said without being told, drawing his bowstring taught, an arrow ready to fly.

“So do I,” Flavia echoed seriously, a small throwing axe appearing in her hand.

“Okay, forget waiting,” Robin said. “Flavia, take the shot! Virion, back her up.”

With a grunt Flavia threw the axe, and Robin could hear the Shepherds’ collective intake of breath. Flavia’s aim was true, though, and the executioner tumbled from the rib, her axe buried in his chest just below his neck.

It almost made Robin laugh out loud when the entire host of assembled Plegians, Gangrel included, spun to face them with the same shocked expression on all of their faces.

“Shepherds!” Chrom said, suddenly above them atop the dune they were hiding behind, his white and blue armour practically shining in the harsh desert sun as his cape fluttered out behind him.

“As one! For the Exalt! Charge!”

Chrom sliced Falchion downwards, and with a lusty battle roar the Shepherds and Feroxi soldiers charged around the sides of the dune, Sumia and Cordelia simply going over it. As soon as Robin was around the other side he raced to catch up to Chrom who was racing ahead, remembering the promise that he’d made that morning. Frederick, Stahl and Sully easily overtook them, veering to the left of the assembled Plegians and aiming to flank them. The rest simply charged up the middle; Chrom, Robin and Flavia at the front, swords drawn. The Plegians, however, weren’t standing still, and just before the two sides collided Robin cast a weak wind spell directly at the feet of the front rank of Plegians, kicking up a cloud of sand into their eyes.

Then he was amongst them in a chaotic melee, soldiers and fighters everywhere. There wasn’t space for grace or tactics, Robin simply struck again and again in hacking or stabbing motions, Plegians falling at his feet before he moved on.

He looked over at one point, making sure he was still with Chrom and Flavia. Chrom’s face was a grim line, and Falchion was painted red to the hilt; the Prince hadn’t stopped moving since they hit the Plegians, simply frowning as they pushed harder. Flavia was the exact opposite of the Prince’s stern countenance, spinning and striking out, laughing as if she were having the time of her life, coated in blood and dirt.

“I haven’t had this much fun in years!” the older woman shouted to Robin during a brief respite.

Realizing he had a few moments Robin decided to evaluate the situation. Gangrel had fled, but with his capital under attack he had nowhere left to hide. The Shepherds and Feroxi were performing marvellously, slaughtering the Plegians by the dozen, never once faltering. There had been a few of the Feroxi soldiers that had fallen, though, and Robin quashed the feeling of guilt down; he could mourn later.

“C’mon, Tactician!” Flavia was shouting gleefully. “Let’s not keep these bastards waiting!”

“In a second,” he said, scanning the battlefield.

Vaike had gone to the aid of Miriel, Ricken and Maribelle near the rear of the battle where some clever Plegians had tried to assault the mages; he had been wounded, but Maribelle was taking care of it. Miriel also had a hand on his shoulder, apparently… thanking him? That was new behaviour for her, but welcome personal growth on her part.

Virion was moving along the periphery of the greater melee, firing arrows every chance he got. Every shot struck home, either distracting his target long enough for someone else to run it through, or even just felling the target itself. The man still looked like he was prepared for tea-time, though, so pristine was his gear. The only difference between then and the start of the battle was that his own quiver was empty, and every so often he’d stoop and take the quiver from one of the fallen Plegian archers, and just keep shooting like nothing was amiss. Apparently he’d been busy.

The three knights continued to ride backwards and forwards along the front of the assault, striking out and creating openings for the others. Lon’qu, Gaius and Panne took advantage of one of these openings, and before the Plegians could close ranks the three had cut deeply into their ranks, the lightly armoured Shepherds retreating nimbly before the Plegians formed up and trapped them.

Cordelia and Sumia were swooping around overhead, occasionally tossing down a javelin to great effect on the field. They had their hands full in the air, though, as a squad of wyvern riders had come to the aid of the Plegian soldiers. Virion noticed this too, and instantly set about supporting the women, arrows flying almost directly upwards in some cases. Sumia was holding her own, but Cordelia was a beast; nothing that came near her lasted more than a few more seconds in the air, quite often falling directly onto the Plegians. As Robin watched a third shadow appeared with the Shepherds, spitting a jet of fire at the nearest wyvern rider, the magical dragon-fire turning him into little more than a shower of ash. Nowi was obviously enjoying her flight, the way she was barrel rolling and flipping in the air after every successful attack. Robin had to keep reminding himself, though, that he hadn’t just sent a little girl to battle; he had sent a thousand year old dragon.

Gregor, Kellam and Chrom were pushing deeper into the flank of the Plegians, disrupting their line quite effectively. The older man was a sight to behold on the battlefield, completely eclipsing Kellam (not that it was a hard task to accomplish in the first place) as he fought beside Chrom. As Robin watched, a fourth person joined Chrom and Gregor’s push; a woman in white robes with long, perfect platinum blonde hair, swinging a wicked looking axe to great effect. She was tearing the Plegians around her apart, though, so obviously she was on their side. Robin could enquire about who she was once the battle was over.

“We need to catch up with Chrom and break the line,” Robin said, focusing again on the battle itself.

The Plegians were well disciplined and holding the Shepherds at bay, but the tide was starting to turn. Robin sent a ball of withering flames directly at the front of the Plegian force, creating another opening that Panne and Gaius gladly took the chance to use.

“Well come on then!” Flavia said, literally grabbing Robin by the scruff and carrying him a few feet in the direction of the battle. “I’m sick of standing around.”

“We’ve been standing still for five minutes!” Robin countered, shaking himself loose of her grip.

“Five minutes too long!” Flavia complained, striding forward again. “Let’s break their lines and be done with it already. I’m sick of the desert.”

“What, just you and me?” Robin asked, a grin forming on his face.

“I could do it myself,” Flavia replied with a similar grin. “But I figured you would want some glory for Ylisse or something.”

Robin laughed as he channelled his magic, releasing a torrent of lightning bolts into the Plegian lines, causing them to buckle as stunned soldiers reeled from the attack.

“Ladies first,” Robin invited.

Flavia laughed, racing forward with her sword held low; the Plegians actually started to back away as she neared, Robin close behind her. The two of them set to work instantly, tearing the line apart before more soldiers could take up positions. Ten of the Feroxi soldiers followed them in, and soon the Plegian lines were well and truly broken.

*

Chrom wasn’t sure at what point he had become separated from Robin during the fighting; one minute he was there, then the next time Chrom had looked up the tactician was outside the general melee, trying to gauge the battle. It didn’t really matter to Chrom, though; at some point Gregor and Kellam had caught up, and now the three of them were striking deep into the Plegian force.

He had even been approached by a Priest named Libra, and after a brief and incredibly awkward conversation the man had joined them in the fight.

Libra looked, for all the world, like a woman; he had perfect features and skin, his hair had a sheen and lustre most women would have killed for, and his robes were perfectly white like fresh snow. It had surprised Chrom immensely when he had simply charged into a group of the Plegians, axe swinging, and driven them back almost single handedly.

Now the four of them were fighting together, breaking the Plegian line from the flank while Robin, Flavia and the other Feroxi soldiers hit it from the front. Chrom had no doubt that on the opposite flank Frederick and the others would be wreaking the same carnage on the Plegians that he was.

With one final grunt, Chrom found himself clear of the Plegians, no others around for meters in any direction, all busy fighting the others. It was while looking around that Chrom noticed a dark haired, pale looking mage, looking around aimlessly like she was almost bored. She was clearly in no hurry to fight, and as Gregor bellowed and cut through another of the Plegian soldiers she actually scrunched up her face distastefully.

“You there!” Chrom called to her, thinking of what Emm would do given the situation. “Are you with the Plegians? You look like you’re reluctant to fight.”

The woman looked over at him, confusion evident on her face before recognition set in.

“Death comes for all of us eventually, Prince Chrom,” she said, approaching him slowly, swaying her hips. “Why invite it early, fighting for a cause I don’t believe in?”

“So… I should take that as a no?” Chrom asked, confusion getting the better of him. “If you don’t want to fight, you could leave the field; I would see that no harm comes to you… Or…”

She was still approaching, swaying her hips suggestively. As her heavy cloak parted he could see she was quite… well endowed, and wearing what appeared to be a translucent gossamer body-suit which left very little to the imagination.

“Let’s just say I’m keeping my options open,” she said, stopping before Chrom. “I mean, long live the King and all, but I would like to keep living as well. And I have a bit of a rebellious streak as well… A… dark side.”

“Well,” Chrom said, a thought popping unbidden into his head. “Why don’t you rebel now and join us?”

The woman began to laugh before she stopped, realizing he was being serious.

“You would trust me?” she asked. “A Plegian Dark Mage? What if this is just a ploy to earn your trust and stick a dagger in your back?”

Chrom looked down at the woman, taking a deep breath and sensing no deceit in her.

“You know who I am, so you must know my sister as well,” he explained. “I think she would trust you. I’m trying to learn from her example. Besides which, I already need to watch my back, weather you join us or not. My previous offer still stands, though. If you wish to simply quit the field, I will not stop you.”

The woman began to laugh again, making Chrom think she was mocking him at first.

“That’s truly the oddest thing…” she said, her voice a silky purr. “Usually when I bring up the backstabbing thing the conversation is over. You intrigue me, Prince Chrom. You may consider me your new ally. For now.”

Turning away, she cast him one final look over her shoulder, grinning predatorily. “My name is Tharja, by the way.”

Chrom rolled his eyes as Gregor, Libra and Kellam finally caught up to him. Gregor made to attack Tharja, but Chrom stopped him.

“She’s with us now,” Chrom explained as the woman set to work casting dark magic on her former Plegian allies. “I think…”

*

Robin was still forcing his way forward into the Plegian lines alongside Flavia, the two of them leaving a trail of bodies as they went, when he finally spotted the enemy commander.

“Forward you dogs!” the short, balding man in heavy black armour was screaming. “Forward I say! I will personally kill any man found deserting myself!”

Robin shook his head. Threats and intimidation were no way to lead; a true leader led by example, they led by instilling honour and pride in their soldiers. Robin locked eyes with the man. The Plegian General paled, starting to back away. The easiest way to demoralize the enemy was to annihilate their commander so utterly the rest of the soldiers scattered in fear.

Robin’s eyes glowed as he summoned one of his most potent spells; Valflame.

With a roar that gave even Flavia pause Robin released his spell, a fireball with a continuous jet of flame following it, turning the Plegian General to ash inside his armour, as well as a large number of the soldiers around him. Robin crumpled to one knee afterwards, his mana spent.

“What the bloody hell was that!?” Flavia shouted incredulously.

“A high level fire spell called Valfl-”

“No!” Flavia cut him off. “That was my kill! I was going to kill the General! You stole my kill!”

Robin rolled his eyes, forcing himself back to his feet. “Better luck next time, eh?”

Flavia’s response was to growl deep in her throat and shoot the Tactician a withering glare before moving on with her Feroxi soldiers in tow. Robin chuckled and shook his head. The people of Regna Ferox really were something else.

Spotting Chrom, Robin began jogging over to where his friend and the little group of warriors around him were just finishing clearing the area. With only roughly seventy men they had managed to almost completely route the Plegians; all that remained was to figure out how to get to Emmeryn.

“Nice lightshow,” Chrom said as Robin approached. “A little showy, but overall it seemed effective.”

“Don’t expect a repeat performance,” Robin gasped. “I’m spent.”

Robin straightened and noticed the two new members of Chrom’s group.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” he said friendlily. “I’m Robin, the Shepherds’ Tactician.”

The strange looking woman, obviously a Dark Mage from Plegia, blushed and turned her face down when Robin looked at her, her bangs casting her upper face in shadow. The other woman, a cleric from the look of her, smiled and greeted Robin, leaning her axe on her shoulder.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, master tactician; my name is Libra, a Priest in the service of the Temple of Naga.”

“Priest?” Robin asked confusedly. “Don’t you mean cle-”

Robin caught himself, noticing Gregor trying not to laugh as Chrom mouthed _he’s a man!_ as obviously as he could from behind Libra.

“-aerly. I could tell from your robes,” Robin said, changing tracks as fast as he could.

“Now that introductions are over, we should be saving Exalt now, yes?” Gregor asked, grinning widely.

The others moved ahead, Chrom falling into step with Robin as they ran.

“Nice save, there,” he said.

“Yeah,” Robin replied, shaking his head. “Thanks for the heads up. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a pretty man.”

“Remind me to tell you later about the first conversation I had with him,” Chrom said with a grimace.

“What about her?” Robin asked, indicating over his shoulder at the Dark Mage following them, still looking down. Was… was she actually blushing as Robin looked at her?

“Her name’s Tharja. Again,” Chrom groaned. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Things just keep getting weirder and weirder around us…” Robin muttered as they ran.

*

As they charged closer to Grima’s skeleton Robin ducked on instinct as a shadow swooped low over him. When he looked up he was relieved, and somewhat embarrassed, to see it was just Sumia.

“We’ve secured the skies! Cordelia and I will keep flying on overwatch, so continue with the plan,” she panted, wiping sweat from her eyes before kicking her pegasus back into the sky.

“Chrom, the wyvern riders are routed! The skies are clear!” Robin shouted to the Prince, at the same time as he was twisting the end off of one of Miriel’s spark tubes.

Chrom nodded assent, and holding the little tube up Robin gave the signal, a bright green jet of sparks shooting into the air with a high-pitched whistle. Robin actually flinched at the intensity of the sparks; it would have been impossible to miss, even in the heat of battle. As soon as the sparks subsided Robin noticed a small green fire starting on his coat and with a yelp he hastily beat it out, thinking about just how much mending his coat would need when they were done.

When he looked back up Chrom was laughing so hard he had doubled over; Sumia was no better, almost falling off her pegasus with laughter from above them.

“Yeah, laugh it up,” Robin said, rolling his eyes at Chrom as the other Shepherds assembled below the rib bone Emmeryn was perched on.

“Emm!” Lissa called up to her. “Are you okay!?”

“I’m fine, Lissa,” Emmeryn replied, her voice exhausted.

Robin could see the Exalt’s easy smile from where he stood, though, and it buoyed his spirits somewhat.

“Alright, prepare to withdraw!” Robin ordered the Shepherds. “Be ready to fight our way out; I need most of you securing a path back through the dunes where we can-”

Robin didn’t finish as five pegasi darted in low and fast; fortunately the Shepherds remembered the plan, and with the exception of Chrom, Lissa and the two newcomers, they set off to their assigned duties.

They were almost home-free.

“Your Grace!” Phila called, circling the Exalt as the other four Pegasus Knights took up defensive positions around them.

“Phila!” Emmeryn said, happy to see her retainer well. “I’m so glad you’re safe! But how-”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Phila said, moving her pegasus low to the bone, attempting to get to Emmeryn. “Quickly, we must flee!”

An instant feeling of dread settled over Robin. A tingling in the air, setting his skin crawling. The Dark Mage, Tharja, shuddered, eyes wide as she looked around, obviously feeling it too. It was the same feeling he’d had just before they were attacked by the Risen that morning.

Robin looked up in the direction of the Plegian Castle, his unease growing. Gangrel and Aversa stood as if nothing were amiss, simply watching.

“You do not play fair, Tactician,” Gangrel said, the smile of a madman on his face. “Pegasus Knights? Really? Tsk-tsk. I think we should do something to… even the field a little.”

“We hardly play fair, either, though,” Aversa purred, producing a small box from somewhere on her person.

Robin’s blood froze at the sight of the thing. It was what was giving off the evil energy he was feeling.

“Chrom,” Robin called. “We have to move! Now!”

Chrom looked back, confused, before he spotted Gangrel.

Before the Prince could do anything Aversa flipped open the box. With a blast of wind that almost sent him sprawling, countless Risen began to crawl out of the sand at their feet.

“Back!” Chrom shouted, backpedalling. “Phila, get Emm out of there!”

Robin grabbed Lissa around the waist, dragging her back with him and the others, interposing himself between her and the Risen’s… Bows?

“Archers!” Robin screamed, his voice cracking with fear.

Cackling madly Gangrel lifted a hand, pointing at the Pegasus Knights.

“Phila!” Lissa screamed, trying to get out of Robin’s arms.

The Pegasus Knights were too slow though, and the Shepherds were forced to watch as they were riddled with arrows. Phila’s last act was to place herself between the arrows and Emmeryn, diving off of her doomed mount to bring Emmeryn crashing to the surface of the rib and out of harm’s way. Looking into the eyes of the woman she had watched grow from an orphaned child into the Exalt of all of Ylisse, Phila smiled.

“Your mother would be proud,” she whispered, before falling from the sky with and landing with a wet thud.

Emmeryn knelt at the edge of the rib, shock evident on her face even from where the Shepherds had retreated to.

“No!” Chrom shouted, redrawing his sword. “Gangrel, I’ll kill you with my bare hands!”

“Exuent the Wing-Commander herself!” Gangrel said, practically hopping up and down with excitement.

The Risen began to move about the fallen Pegasus Knights, kicking at the corpses to make sure they were dead. One of the other Pegasus Knights moaned and reached out an arm, before a Risen brutally stomped on her back and fired an arrow into her from point blank. Robin watched his carefully laid strategy crumbling in front of him.

“No,” he muttered, eyes going wide as he still clung to Lissa to stop her charging forward. “No no no no no!”

“We’ve lost,” Chrom muttered defeated, falchion slumping downwards in his grip.

Gangrel wasn’t through with them yet though.

“Now grovel before me, Ylissean dogs! Accept who is your true master! Plead and beg for your worthless lives and maybe I can find enough mercy to make you… chamber-pot boy!” Gangrel roared, his maniac smile never leaving his face before bursting into laughter again.

“Never!” Chrom growled, the spark of defiance reigniting in him. “I’ll die before grovelling to the lesser son of greater kings!”

“Ooh, a fitting epitaph for your tombstone!” Gangrel snickered. “But think, boy; your sister’s life hangs in the balance! All I have to do is raise my hand and she becomes a pin cushion!”

Chrom paled visibly, before taking a few steps towards Gangrel. “I swear to you, monster-”

“Guards!” Gangrel shouted to the Risen. “If this boy takes one more step towards me, fill him and his whore-sister full of holes!”

“I’ll kill you!” Chrom roared in frustration.

Things were deteriorating fast. Robin’s mind was working in overtime trying to work out how best to avoid losing anyone else; plans half-thought came to mind and were instantly rejected. He was panicking, which was making his thoughts scattered. He needed to calm down.

“Prince Chrom…” Gangrel said, his voice turning silky as he approached the man. “Chrom, Chrom, Chrom… You can avoid all this needless bloodshed. All you have to do is lay down your sword, hand over the Fire Emblem, and everyone walks away alive.”

Chrom took a step back.

“Chrom, you can’t trust him!” Robin called. “Don’t listen to him!”

“I know I can’t trust him!” Chrom called back, desperation in his voice. “But I can’t just abandon Emm like this!”

“Your sister or your vaunted duty, Prince,” Gangrel said, turning his back and returning to the safety of standing behind the wall of Risen. “Choose.”

Chrom reached into his pouch, where Robin knew the Fire Emblem was being kept.

“Dammit Chrom!” Robin shouted, finally losing his composure. “Don’t give up! We’re not done yet! If you hand that over, I swear to whatever gods you hold dear that I will kick your arse myself!”

Chrom reeled as if struck before smiling sadly at his friend. “If there’s another way, I don’t see it.”

“My patience is at an end!” Gangrel snarled, his countenance changing like someone had flipped a switch. “I will count to three! If your weapons aren’t in the dirt by then, your precious Exalt becomes the world’s largest quiver, and I will kill you all! One! Two!”

Before Gangrel could reach three, Chrom threw down Falchion, the sound of the sword striking the ground echoing off the bones and rocks beneath them.

“Damn you, Gangrel,” Chrom said. “You win.”

“Stop!”

Everyone in attendance looked upwards to Emmeryn, standing on the very end of the rib, looking down on them all.

“King Gangrel, please!” she implored. “Will you not give peace a chance? Is there no hope you will listen to reason?”

Gangrel simply cackled, shaking his head. “All I want to listen to is the sound of your scream and the wet splat of you hitting the rocks beneath you! This is your last chance! I will have my guards shoot you unless someone gives me the Emblem now!”

Robin looked beyond the King; a large crowd of Plegian soldiers and civilians had gathered, watching the drama unfold with wide eyes.

Emmeryn smiled, before softly saying “Then I know now what I must do.”

“People of Plegia!” Emmeryn called, her voice strong and full of compassion. “I ask that you hear my words! War will bring nothing but pain and heartache, both within your borders and without. I beg you; free yourselves from this endless cycle of hatred and vengeance! Free yourselves, but do as you must. As I do now. Know that one selfless act has the power to change the fate of the world!”

“Emm!” Chrom cried, catching on to his sister’s intent. “Emm, for the love of all we hold dear, no!”

At last, a final plan crystalized in Robin’s mind. It was a horrible plan, but he could see no other option. As Emmeryn began to fall, Robin began to cast. His casting drew the attention of the Risen, and before they could fire at him and potentially hit Lissa, he spun her, throwing her behind the remains of a low wall nearby, never breaking his concentration. He was trying to cast two spells at once, not an easy thing to do even when he was fresh, rather than exhausted.

Time slowed down as Emmeryn plummeted; Chrom reached out, calling his sister’s name; Lissa shrieked, covering her ears and closing her eyes; Libra went as pale as his robes, staring in disbelief while Tharja looked on, a look of intense curiosity on her face. Robin was aware of it all as the Risen began to draw their bowstrings tight.

_This is going to hurt like hell_ he thought sullenly, releasing the first of the two spells, his experimental wind spell that would hopefully create a wall of ice between the Shepherds and the Risen.

An arrow hit his shoulder, burying itself deep and spinning Robin around. He barely felt it as his spell was complete and a rough ten-foot wall of ice grew between them and the Risen in the blink of an eye. Unfortunately, a number of other arrows were already on the other side of the wall, and as Robin was releasing the wind spell that would have broken Emmeryn’s fall his concentration was ruined by four more arrows hitting him. One took the leg out from underneath him, forcing him down to one knee. Two more pierced his new breastplate, burying themselves in his chest while the last one skimmed his forehead, tearing at the flesh on the side of his face. Spitting out blood and wiping it from his eyes, Robin forced the wind spell out anyway, but he could tell it was too little, too late.

Emmeryn barely slowed before she hit the rocks. It wasn’t enough, though. Robin could tell he hadn’t slowed her descent nearly enough.

Robin toppled to the side; his last thoughts before the world went dark were that he had failed everyone, his last sight Chrom howling with pain of the heart.

*

“Robin!” Chrom shouted, skidding to a halt.

He didn’t know what to do! Why had Emmeryn… Why had Robin…

Chrom fell to his knees, despair overtaking him.

“Damn you Gangrel!” he roared.

His sister was dead. His friend was no doubt the same. All because of one madman.

“I’ll kill you!”

He could hear Lissa screaming, and Gangrel, the bastard, laughing from the other side of the wall Robin had erected, even as the Risen tried desperately to tear through it.

Chrom was shocked when another voice joined in the denial.

“No! No, I’m too late… Our bleak future is written once more… Now darkness awaits us all.”

Marth was standing a few meters back from him, looking like she, too, were about to collapse, mumbling nonsense.

Chrom almost struck out as a huge brown arm grabbed him around the chest, dragging him to his feet.

“Dammit boy!” Basilio grunted. “Feel sorry for yourself later! We have to escape!”

Basilio looked over to Marth. “You grab Robin, lass! I can’t carry them both!”

It seemed like the woman-looking man in priests’ robes was attending to Lissa, while the scary looking Dark Mage began casting hexes over Robin’s body, hopefully doing something to help him.

“No!” Chrom shouted, some life returning to him as he looked over to his sister’s body again. “Her body! I can’t just…”

“I’m sorry,” was all Basilio could say while he was dragging Chrom away.

“Emm!” Chrom shouted, trying to free himself. “Let go of me, damn you! Emm! Emmeryn!”


	14. Chapter 14

Themis looked around, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand. His instincts were telling him, screaming at him, that something was wrong. The Plegians were all but routed, a small number of them having retreated into the capital city. He and Aerir had called a momentary halt to the hostilities so they could make ready to storm the capital, but something was amiss.

It was as if something ill was on the air; a bad smell or taste just on the periphery of his senses that made the small hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge. A lifetime of soldiering and battle had honed his instincts, and they had never steered him wrong before.

“What’s wrong?” Aerir asked, coming alongside Themis’ horse, his voice muffled by his helmet.

“I’m not sure…” Themis admitted slowly, looking around the desert again. “Something’s in the air… something’s…”

Then all at once it clicked.

“Where are the Pegasus Knights?” Themis asked, a note of fear in his voice.

Aerir looked around. The knights were forming up with Aerir’s foot-soldiers and the Feroxi units behind them. Among them were the Priests and Mages, but no Pegasus Knights.

“They were supposed to have been here by now,” Aerir muttered, pulling off his helmet and scanning the horizon. “Ah! There they are!”

There were indeed the shapes of pegasi coming in low and fast on the horizon, but they were coming in from the wrong angle, and there were too many of them. As they got closer Themis could see wyverns among them.

“About face!” he shouted, his blood going cold in his veins as he forced his horse around. “Assault from the rear! Reform the lines!”

Without hesitating Roark began blowing the signal to reform the lines on a signal horn, and the call was taken up by the other signallers, but the men were confused and moving too slowly. With impending dread Themis spotted a tide of foot soldiers following the fliers.

Aerir gave his friend a confused look, but took up the call to reform the lines, blowing his own signal horn while Seth waded into the men, shoving and cajoling them into position.

Spears and javelins began to rain down on the foot soldiers as the knights and armoured units began trying to push through and reform some semblance of a line, the mysterious fliers passing over top of the Ylissean lines and leaving a bloody trail of destruction in their wake.

“What’s going on!?” Raimi shouted, coming up to where the two Dukes were watching in horror, her own face betraying similar emotions.

The fliers peeled away, making to do another pass over the Ylisseans. The men were starting to regroup now, but many had been wounded in the initial attack, and the priests and clerics set about hopelessly trying to ease their suffering.

“Enemy reinforcements,” Themis answered before kicking his horse forwards and joining his knights, Roark in tow.

“This is going to end badly,” Aerir muttered, putting his helmet back on. “Raimi, get your soldiers ready. You’re going to have to retreat; take the Priests and Clerics with you, they can’t fight and will just die needlessly.”

“Retreat!?” Raimi asked askance. “What do you mean? We’ve won!”

“Not against those we haven’t!” Aerir shouted, grabbing the woman by the shoulder and forcibly spinning her to look at the horde, his fear and frustration getting the better of him as he snapped.

They ran, flew or rode with no semblance of strategy, simply trying to be the first to get to the Ylissean-Feroxi army. As Aerir watched they just kept coming, and Aerir understood; the charging force were Risen. There were thousands coming now, and they barely had fifteen hundred men left.

The best they could hope to do was stall for time.

“Take your soldiers and go!” Aerir shouted, drawing his sword. “We can’t beat a force like this! Head north to Regna Ferox, make sure that the Prince survives! Tell him that the Risen fight for Plegia! Go!”

Raimi nodded grimly, before starting to shout orders.

“Seth!” Aerir called, his retainer appearing moments later.

“Milord?” Seth asked curiously.

“Take that banner,” Aerir said sadly, pointing to the standard of Jagen Seth was still holding. “Make sure Sir Frederick gets it. Go with the Feroxi.”

Seth looked as if Aerir had just insulted his mother.

“Are you mad, sir!?” the retainer asked. “I won’t abandon the field now!”

Aerir shook his head sadly. “I gave you an order, Captain; see it done.”

Seth looked about to protest, before dropping his head. “Aye, milord.”

“Protect my brother as if he were me, old friend,” Aerir said, clapping a hand on Seth’s shoulder, his voice thick, before shoving his helmet back on over his head and turning, striding purposefully for the front.

Aerir found Themis waiting near the front rank, sword in hand and face set in a grim line. All unit cohesion was gone now; just the last of the Ylissean army ready to buy their Prince and Exalt a chance to escape. The Risen’s fliers were beginning to come around for another pass as the horde on the ground thundered onward. Behind them a small group of Feroxi, probably only a platoon’s worth of men, corralled the mages and priests away from the battle, Raimi stoically not looking back over her shoulder as she led them deeper into the desert.

“Do you think they did it?” Aerir asked his old friend in the brief moment of calm before the storm. “Do you think they saved the Exalt?”

“The Shepherds?” Themis asked with a chuckle. “There’s not a doubt in my mind, old friend.”

“Then I suppose it’s up to us to make sure they get away, huh?” Aerir asked lightly.

“I would have liked to see her grow up,” Themis said sadly after a moment, his horse stepping nervously, his eyes never leaving the Risen horde still careening towards them. “Become the magistrate she always swore she would be; bounce grandchildren on my knee.”

“At least she will grow up,” Aerir said, steeling himself for what was to come. “We can ensure that she does. Here. Today.”

The older Duke nodded, silent.

“Men of Ylisse!” Themis roared after a moment, holding his sword high. “Men of Themis, Jagen and Ylisstol! We fight for our country! For our Exalt! For our children and the future! The Divine Dragon watches over us! For death and honour!”

The Ylisseans roared, and as one ran out to meet the Risen, screaming ‘death and honour’ at the top of their lungs. They would see that the Shepherds escaped with their last breaths.

Aerir smiled sadly as he realized he would never get the chance to ask Raimi to join him at Castle Jagen for the harvest festival, his feet pounding furiously into the sand as he raced towards death.

*

Chrom stumbled along the desert path that Basilio was leading them down, his eyes unseeing as he struggled to put one heavy foot in front of the other. At some point it had started to rain, the water turning the rough road into mud, making it even harder going. Not that Chrom had noticed, though. His face was slack as he walked, his hair plastered to his face by sweat and rainwater, his gait erratic as he swayed back and forth.

The Shepherds, too, were exhausted. The Exalt was dead. Their tactician’s life held by the barest of threads.

They had stopped briefly for Lissa and Maribelle to treat Robin’s wounds as best they could, but he would need proper care very soon. He still hadn’t regained consciousness, but Marth had been true to Basilio’s orders and still carried the man on her back, holding his thighs as she carried him piggy-back style. Strangely enough, Tharja hadn’t left his side either the entire time, often muttering strange hexes and incantations, hopefully to Robin’s aid.

The remaining veterans that had stood beside them with Flavia before had chosen to delay the pursuing Risen, giving their lives so the Shepherds could escape. More lives to lay at Chrom’s feet, he realised with a guilty twinge.

“Hurry!” Basilio shouted from the head of the group. “It’s just through this ravine!”

Robin moaned weakly from Marth’s back, making the woman cast a worried glance over her shoulder.

“We need to stop!” she called. “Robin needs time to rest!”

“We can’t stop,” the older man explained. “They’re breathing down our necks! We’re almost there; Robin’s a strong lad, he’ll make it!”

Marth shook her head, gently hitching Robin back up higher on her back before doggedly continuing onwards. Vaike and a few of the others had offered to take her burden at first, but she had steadfastly refused.

As the others started moving again, Chrom stopped, looking back over his shoulder to where he could just make out the silhouette of Castle Plegia in the distance.

“Chrom?” Sumia said gently, laying a hand on his arm. “We have to keep moving.”

Chrom growled, hanging his head and turning away. “I know.”

He had been all but silent for the entire journey. He could see the concerned looks the Shepherds kept giving him when they thought he wasn’t looking; they were worried about his judgment at so pivotal a time, and why shouldn’t they be? He had led them to disastrous defeat again and again. And now his arrogance had cost them everything.

Lissa sniffled from someplace behind him. She had been sobbing for almost as long as he had been silent, but had gone quiet too. As much as it pained him, Chrom was simply too numb to comfort his little sister now.

They emerged some time later from the ravine and onto a small rise overlooking what looked to be a dragon-graveyard; colossal skeletons littered the area, sun bleached bones exposed to the elements with rain pelting down on them. Chrom heard Nowi gasp and moan a little, but Sumia had been right; they needed to push on. As he watched Sumia wrapped an arm about the young manakete’s shoulders, comforting her as they drew closer.

But of course there were more Plegians waiting for them. At least a platoon of Plegian foot soldiers stood waiting, a hulking dark-skinned giant of a man with a bare chest, armoured shoulder guards made from old bones that barely covered his massive frame standing at their head, looking out at the gathered Shepherds.

“Damn,” Basilio cursed softly.

Flavia came up behind him, slapping him in the back of the head. “And this is why I’m Khan-Reagent, oaf.”

“I didn’t hear you coming up with any great escape plans,” Basilio huffed irritably.

Chrom looked up, for the first time not seeing human beings in the Plegians, but rather the rabid monsters that had slain his sister and his best friend. The effect it had on him was instant; it was as if someone had released the collar of a rabid hound. All of his doubts, all of his pain, everything was eclipsed by the seething hate and wrath that the Prince of Ylisse now felt.

“We’ll fight our way through them,” Chrom growled dangerously, stalking forward as he unsheathed Falchion. “They can’t stand against us.”

Flavia and Basilio both halted mid argument as Chrom pushed his way past them. The two Khans watched him for a moment, still frozen in place before Flavia shrugged.

“Well the boy has the right idea,” she said, shouldering her own sword and following him.

The other Khan sighed and shook his head, readying his axe and falling in with the rest of the Shepherds.

“Stay to the rear,” Basilio muttered to Marth, who nodded and hung back, hitching the unconscious tactician further up onto her back.

“You stay close to them, too,” he added, turning to the Dark Mage woman that had joined them in Plegia.

She simply looked at him and frowned, but did as he asked.

“I swear these kids’ll be the death of me…” Basilio muttered as he jogged to catch up with Chrom and Flavia.

Chrom strode forward confidently, radiating murder and malice. He knew his face was twisted in an intense snarl, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even notice that none of the Plegian soldiers would meet his eye, all of them guiltily looking away.

The giant of a man stepped forward, rain pattering off of his bald head and running down his beard as he met Chrom’s gaze.

“Ylisseans!” he called as Chrom approached. “My name is General Mustafa! I offer you mercy! Surrender to me now, and you will live!”

“Surrender? I’m afraid we’re not familiar with the word!” Basilio called back, hefting his axe and grinning.

“Exalt Emmeryn would not have wished this bloodshed!” the big man shouted back insistently.

Chrom stopped dead, his resolve and willpower shattering.

“Do not dare speak her name!” he roared, his voice breaking in his rage as his breathing quickened.

How dare he use his sister’s name? How dare a filthy Plegian use her name to try and make him surrender after their king had _murdered_ her?

“Your rage is justified, Prince Chrom,” Mustafa said softly, moving forward.

As he drew closer Chrom noticed the man had a slight limp, and a fresh scar split his face over his left eye. Apparently he had headed straight out from the siege of the capital; which meant that Themis and Aerir had failed. Chrom filed this information away for later consideration as Mustafa kept talking.

“The meaning of your sister’s sacrifice was not lost on me, nor my men,” he explained, coming to a stop a few feet from the Prince. “I suspect many other Plegians who heard her words were not also affected by them. If you lay down your weapons then you have my word as a man of honour and as a general of Plegia that none of your people shall come to harm.”

Chrom’s fist tightened on Falchion’s hilt.

“After the ‘mercy’ your barbarous king has shown!?” Chrom asked, shaking with outrage. “I think…”

He looked over his shoulder, spotting Robin still passed out on Marth’s back. The girl looked... worried, but about what Chrom couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter, though. Nothing else did at that moment. He wanted… he needed to make the Plegians hurt. He needed to make them bleed, to see them suffer the way he was suffering.

“I think we’ll take our chances with our weapons in hand,” he rasped, raising Falchion into a low-guard.

Mustafa shook his head sadly, droplets of water flying from his beard with the movement.

“I suspected you would say as much,” the giant of a man said softly. “So be it, Prince Chrom of Ylisse! But may I make a final suggestion before we do battle?”

“What?” Chrom snarled, his patience at an end as his heart sang for vengeance, Chrom pacing backwards and forwards like a caged animal before the General.

“Let us decide the fates of our men in single combat, in the old style,” Mustafa said, hefting his huge war axe. “Commander against commander; General against Prince. If I defeat you, I will spare your men.”

“And when I defeat you?” Chrom growled, emphasising the ‘when’.

“I ask you offer my men the same mercy,” Mustafa said, bowing his head slightly.

Chrom looked out over the assembled Plegians. They all held their weapons with eyes that spoke of unwillingness to do battle, and they looked on to their general with a reverence like he was the true King, not Gangrel. Despite all his rage, despite all his suffering, he knew that they couldn’t fight their way through all of the assembled Plegians without further casualties, as much as he wanted to see every single one of them dead. It was bitter knowledge, but Chrom couldn’t deny it; the last thing he wanted was to cause more Ylissean casualties that day.

“Boy, you can’t seriously be-” Basilio started before Chrom cut him off.

“So be it,” Chrom shouted, unclasping his cape and letting it fall to the muddy soil, his blood raging. “Prepare yourself!”

Chrom roared as he charged forward, Falchion still held low. He spun at the last second, slashing out at Mustafa’s stomach as he did. The older man was obviously no slouch, though, and countered easily, batting Falchion away and brining his free hand down in a giant fist that would have easily sent Chrom sprawling; but Chrom wasn’t there, still spinning around the man and scoring a light wound on Mustafa’s ribs as he danced out of the larger man’s reach.

Chrom snarled and growled as he moved, his barely-controlled rage bubbling to the surface. Surging forward again he feinted at a high blow, and when the Plegian General brought his axe up to parry with both hands Chrom flipped his sword over, instead driving the pommel into Mustafa’s face under the man’s guard. The Plegian reeled, and Chrom switched to a one handed grip, forcing Mustafa’s axe and hands down, bashing his head repeatedly with Falchion’s golden pommel.

Chrom jumped back as Mustafa broke free of his one handed hold, growling and spitting blood and teeth from his ruined mouth.

Chrom wiped the rain from his eyes, feinting left before striking right faster than he ever had before, cutting deep into the General’s arm, forcing him to swing his mighty axe one handed; Chrom stepped back, before driving the tip of his sword forward, carving a deep furrow across the man’s chest before dancing back out of reach. With each blow the General was slowing, but Chrom’s anger was only growing, fuelling his wrath.

Not done yet, his anger still driving him, and charged in low, batting away Mustafa’s axe and landing a harsh kick to the man’s leg. A sickening crack echoed through the valley as the General fell, screaming in pain through clenched teeth.

Chrom retreated again, and when the general let his axe fall, Chrom rushed in, tossing Falchion to the side and bowling over the huge man with a primal shout, forcing them both into the mud. Straddling the General Chrom began beating his face with his bare hands, raining blows with all his strength again, and again, and again, imagining it was Gangrel who was beneath him. Chrom winced slightly as he felt cartilage and bone shatter beneath his fists, and Mustafa stopped struggling after the first few blows, but Chrom didn’t relent, striking again and again, until his knuckles were so raw they were bleeding freely, screaming as he struck, venting his rage with every blow.

Chrom stood, breathing heavily, retrieving Falchion and standing over the Plegian General, poised to strike at his heart.

Mustafa looked up at him with one eye, the other swollen shut.

“My…” the General coughed wetly. “My men… Please…”

Chrom looked out over the Plegians, seeing the sheer horror written on every face that stared back at him. Turning and looking over his shoulder Chrom was shocked to see the same looks on the faces of the Shepherds.

_But… these are the enemies! They’re Plegians! They_ killed _Emm!_

Lissa was in tears, watching her brother. Sumia was no better, trying to hide behind her hands, her horrified eyes the only visible part of her face from behind her hands. Vaike and Virion looked shocked, mouths hanging open as they watched their leader’s brutality, and even Frederick looked uncomfortable. Lon’qu looked away, distaste on his face, his warrior pride insulted by Chrom’s barbarity. Ricken had pulled his hat low, covering his eyes as he hugged a spellbook to his chest. Gaius was pale, shaking as he quickly looked away from the Prince. Panne was watching impassively, her nose twitching, never meeting Chrom’s gaze. Nowi was hiding, actually hiding, behind Libra, who was doing his best to remain silent as his knuckles went white on his axe’s haft.

None of them would meet his gaze.

Chrom looked up to where Marth was still standing, weeping openly. Only she would meet his gaze, and the hurt in her eyes was like a physical blow. Then Robin looked up from her shoulder, his eyes barely open as he looked at his friend and Prince in confusion.

That was more than Chrom could take.

With a scream containing all of his hurt and all of his frustration Chrom fell to his knees, realizing what he had done and been about to do, roaring at the heavens, Falchion slipping from his grasp.

_What the hell am I doing!?_

The thought hit him like a flying rock; he had been about to take an innocent life in the name of revenge.

Lissa came forward timidly at first, before breaking into a run and wrapping her arms around Chrom’s shoulders, crying onto his chest.

Chrom looked up to the sky, his own tears mingling with the falling rain.

This wasn’t what Emmeryn would have wanted.

“Lissa,” he said after a few moments, the name catching in his throat. “Lissa, I’m so sorry. Can you… can you heal him?”

Lissa looked up, nodding as she tried to stifle her sobs.

She set to work with her staff, and Mustafa groaned.

“Why…” he mumbled when Lissa was done, struggling to sit up. “Why didn’t you…?”

“Because you were right,” Chrom said, helping the man to his feet. “Emmeryn wouldn’t have wanted any more bloodshed.”

Mustafa looked down at Chrom; Lissa hadn’t healed all of his wounds; she had done enough that the man could stand and return to his own healers, though.

He turned and smiled painfully at her, bowing. “Thank you, Princess.”

“What now?” Chrom asked, bending to retrieve Falchion from the mud he had dropped it in twice now. “Are we still to be your prisoners?”

“No,” Mustafa said at length. “No. There has been enough suffering today. Go. Return to your nation and mourn your Exalt. And know that I and my men mourn with you for the loss of a great woman.”

Chrom nodded, choking back further tears, and the Shepherds started moving again, skirting around the Plegian soldiers, who simply stood and watched as they passed. When Chrom looked back at them, he was pleased to see that he saw men, not monsters like he had before.

They made good time after that, meeting up with Basilio’s agents that had prepared their escape, led by a timid woman he introduced as Olivia. They all clambered into the waiting caravans, and fled from Plegia as fast as they could, heading north to the safety of Regna Ferox.

_*_

Robin’s eyes fluttered open, the sight greeting him a stone ceiling.

_I’m getting mighty sick of waking up having no idea what’s going on_ Robin thought groggily.

His memory after attempting to save Emmeryn was sporadic at best; something about being carried; getting wet; watching Chrom beat the stuffing out of some really big guy…

That was about it.

He tried to call out for someone, sure that the Shepherds wouldn’t be far while he was in such a state. The best he managed was a slight moan and gurgle, though, followed by an immensely painful cough.

“Lie still,” a soft, feminine voice said from his side. “You’re safe now.”

“Where…?” Robin managed after water was brought to his chapped lips.

“The Coliseum in Regna Ferox,” his unseen assistant said. “You’ve been unconscious for quite some time.”

Robin forced himself into a sitting position achingly slowly, his bound wounds protesting his every movement. He was rewarded with a wider view of an almost empty room. A small table next to his bed, his tattered coat folded neatly atop it, with his breastplate sitting on top of that. Robin cringed as he saw the holes in the breastplate; he had really taken a beating this time. Those Risen archers apparently didn’t mess around.

Putting his forehead in his palm he muttered “I really pass out far too much.”

A giggle from next to him made him turn. In the chair next to his bed was another stunning woman, her pale pink hair ornately braided and held in place by a pretty headdress. Her glittering clothes bespoke of a performing profession, most likely a dancer or acrobat. Robin blinked a few times, ensuring his mouth was still closed as he marvelled at the stunning beauty. She blushed and looked away meekly under his gaze, prompting the tactician to clear his throat awkwardly.

“And you are?” Robin asked, helping himself to more water.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, blushing deeper and speaking very quickly. “Forgive me, milord! My name is Olivia; I serve Khan Basilio, and was responsible for getting you and the Shepherds out of Plegia!”

Robin groaned and fell backwards into the bed as the meaning of her statement sunk in.

“So we lost.”

Olivia’s silence was all the answer Robin needed. He was disappointed to note that bad news delivered by such a beautiful woman still stung all the same.

*

The Shepherds came to see him one by one or in small groups once word spread that he was awake. Vaike, Lon’qu, Ricken and Miriel were first during his first wakeful day, while Robin was eating a lunch consisting of a weak gruel that was supposed to help him mend faster while being easy to digest. Of course Miriel, being Miriel, had to take a sample for study. He, Virion and Vaike talked of the retreat across the border while Miriel poked at Robin’s uneaten lunch, muttering to herself and making notes. Lon’qu seemed more interested in standing in the corner, as far as possible away from Miriel and a confused-looking Olivia.

“It was pretty brutal,” Vaike said with an uncharacteristic sigh.

“Yeah,” Ricken agreed, fidgeting with the brim of his gigantic hat.

Robin sighed tiredly, currently propped up by a number of pillows Olivia had procured, and gratefully accepted the news; Olivia had been frustratingly tight-lipped about the subject owing to an order that Basilio had given her, but the other Shepherds weren’t so inclined, and after a very small amount of prompting Robin had gotten Vaike to start talking.

“I seem to recall Chrom getting into a fistfight with someone…” Robin muttered over his tea.

The effect on the mood in the room was like someone blowing out a candle. Everyone went silent and looked away. Olivia perked up at the sudden change of atmosphere, sharing an uncomprehending look with Robin. The tactician shrugged in response to her questioning look, his gaze snapping back to his visitors as Ricken cleared his throat.

“I think,” the diminutive mage said at length, “That you would be best suited asking the Captain about that yourself.”

“Well can you at least explain to me why I’m not dead?” Robin asked exasperatedly.

“Lissa and the new guy both healed the hell out of you as soon as we were clear,” Vaike explained shortly. “That Marth chick carried you practically halfway across Plegia to the wagons we used to escape, too.”

“Yeah, that scary lady Tharja helped too,” Ricken added. “She used her skills in the dark arts to hex your blood into running slower and congealing quicker, before hexing you to feel less sensation so you wouldn’t be in pain while we moved you.”

Robin quirked an eyebrow, instantly regretting it as he remembered being shot in the face by an arrow.

“Tharja… and Marth… did that for me?” he asked after the pain in his brow subsided.

“And she didn’t leave your side until you were safely in this very bed,” Lon’qu said from across the room. “I think someone might have some admirers.”

Robin groaned and rolled his eyes as Vaike waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Of course those were the first words Lon’qu would say after his terse greeting. It always came back to women with them.

They talked a little more after that, but it wasn’t long before Olivia shooed them out, claiming Robin needed his rest. He had clasped hands with the three men, and received a very awkward hug from Miriel, who claimed to have been told that it was how friends wished each other a speedy recovery, before they all filed out, leaving Robin drained. And slightly confused.

*

That night after dinner, consisting of another bowl of gruel, Virion knocked on Robin’s door, holding a basket in both hands. Robin could plainly see all the required items for tea and chess, so he waved the noble-born archer in, ignoring the dirty looks from Olivia when he ignored her meek protests of ‘but… you need your rest’.

“So how does this fine evening find you?” Virion asked, setting up the tea-pot and cups.

Robin watched as he made and poured the tea, taking a grateful sip of the proffered cup before replying.

“Well,” he said. “I’m still alive, so I guess I can’t complain.”

“That’s the spirit,” Virion said happily as he began setting up the chessboard.

“So are you actually going to tell me what happened?” Robin asked tiredly, taking his first move.

Virion was silent as he made his own move, before replying.

“I’m sure you have a few ideas,” he said cryptically.

“I do,” Robin snorted. “But I’d like some reports to go with them.”

“I will endeavour to have the Knights bring you some when they visit on the morrow,” the archer promised.

“What about Chrom?” Robin asked, taking a chance and putting one of his bishops in a position that would allow him to take Virion’s queen if he didn’t catch on.

“The Prince is…” Virion fell for the bait, taking the bishop with his queen before continuing. “The Prince is indisposed.”

“Define ‘indisposed’,” Robin insisted, moving his rook into position for his grand trap.

“He has not left his room since we arrived here,” Virion said with a sigh. “He fought like a demon to get us out of Plegia; like a man possessed. Never before have I seen such martial might coupled with such sheer brutality. He single handedly triumphed over the Plegian general blocking our path and securing our escape, but the price for him was… high. He has burned out now; I fear that our leader has lost his fire. Checkmate, by the way.”

Robin nodded before realising what Virion had said. Scanning the board he could clearly see he had been so focused on his trap he had missed the three pawns moving in on his king.

“Rematch!” Robin said instantly, making Virion laugh.

“I will not pass up the chance to embarrass you again in front of such lovely company,” Virion said, giving Olivia his best ‘come hither’ look.

“Focus, archest-of-archers, or I’m going to start putting pawns up your nose,” Robin deadpanned, moving his fallen chess-pieces back into position.

“Pah,” Virion scoffed good-naturedly. “You have no appreciation of the finer points of life.”

“Sure I do,” Robin shrugged. “Beating your skinny butt in chess just so happens to be one of them.”

“So,” Virion asked conversationally as he reset his side of the board. “What will the first thing you do when you get out of this bed be?”

“I’m putting my bloody coat back on,” Robin said without hesitation.

Virion laughed, shaking his head. “Truly? Is that all?”

“And what would you do that’s so much better?” Robin asked, looking at his beloved coat.

Virion seemed to think for a moment. “I would take a bottle of the finest wine and find a nice quiet spot to drink it alone to collect myself and my thoughts, before returning to my work.”

“That’s boring,” Robin laughed. “And out of character for you. I would have thought you would have said something along the lines of ‘raiding the maids’ quarters to find a lovely lass to share the bottle with’, or something along those lines.”

Virion didn’t dignify the wounded man’s teasing with a response, instead glaring over the chessboard and making a very aggressive opening move. Robin’s laughter eventually subsided, and they played in silence for some time before he spoke up again, his thoughts turning dark at Virion’s mention of his work. He had to ask…

“How many…” he started, trailing off.

Virion quirked an eyebrow at him, prompting him to continue.

“How many casualties were there in the end?” Robin finished quietly, staring intently at the chessboard.

“Don’t,” Virion said.

When Robin looked up in confusion he found Virion’s eyes boring into his own with an intensity the tactician had never seen before. Well, never seen directed at another man, anyway.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Virion said empathetically. “You had no way to know that the Risen would attack; that they did defies logical thought. You are not at fault for any of the deaths of those brave soldiers, and neither is the Prince; they are to be squarely laid at Mad King Gangrel’s feet. Our resolve is shaken, yes, but our trust in both you and Prince Chrom remains as steady as ever.”

Robin nodded numbly, moving his knight and taking Virion’s queen, the archer’s kind words sinking in. Virion responded by moving his bishop closer to Robin’s king.

“Checkmate.”

“How do you keep doing that!?” Robin exclaimed, staring aghast at the board.

Despite losing again, Robin still felt a little better.

*

The next day Robin felt a little better physically, but his wounds were still stiff and Olivia had to help him sit up. She still spent the entire day by his side again, acting as his nurse, and they had gotten to talking; Robin had been right on the money when he had pegged her as a dancer. He was also visited by Gregor in the morning, who brought him more of his secret potion “free of charge”, and Nowi, who had hugged Robin and clung to him the entire visit, much like a scared child.

“Is good you awake,” Gregor said, sitting casually next to Robin’s bed and casting Olivia a lecherous grin. “Gregor fears that Robin would miss out on tender ministrations of beautiful woman while he was unconscious; not good thing.”

Robin rolled his eyes, cringing as Nowi readjusted her position and ground against his wounds, her arms still tightly wrapped around his chest.

“Nowi, I’m not going anywhere,” he said, patting her head as he did.

“I don’t care!” she said stubbornly. “Everyone was so worried about you! Me too! I haven’t even gotten a chance to play with you yet!”

“Do thousand-year-old manaketes even play like humans?” Robin asked with a chuckle.

“Yeah!” Nowi had replied excitedly, going into a very long and detailed explanation of ‘house’, ‘duck-duck-dragon’, and a number of other nameless games they could play when Robin was up and about again.

Gregor laughed the whole time, alternating between offering ‘old-man advice’ as he called it and grinning suggestively at the obviously uncomfortable Olivia. After they left Robin felt his spirits were much higher than they had been previously, and settled in to relax as Olivia prepared his lunch, muttering about Gregor uncomfortably the entire time.

*

Sully, Stahl and Kellam came to see him that afternoon, bringing with them some of the tactical reports about their loss in Plegia Virion had promised him. Apparently the archer had taken up the roll of interim tactician until Robin was up and about again, something Robin was incredibly grateful for until he saw Virion’s flowing and completely illegible handwriting on the reports.

“Why isn’t Frederick bringing these to me?” Robin asked, sighing and giving up on deciphering the papers.

Frederick was arguably third on the chain of command; Robin assumed he would have taken over the clerical work while Robin was laid up rather than Virion. The three looked around awkwardly before responding.

“It’s…” Stahl began, clearing his throat. “Duke Aerir was one of the confirmed casualties. Captain Frederick’s taking it pretty hard.”

Robin sighed, leaning back and resting his hands on his eyes, elbows splayed out like some strange featherless bird.

“We figured you would want to find out sooner rather than later,” Kellam said apologetically, reminding Robin he wasn’t alone with the two knights.

“It’s fine,” Robin sighed, sitting back up.

“Well if anyone can turn this around, it’s you,” Sully had said confidently.

“Turn around seventy-percent casualties?” Robin asked coyly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to work me to death.”

They laughed at that, and left Robin to look over the reports. Or translate them would be a better description of what he was doing.

Once he got the hang of reading Virion’s writing he sighed; things weren’t good. The Pegasus Knights were simply non-existent now, the entire order having flown out with the army. Raimi had been ordered to take the Feroxi soldiers and retreat so they would at least have some bodies in case they were attacked again, Aerir’s Guard Captain Seth having retreated with them. Gangrel had retreated to a northern castle with his honour guard, numbering well into the hundreds. Between the Shepherds and the Northern Castle, though, was a fort where the remainder of the Plegian army, at least a thousand men, were currently stationed; it was in a perfect spot geographically to strike at any assault the Shepherds might make. Out of the five thousand Feroxi soldiers that had started the campaign, only a little over a thousand remained. Duke Themis was dead, too, having led the charge against the Risen that had given them enough time to escape. A few injured survivors had made it to Regna Ferox, but even they were mostly simple line soldiers. The reports said that four other Pegasus Knights had survived, a handful of the priests, clerics and mages that had accompanied the army, along with…

Robin let out a dark laugh, and Olivia looked up from where she was doggedly attempting to mend his coat, startled by the sudden sound in the silent room.

Roark had survived! The one-eyed son of a bitch was unkillable. There was a whole report dedicated to his survival; how he had been wounded and dragged away from the fighting by a couple of clerics while the surviving mages had covered them, before being picked up by the last of the Pegasus Knights. He was apparently already causing trouble for the volunteer nurses, trying to get back out to the training yard and prepare for the next assault.

Robin shook his head. They needed more men like that.

*

Robin’s next visitors were Panne and Gaius; strangely, they didn’t look too unhappy to be in each other’s company.

“’Sup bubbles,” Gaius greeted, inviting himself in and perching on the edge of Robin’s table.

Which admittedly he had yet to actually use, but still…

“Hey guys,” Robin said, looking up from the book he had borrowed from Sumia. “What’s going on?”

“This man-spawn insisted we come and ‘check in’ on you,” Panne grumbled.

“Aw, that’s nice,” Robin goaded with a smile. “Thank you for your concern.”

“Yeah,” Gaius said, sticking a lollipop into his mouth before continuing. “Whiskers wouldn’t admit it, but she was worried ‘bout you.”

Robin saw a muscle in Panne’s jaw actually twitch at Gaius’ nickname.

“Do not. Call me. Whiskers,” she warned the thief dangerously.

“So how’re ya holdin up?” Gaius said with a wicked grin. Panne’s reaction hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Getting sick of hospital food yet?”

Olivia gave an irritated huff at that comment. In all honesty her cooking had been excellent so far; a little spicy, but excellent all the same.

“I’m fine,” Robin laughed, waving the question off. “I’ve got one more healing session tomorrow morning and then I’m out of here.”

Priests and healers from the local Feroxi shrine had been brought in numerous times over the last two days to administer healing magic to him; it was working incredibly fast, too, despite the magic putting an incredible strain on his body. Robin no longer needed assistance sitting up or moving about, and could actually hold a book up for longer than ten minutes before his wounds started to ache and made him put it back down.

“And back nose first into your books, no doubt,” Gaius said, rolling his eyes. “You gotta live a little, Bubbles! Get out and see a show! Drink yourself stupid and wake up next to a stranger! Preferably a female one, but if your preference swings the other way I won’t judge you…”

“That’s wildly inappropriate!” Olivia shrieked, blushing darkly and making Gaius laugh all the harder.

“Let me rephrase that, then,” Gaius said, his laughter beginning to subside. “Get better and get out so I can stop spending all my time around Whiskers here-”

Gaius had to dodge off the table as Panne lunged for him in one smooth motion, papers flying everywhere as Panne flew over Robin’s bed. With a wink at the wounded tactician Gaius was out the window, a very angry Taguel following him a few seconds later.

“I hope she catches him…” Olivia muttered as she set about cleaning the mess Gaius had made during his escape.

Robin had laughed so hard he thought he was going to pop his stitches.

Once his laughter died down Robin realised with a sinking feeling that Chrom still hadn’t come to see him yet.

*

Robin looked up from his book a second time in as many hours when he heard a loud thump and exclamation of pain from outside his door before Cordelia opened it, Sumia behind her rubbing her face.

“Boots again?” Robin asked with a smirk.

Sumia blushed and nodded dejectedly.

Robin shook his head, chuckling as he marked his page and set down the book.

“So how are you feeling?” Cordelia asked, standing at the foot of Robin’s bed with her arms crossed.

Robin could see the bandages around one of her arms, but suspected that the wound wouldn’t even slow her down. Sumia thankfully looked, besides the bruise forming on her forehead, mostly whole.

Robin shrugged. “Been better. I’ll be a lot better when I finally get out of this bed.”

“Thank you so much for taking care of Robin,” Sumia said, turning to Olivia.

The pink haired woman blushed heavily, stammering and trying to wave away Sumia’s thanks.

“It… It was n-nothing!” Olivia hastily said, before going back to hiding behind Robin’s coat while she ‘mended’ it.

Robin shook his head and rolled his eyes again as she sneaked a glance over the black garment. The woman was beyond timid.

“So what’s news?” Robin asked conversationally as the two Pegasus Knights sat down on chairs Olivia brought forward for them.

“You are officially looking at the last two Pegasus Knights,” Sumia said sadly.

“Really!?” Robin asked, sitting up far too quickly in his shock and instantly regretting it.

Falling back with a groan, he went on. “I had no idea the casualties in your order had been so high.”

Sumia knotted her hands in her lap as Cordelia spoke.

“Our order was never large. It takes a certain kind of woman to tame a pegasus, and an even rarer type of woman willing to put up with the gruelling training regime to become a knight; especially when it’s so much easier to just settle down and become a housewife.”

“But weren’t there a couple of survivors from the battle in Plegia?” Robin enquired, remembering the notes the Knights had brought him earlier.

Cordelia nodded. “Four. Three of them… passed the first night. The fourth will unfortunately never fly again.”

Robin cursed, bunching the sheets about his waist in a fist. Every time someone else came to see him they inadvertently piled more deaths at his feet for his failed strategies, despite the pep-talk Virion had given him the other day. He vowed to do better next time, and not to give in to despair, though. For the lives that had already been taken he swore to lead Ylisse to victory.

“Well,” Robin said with a sad sigh. “At least the future Pegasus Knights are in good hands.”

Both of the women blushed at Robin’s compliment, Cordelia’s face going almost as red as her hair.

“Be that as it may,” she said after clearing her throat. “It will take quite some time to fill our ranks again, so you will need to strike any tactics involving fliers from your plans.”

Robin nodded, before a particularly interesting thought came to him.

“So if you two are the last of your order which one of you is going to be the new Wing-Commander?”

Both women recommenced spluttering at Robin’s question, neither willing to accept the prestigious position. Robin sat back and grinned, shaking his head in amusement as they began arguing over who would take to job, pointing out each other’s good points to an exaggerated degree in an attempt to convince the other.

_Perhaps I should stop using my powers for evil like this_ he thought, chuckling as the two women kept trying to out-do the other with stories of the other’s heroism.

_Nah. This is way too fun._

*

Robin got a surprise the next morning when instead of the local healers coming to administer his final treatment Lissa, Maribelle and Libra walked through the door.

“What are you guys doing here?” Robin asked in surprise.

Lissa smiled tightly at him.

“We’re the only ones that haven’t been to see you yet,” she explained, a strange note of… something in her voice.

“It is good to see you well, Sir Robin,” Maribelle said in her unflinchingly haughty demeanour. “I trust you are about ready to return to duty after so long at rest?”

“Praise be to Naga for your speedy recovery,” Libra intoned before Robin could respond to Maribelle, bowing his head slightly.

“Yeah, sure,” Robin muttered, still eying Maribelle and trying to keep in mind that the girl had just lost her father. “Let’s get this over with. I have questions that need answers.”

Libra nodded, and the three healers set about mending Robin’s damaged body. Libra led the girls, chanting hymns dedicated to Naga while the girls channelled their magic into him, Libra acting as a conduit for sending it to Robin’s wounds. When they were done almost an hour later Robin felt better than he had in days. Obviously Libra was a very skilled healer. The priest swayed a little once the healing was done, catching himself with one hand on the end of Robin’s bed.

“I believe I may have overtaxed myself,” he admitted softly before excusing himself and exiting the room, claiming a need to lie down.

Robin felt bad for exhausting the priest, but when he stood up for the first time in days that feeling turned to relief and elation. It became an even higher sense of elation when he finally put his coat back on.

“I am born again!” Robin shouted, spinning so the coat swung out in an arc around him.

“I swear you really need a new coat,” Maribelle said, looking down her nose at Robin’s tattered coat.

Robin chose to ignore her, instead looking at his tattered breastplate. Before he could put his plan into words he found Lissa wrapped around his chest in a tight hug.

“Lissa! What…?” Robin asked in confusion.

“I was…” she started, sniffling. “I mean, we were all so…”

Robin smiled and put a comforting hand on her head.

“I’m okay, Lissa,” he said softly. “I promise.”

Lissa released him and nodded, sniffling again. Robin looked up at Maribelle, quirking an eyebrow and grinning cheekily.

“You want a hug, too?”

Maribelle looked like he had just suggested she eat her parasol.

“I think not,” she scoffed unimpressed.

“Lissa, I’ve heard Chrom hasn’t left his room since we got here,” he said, turning back to the Princess and trying to get his plan rolling again.

“Uh… yeah,” Lissa said quietly.

“Am I right in assuming he’s probably still sulking?”

“Probably…” Lissa said at length. “Robin, what are you planning?”

“Olivia,” he asked, ignoring Lissa and holding the armour out to her. “Can you take Maribelle and Lissa and get this mended for me please?”

Olivia jumped up instantly, taking the breastplate in her hands and nodding profusely as Lissa looked quizzically at Robin, clearly happy to have something to hide behind again.

“Why must I go?” Maribelle asked in irritated confusion.

“Because what I have planned now, you’ll just get in the way,” Robin answered, looking directly at the open door. “But… Don’t go far. If this goes bad, I may just wind up back in this bed.”

*

“This is not a good idea,” Sumia said with worry clear in her voice. “In fact this is a very, very bad idea.”

Sumia and Robin were standing outside of Chrom’s chambers. The Prince hadn’t been out since they had arrived back at Regna Ferox, taking his meals in there and not coming out for anything, which, simply put, wasn’t going to fly for Robin. Without Chrom there was no army; without Chrom there was no Shepherds. Robin needed Chrom to lead them. The tactician had no real authority to do so in the Prince’s place, so as much as he wanted to let his friend mourn, there was work to be done.

He had guessed that out of all the Shepherds he and Sumia were the ones Chrom would probably respond to best right now. He had debated bringing Lissa or Frederick, but both of them were still in mourning; Lissa for Emmeryn and Frederick for Duke Aerir. So Robin had gone to the stables and practically dragged a nervous Sumia away from where she was reading next to her pegasus.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Robin said with a grin, arms outstretched palms up. “He yells at us? Ooh, I’m so scared.”

“We are talking about someone that accidentally breaks down stone walls while he trains,” she reminded him.

That gave Robin pause.

“Well, we’re here now,” Robin said, gathering his courage before pounding on the door. “Chrom! I’m up and moving again and I just got out of the hospital! What’s your excuse you lazy sod!? Get your arse out here and make me do all your thinking for you again!”

The silence that followed was deafening. Robin truly had to try hard not to burst out laughing at the horrified expression Sumia’s face. Just before he was about to try again the door was flung open and Robin found a very unwashed Prince wrapping him in a bear hug.

“Robin! I feared you dead!” Chrom cried.

“Gah! Chrom! Still… wounded,” Robin gasped, the other man crushing the air out of his lungs.

Chrom quickly let go and stepped back, eyes on the ground. He was a mess; it looked like he had been the one sitting in a hospital bed for a week, not Robin. His skin was sallow and pale from too little sun and dark rings were around his eyes. A thick short beard had grown, Chrom obviously having made no attempt at grooming himself since arriving, unlike Robin who had viciously attacked his face with a shaving knife the moment he so much as felt a little stubble. He was also wearing the same clothes he was wearing under his armour the day they had assaulted Plegia, and just to top things off Robin could see the pile of empty wine bottles in one corner of the room through the open door.

“Sumia!” Chrom exclaimed, looking halfway between shocked and embarrassed as he closed the door behind him. “What… what are you doing here?”

“Robin thought you m-might want… someone to talk… to…” she said in a small voice, her confidence evaporating.

There was an awkward silence as the two of them looked at each other.

“Jeez, Chrom,” Robin said, sniffing exaggeratedly and deciding to take the humorous approach that had always worked for him before. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you really need a bath.”

Again, Sumia stared aghast at Robin’s candour. Chrom looked at Robin for a second frowning, before his face melted into a grim smile and he chuckled ruefully.

“If anyone else would have said that to me I would have laid them flat with one blow.”

“Yay! I’m special!” Robin said, hopping up and down before growing serious again. “Come on, get cleaned up and dressed; we’re not done yet. I have a plan.”

Chrom smiled at Robin’s antics before looking down again.

“There’s no point, Robin,” Chrom said tiredly, his voice breaking. “We’ve lost. Emmeryn’s dead; the Pegasus Knights are gone, as is our whole standing army. Just… just leave me be. I want to be alone. I failed you; I failed Emm; I failed everyone and I don’t… I don’t deserve your time. Gangrel was right; there’s just no way we can… I don’t deserve to-”

A loud slap echoed through the hallway, but this time it was Robin who looked on, shocked at what Sumia was doing.

“Sumia,” Chrom muttered, holding his red and stinging cheek.

“Have you come back to your senses again yet?” The Pegasus Knight said firmly with only the slightest hint of fear in her voice. “Or… Or do I have to… to smack you again!?”

“Sumia what in Naga’s name-” Robin started, eyes wide before Sumia cut him off, too.

“We need you, Chrom!” She practically shouted. “I need you! All the Shepherds and all of Ylisse needs you! Your sister needs you; Lissa’s been beside herself with worry, and thank Naga Maribelle and I have been there for her! You can’t just wallow in self-pity in another nation while our home burns to the ground around its people! You can hate yourself all you want; hell you can even hate me for slapping you, but dammit Chrom, if you don’t listen to your friends and get your butt in gear, I’ll… I’ll… so help me I will resign from the Pegasus Knights and you’ll never see me again!”

Sumia’s voice cracked as she finished, a few tears falling from the corners of her eyes.

Robin raised an eyebrow at the same time as Chrom in the silence that followed, before spinning on his heel and facing away when Chrom grabbed Sumia in a passionate embrace, kissing her fiercely.

“Lovely,” Robin muttered under his breath as he stood with his back turned and his arms crossed for what felt like forever.

_I really should have seen this one coming._

Chrom cleared his throat, and Robin took that as a signal to turn around again.

“Are you two just about done?” he asked drolly, “Because I can come back later.”

Chrom laughed, his arm still around Sumia’s waist. “For now, yes.”

“Until he bathes, anyway,” Sumia giggled, making a show of pulling her head away, prompting Chrom to lean closer.

Robin had to resist the urge to retch at their loved-up antics. At least Chrom was smiling again. Robin couldn’t help but feel partially responsible for getting them together after that night in Ylisse so long ago anyway, so he grit his teeth and bared it.

“Call the Shepherds together,” Chrom said, the fire returning to his voice. “I think you can tell us all about your plan at once.”

“After you bathe, right?”

“Yes, Robin; after I bathe.”

“Because I don’t want to hurt your feelings or anything, but-”

“I get it, already!” Chrom shouted in exasperation. “I stink! I’ll take a bloody bath before anyone else has to suffer at the hands of my unwashed body!”

“Just making sure,” Robin said with a sly grin. “At least you look good with a beard.”

Chrom groaned as he absently reached up and rubbed his dishevelled face.

“Good to see your sense of humour was uninjured,” Chrom deadpanned.

*

Robin practically skipped through the Coliseum hallways after his meeting with Chrom. He had left Sumia there to help him get ready, although there was no doubt in his mind he now had a few hours to kill before they would be able to all meet in one place again…

Robin shuddered at the thought of two of his closest friends… Copulating. It wasn’t something he needed to know about, or wanted to think about. At all. Ever.

Realizing he’d been cooped up for more than a week, Robin opted to follow Virion’s advice and get some air; swinging by the Khan’s personal kitchen first, though. Pouch laden with cookies and praising all the deities he could think of for putting an exit from the colossal Coliseum so close to the Khan’s quarters, Robin waved at the stern faced Feroxi guards as he took his spoils out to the frozen countryside, intending to find a nice clearing and simply eat alone. He didn’t intend to go far, as his legs were still a little stiff from being in a bed all week, but her really wanted to get outside and away from everyone else, just for a little while.

It definitely wasn’t because he had managed to score a particularly fruity smelling wine that he had no interest in sharing if one of the Shepherds found him at all that he was intent on getting outside. Not at all.

He had checked carefully that it was regular wine, too; he couldn’t help but think that firewine might just kill him at that point.

A few times as he walked through the Khan’s quarters he thought he’d spotted someone following him, but whenever he turned around he was alone. Rather than investigate he chose to listen to his stomach and carry on with his master plan.

With a gigantic smile plastered on his face Robin exited the giant building-city through the Khan’s private gate and walked along the massive stone wall of the Coliseum until he found a suitable rock to perch on near one of the creeks that flowed through the giant edifice, supplying it with water.

Robin sighed contentedly as he sat, sipping wine straight from the bottle and looking out over the Feroxi countryside, basking in the simple fact he was alive to enjoy the wine and scenery at all.

The tactician glanced over his shoulder as he heard someone approach, turning back and taking another swig from the bottle as he realised it was no one intent on causing him harm.

“I wondered where you had disappeared to,” Robin said conversationally as he pulled a cookie out of his pouch, munching on it as Marth entered his field of vision. “Still camping, huh? You know there’s a lot of space in the Coliseum if you get sick of roughing it.”

The enigmatic woman was standing just out of Robin’s reach, looking at him with a strange expression on her face.

“I didn’t expect to see you on your feet again so soon,” Marth said, pointedly ignoring Robin’s invitation.

Robin shrugged. Apparently the strange look was concern. It looked out of place on her face.

“The miraculous power of three very dedicated practitioners of healing magics,” he said lightly, starting in on his second cookie.

“Want one?” he asked, holding one out to the woman.

Marth looked at the small cookie for a moment before shaking her head.

“Come on,” Robin insisted. “I heard from a little birdie that you carried my carcass practically all the way here. The least I can do is give you a cookie. I mean, I know it’s ginger nut and nobody likes ginger nut, but this is Regna Ferox and I couldn’t find any chocolate chip.”

Marth seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding woodenly and taking the proffered cookie, eating it in small bites.

“See?” Robin said jovially. “Now we’re friends!”

Marth quirked an eyebrow at Robin.

“Okay, so I’ve been in a coma for a week and have a lot of talking to get out of my system,” Robin laughed. “Plus this wine really sneaks up on you and boots you in the arse. Don’t look at me like that.”

Marth silently shook her head, smiling a little. Robin had to admit, she was pretty cute when she smiled. He did think that about most of the women in his life at present, though, but he had seen so little of Marth that it was like a rare treat. Her usually grim face truly lit up even when she smiled a little; it was almost like she became a completely different person. They sat and stood in silence for a while, Robin simply enjoying the fresh air and silent company.

“Can I ask you why you follow us around?” Robin asked at length, the wine getting the better of his judgment. “I mean, you could just join the Shepherds. You’ve passed any entrance requirements with flying colours. So why don’t you?”

“I… Cannot.”

“Because…?” Robin prompted, taking another swig from the bottle.

Marth looked away. “I simply cannot.”

Robin shrugged. “Hey, whatever. That’s your prerogative, I guess. But the offer stands.”

Marth was silent for another few minutes before speaking again.

“May I ask you something, Sir Robin?” she asked, not looking at him.

“Sure,” Robin said, drinking a little more of the wine. “But only if you drop the whole ‘sir’ thing. As far as I know I’m as baseborn as that loveable lummox Vaike.”

Marth chuckled a little. “Okay, Robin. I wanted to ask you; what do you plan to do after the war with Plegia… ends?”

Robin shrugged without thinking. “No idea.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

Robin laughed.

“Are you kidding? I have two months’ worth of memories out of at least twenty years. In those two months I’ve been trampled, stabbed, beaten, set on fire, struck by lightning bolts, shot with arrows, snuggled with a giant rabbit, hugged by a dragon and chased by a very ornery horse, not to mention criss-crossing a continent and fighting in more battles than I have fingers to count them on. I’m looking forward to finding out what ‘normal’ life is like for a change.”

Robin stopped and considered a moment. “Maybe I’ll travel. See Ylisse, try and find something to jog my memories. I honestly don’t know. I guess that’s the blessing of my condition; I’m more interested in living one day at a time than coming up with a ‘five-year-plan’ or anything like that.”

_Curse this wine!_ Robin thought absently. _I command you to return to my control, tongue! Stop blabbing our thoughts without me thinking first!_

Marth went silent again. Robin sensed something was bothering the woman and took another swig from the wine, before offering her the bottle. She started, unsure how to react, before gingerly taking the bottle.

“Relax, it’s not poison,” Robin said with a laugh. “You just seem a little down.”

“You could say that,” she admitted, taking a quick sip from the wine.

Robin stood, patting off the seat of his pants.

“I have to be getting back before Chrom organizes a search party. It was nice talking to you, Marth. Consider my offer, will you?”

Robin began walking back to the entrance he had come out of, before turning back to where Marth was still standing, looking at the bottle of wine in her hands.

“And thanks again for carrying me back! I guess I owe you one again, huh? Oh, and if anyone asks, Vaike gave you that bottle, not me!”

*

Robin leaned against a pole in the receiving hall of the Khan’s quarters, back inside the Coliseum. Almost all of the Shepherds were gathered, as were Seth, Roark, Raimi and the two Khans. They were just waiting on Chrom and Sumia now.

On his way back through the Khan’s quarters he had spotted the mysterious shadow that had been tailing him; turns out Tharja was the one following him. Robin pretended not to notice, though, sure that she was just worried about him after the ordeal in Plegia. He would have to make time to talk to her properly later.

“You look happy,” Cordelia commented, coming to stand beside him.

Robin would admit that he hadn’t stopped smiling since he had escaped that bloody sick-bed.

Instead he shrugged. “The tide is turning,” he said confidently. “I have a plan and Gangrel’s going to pay. Plus I just drank half a bottle of really good wine.”

Cordelia cast Robin a disapproving look, but before she could rebuke him Chrom made his entrance, Sumia hot on his heels.

Robin noticed Tharja slip in the back as Chrom entered, too, doing her best to blend in to the shadows.

“I want to thank everyone for coming,” Chrom began. “As you are all well aware we have suffered some… setbacks in the campaign against Plegia recently.”

The assembled Shepherds looked silently to Chrom, almost as if looking for any signs of the weakness he had shown earlier. There was none. Chrom was back to his old self as if the events of the previous week had never transpired.

“Before we go on to talk about our plans involving the future of this campaign,” Chrom said seriously, meeting the eyes of everyone assembled. “I want to apologize. I haven’t been myself since… Since the death of the Exalt. I gave in to despair, and abandoned you all when you all needed me most, and for that I am truly sorry. I will not force you to remain and will understand if any of you wish to leave. What I want to know is: are you still with me?”

There was silence in the room before Frederick spoke.

“My brother served Lady Emmeryn until his dying breath,” he said solemnly. “I henceforth pledge my sword to you, Prince Chrom, in the same way Aerir pledged his to Lady Emmeryn.”

One by one the other Shepherds stepped forward.

“Me too!” Sully said, coming forward. “I told you way back when; I’m not letting you or the Commander out of my sight again!”

“And me!” Stahl added. “I will serve Ylisse until my dying breath!”

“Ya didn’t think it’d be that easy to get rid of us, did ya?” Vaike asked with a happy wink, flexing his biceps.

“Indeed,” Miriel agreed.

“We shall follow you to the end of creation if you so desire, Lord Chrom,” Virion said with his best noble smile.

“Were you not worthy I would have left long ago,” Lon’qu said in his usual deadpan, actually cracking a small grin as he did so.

“For my father and all the other lives he has taken, Gangrel must be punished,” Maribelle said, fire in her eyes.

“For my sisters that have fallen I shall stand with you!” Cordelia said, looking away from Chrom’s eyes quickly.

From the back of the room Robin smiled. Chrom had been worried about nothing. None of them would abandon him now.

“My friends… thank you,” Chrom said, his voice thick with emotion.

“Yeah!” Nowi shouted, pumping a fist in the air. “The bad guys had better watch out!”

“Your sister earned my trust,” Panne said with a nod. “The last of the Taguel shall champion her.”

“You keep giving me candy and I’ll do whatever you want me to,” Gaius said with a grin as he crossed his arms and leaned back.

“I’m in too!” Ricken said shakily. “For Ylisse!”

“Gregor is mercenary! But will work this job free!” Gregor said in his strange speech mannerism, his perpetual huge smile still in place.

“I feel that this is the reason that Naga has led me to you, milord,” Libra came forward, head bowed and hands clasped at his chest.

“You have trusted me. So I will trust you,” Tharja said quietly from almost directly behind Robin.

_When the hell did she get back there!?_ Robin thought, jumping a little when she spoke.

“For my lord and his daughter, I will fight!” Roark said fiercely, stepping forward, hand clenched over his heart.

“I will fight for Ylisse,” Seth said solemnly, stepping forward and saluting smartly.

“See,” Sumia said from next to Chrom. “We’re all with you. Until the end.”

“Until the end!” Robin echoed loudly, raising his fist in the air.

“Until the end!” the rest of the assembled warriors and soldiers cried, shaking the rafters and columns with their cry.

Basilio began laughing. “That’s what I like to see! You young folks burn so hot you would’ve singed the hairs right off my head if I had any!”

“We’re with you too, Chrom,” Flavia said with a feral smile. “That bastard Gangrel needs to be put in his place; his place being a hole in the ground.”

“Thank you,” Chrom said, head bowed. “Words cannot express the depths of my gratitude. Now I believe Robin will tell us of his plan?”

“It’s quite simple, actually,” Robin said, taking a moment and walking forward to stand in front of everyone with Chrom.

“Well boy,” Basilio urged impatiently. “Don’t keep us in suspense!”

Robin grinned maniacally.

“We need to go back on the offensive.”


	15. Chapter 15

Flavia took a deep breath like she always did in the fleeting calm moment just before a fight. It was that little oasis of quiet before the inevitable storm that galvanised her for what was to come. The dusty, dry air of Plegia did little to calm her nerves this time, though; she would have killed for the frigid, biting air of Regna Ferox.

On the outside she was as calm and cool a leader as she always was, but inside she seethed. Her first campaign as Khan Regnant and they had been utterly routed by the bastard Gangrel and the Plegians. Total loss almost sixty percent casualties to the Feroxi Clan Armies all told. Thousands dead, thousands more wounded and crippled...

It wouldn’t stand. She wouldn’t let it.

Gangrel was a dead man walking. He just didn’t know it yet.

She and the oaf Basilio had separated from the Ylissean Shepherds that morning; now it was afternoon, and they were looking down on one of the outlying sentry camps the Plegians had set up. From her shoulder Basilio chuckled.

“Too easy,” he rumbled quietly. “Do they really think that those crappy tarps hide their camp?”

“Apparently so,” Raimi said from her other shoulder. “Should I ready the men?”

Flavia shook her head.

“I only see ten or fifteen Plegians down there,” she declared, shielding her eyes from the sun to better see their victims. “We can handle this ourselves.”

Basilio guffawed, shaking his big bald head. “Far be it from me to question the will of the Khan-”

“So don’t,” Flavia cut him off.

There was movement from behind them and Flavia turned. The two Ylisseans, the eye-patch one and the irritatingly helpful one, had come up behind them, bearing arms.

“Think we might even the odds?” eye-patch asked, indicating himself and the other with a predatory grin.

The Shepherd’s tactician Robin had opted to send the two Knights with the Feroxi; mostly because many of the Feroxi soldiers wore light armour unlike the Ylisseans, and two heavily armed and armoured Knights was quite the boon on a campaign like this. The helpful one had been forced to leave his horse behind; the creatures were too difficult to hide in scrubland like the Plegian desert, but the man had proved just as adept at fighting dismounted in the short time they’d been raiding Plegian camps.

Basilio snorted at the offer and Flavia’s grin took on that feral quality that she knew only happened before a good fight.

“I think we have Plegians to kill,” she said, before vaulting over the lip of the small cliff they were on and sliding down it, sword in hand and eyes wild, her blonde hair flying out behind her like a comet’s trail as she began to scream Feroxi war-cries.

As her mind readied itself for battle she absently noted that the others were following her down the cliff face, Basilio and Raimi shouting their own war cries.

In the end the Plegians never knew what hit them.

*

Robin would freely admit he was growing used to the feeling of being followed. Be it from marching at the front of the group with Chrom, having a gaggle of adjutants buzzing around him looking for orders during the march to Plegia, or simply having people to make sure parts of him didn’t fall off after being wounded, a job Olivia had apparently taken quite seriously, it was becoming commonplace for him to have some sort of tail or another.

Which is why, when Robin spotted Tharja following him for the third time during their second night of camping, Robin felt a little strange that he should feel so… strange about it.

It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable with her apparent worry for his welfare; quite the opposite, it was in fact a little flattering. But Robin had managed to ditch Olivia after the first day of the march back across Plegia and, well… Tharja had remained. He hadn’t even spoken to her yet. The only time he’d heard her speak was the night in Regna Ferox where they all swore to see the war through to the end with Chrom.

The Shepherds had set up their little tent-city for the evening, having separated from the Feroxi forces led by the Khans earlier that day, leaving only the Shepherds and their newest addition, the dancer and support-player Olivia, out in the light Plegian scrub.

Olivia had been adamant in her shy, timid fashion about accompanying the Shepherds on their journey. Robin couldn’t for the life of him figure out why, though. Her traditional non-magic first aid skills were top-notch, though, and she was an excellent chef. The dancer had some skill with a sword, too, a shorter version of the blade Lon’qu used that seemed to be favoured by most Feroxi warriors, but Robin wasn’t about to put her on the frontlines, that much was for certain. She also seemed to be nothing but interested in making everyone else’s lives easier by doing laundry and mending clothes and tents, managing the supply wagon, all of the things no one really wanted to do.

Robin chuckled and shook his head. The timid dancer was liable to put Cordelia out of a job, she was so helpful. The difference between the two women, though, was you could tell when Olivia was helping, unlike Cordelia’s help which you just discovered later.

However, the best thing about Olivia in Robin’s opinion was by far the dancing. She was almost as clumsy as Sumia in her daily tasks, but once she began to dance she became a completely different person.

Robin paused as Panne rushed by him, the Taguel not even looking at him as she practically shoulder-barged him from her path.

The tactician watched her go and shrugged to himself, his thoughts returning to Olivia’s performance the previous night. In all honesty Robin felt better just watching her sway and spin, like it was some sort of strange, esoteric magic that made the entire audience feel like they could fight for days on end without rest. It didn’t hurt that Olivia also had one of the most beautiful, slim, toned figures he had ever seen in his life, and wore somewhat revealing dancing clothes most of the time…

Lon’qu came rushing up to Robin, interrupting his thoughts at the perfect moment before they got away from him and he started drooling, the Feroxi swordsman panting and holding a small bag.

“Have you seen the Taguel woman come by here?” he asked without preamble.

“Panne?” Robin asked before pointing the opposite direction that he was walking in. “Yeah, she went that way. Kinda strange to see you chasing a woman for a change, though.”

“Be silent,” Lon’qu grumbled, moving past Robin. “She simply dropped this bag.”

Robin snickered and watched the other man disappear around the tents, catching another glimpse of his second shadow watching from behind a stack of crates. He simply rolled his eyes and continued on his way. Tharja would get bored sooner or later. He hoped.

Stopping as he came out into the centre area of the little camp where Frederick was just getting the fire started, Robin glanced around and smiled a little. The sun was starting to dip low on the horizon and Stahl and Sully were going around lighting a few lanterns to assist with the night patrols. Lissa, Maribelle and Olivia were preparing the ingredients for dinner; no doubt Stahl would get in on the cooking later, too. Vaike was doing push-ups off to one side while Miriel sat near him, nose buried in a book. Gaius was busy eyeing the ingredients that were no doubt for dessert. Robin sighed contentedly and just watched the Shepherds relax, the sight putting him at ease.

“Robin, look!” Cordelia said excitedly with a large grin on her face when she spotted him.

The beaming red-tressed Pegasus Knight rushed over to where he was watching the camp life unfold and held out a new-looking javelin.

“I crafted a new javelin using the feedback you gave me!” she said triumphantly.

“Really?” Robin asked, quirking a brow. “You just… made one? Just like that?”

Cordelia nodded, looking a little confused at Robin’s response. “Er… yes?”

“As in you made itself from scratch?” Robin prompted. “Not from, like, a kit or something?”

Cordelia laughed a little at the tactician’s sheer disbelief.

“No, silly. I cut a sapling, fashioned a grip, and hammered the point in the portable forge,” she explained before laughing again. “I suppose I could have waited around for the javelin fairy, but she's so unpredictable. Here, look. See the pattern on the shaft? It's my own design. Well? What do you think?”

Robin accepted the proffered weapon, casting his untrained gaze over it. It was elegant, beautiful and felt perfectly weighted. The tip was razor sharp, too, and the pattern on the shaft was a delicate leaf and vine gilt design in elegant silver that looked like it had been carved by a master artisan, rather than a rank-and-file Pegasus Knight.

“I have to say I’m impressed,” Robin admitted, carefully handing the weapon back. “I honestly wasn't expecting you to go and fashion a whole javelin from scratch so fast. You really are a genius!”

Realising his faux pas he stopped himself short as Cordelia’s face fell.

“Sorry,” Robin apologised quickly, knocking himself in the side of the head with his knuckles. “I know you don’t like the G word. Anyway, I’m glad I could help. If there’s anything else I can help you with, just let me know.”

Cordelia’s smile returned. “Heh, Robin, you are far too kind! Why, if I...”

She stopped speaking quickly, looking around the camp as the other Shepherds began to gather around the fire waiting for dinner. Letting out a sigh her face fell as she took a step away from Robin.

“No, wait,” she said sadly. “We can’t be doing this. People will get the wrong idea.”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up higher than they ever had before. “Doing what? What are we doing? I haven’t even had the chance to do anything yet!”

Cordelia looked down, adopting a very Sumia-like pose and tone of voice. It was quite possibly the cutest thing Robin had ever seen, and he had seen Lissa baking cookies.

“If you keep being so kind to me people might think that…” Cordelia mumbled, trailing off.

“That…?” Robin prompted after a moment.

“That we’re friends,” the Pegasus Knight finished, glancing up from under her fringe.

In that moment Robin burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it, and honestly tried not to, but Cordelia’s behaviour was just far and away the funniest thing he’d seen in days.

“We are friends, though,” Robin said once his laughter calmed down a little. “Aren’t we?”

Cordelia looked up, her eyes bright. “Do you… really? You really think so?”

“Yeah,” Robin said, still chuckling a little. “Why? Is there some weird Pegasus Knight initiation I have to pass to be your friend? If so bring it on!”

_Gods I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this_ , Robin thought, wiping a tear from his eye.

“No, not at all! Oh, I'm sorry. I guess...” Cordelia said, her smile reappearing, albeit a little more sheepishly than before. “I guess I grew accustomed to not having any. I was the youngest recruit in the Pegasus Knights. All of my comrades were veterans. There was no one whom I could truly call my ‘friend’.”

“Then I, Robin the Tactician, do hereby claim the title of ‘Cordelia’s First Friend’!” Robin said with a dramatic flair that made the woman laugh.

“Very well, sir tactician,” Cordelia laughed. “If that is your wish, I won’t deny it!”

As they went to see if the others needed help with preparing dinner, Robin moving admittedly a little more reluctantly than Cordelia, he could have sworn he heard some sort of animal emitting a low, dangerous sounding growl. As far as he knew there were no predators in the desert, but he made a mental note to tell Sully to be extra vigilant during her first patrol, just in case.

*

Dinner had gone off without a hitch, much to Robin’s pleasure and intense relief. Not that he had contributed in any great way; all they had let him do was some of the chopping of the vegetables, but his reputation for kitchen duty was slowly healing. He had even managed to sneakily attempt a small carrot stew again with the leftovers from the main meal for Panne, who had accepted it gratefully. He still hadn’t improved, but she had seemed grateful regardless, in her usual severe way.

He had spent the entire meal laughing and joking with Chrom, Lissa and Sumia, and was heading back to his tent to get some reading done before bed when he heard a scuff behind him, prompting him to watch Tharja quickly duck and hide behind a nearby barrel.

Robin looked at the barrel in confusion for a moment before letting his tactician’s curiosity get the better of him.

“Uh… Tharja?” he called, taking a few steps back towards her. “Have… Have you been following me?”

“Maybe,” she said without hesitating or rising from behind the barrel.

Robin stopped, processing her admission for a brief moment.

“Now,” he said, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “And quite frankly more importantly; why? I’ve seen you hiding behind barrels and wagons all week. I heard you helped save me after Plegia, and I’m grateful, but I assure you I’m perfectly healthy now.”

“It’s not that,” Tharja said, slinking out from behind the barrel, blushing and smiling happily to herself. “It’s… you’ve finally noticed.”

“I get the feeling I might regret asking this,” Robin asked lightly, “But ‘noticed what, Tharja’?”

“My love,” Tharja said excitedly before blushing even heavier and turning away from Robin’s exceedingly confused gaze.

“You-da-hadda-wha?” Robin blabbered, trying to wrap his head around what he was hearing. “Your love? What are you talking about?”

Tharja nodded excitedly, her perfect hair swishing with the movements. “Oh yes. I realized it the first moment we locked eyes. ‘He isn't like the others’ I thought. ‘He's the one I've been seeking’!”

“Wow,” Robin said, running a hand through his hair, mind desperately trying to come up with an adequate response. “Uh… I’m, um, flattered.”

_Okay, this is getting out of hand_ Robin thought. _Crazy with a capital ‘C’. I have to nip this in the bud before it gets worse. I’ll let her down gently, spout some crap about not being able to afford distractions during a time of war… yeah, that’ll probably cut it. And then I’ll spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder._

Tharja smiled at the dirt before beginning to take a few shuffling steps towards Robin before her gait grew more confident, her hips swaying suggestively as she walked. Robin was immediately struck, as her heavy dark cloak swayed open with her movements, just how much of a woman the Dark Mage was. To say she was ‘boingier’ than any other woman in the Shepherds would have been a vast understatement. Hell, she even gave Cordelia a run for her money in terms of sheer physical appeal.

“That's why I've been watching your every...single...move,” she said huskily. “Yesterday you read two books and part of a third. You snacked on an apple, and last night, you turned over 12 times in your sleep. ...Well below your average.”

Reaching Robin as she spoke Tharja ran a finger down his chest, oblivious to the tactician’s overt attempts to back away.

_Wait. What? What the hell did she just say!?Holy crap! Red alert!_ Robin thought in shock, eyes widening.

While Tharja clearly won out in terms of sex appeal, the look in her eyes sent shivers down Robin’s spine. Crazy. With a capital ‘C’.

“You’ve been watching me sleep!?” he said a little louder than he meant to, shaking off the dark mage and taking a few big steps back.

Tharja froze, her mouth working soundlessly as she seemed to be genuinely confused by Robin’s reaction.

“I thought you would be grateful,” she finally said in a small voice.

Robin didn’t see her confusion, though, too busy feeling incredibly violated.

“I’d say that the word you’re looking for is ‘disturbed’. I… you… so you’ve been stalking me every day since we met?”

“Yes,” Tharja admitted, her voice still small, all of her earlier confidence gone as she seemed to disappear into her cloak.

Robin’s head spun. Why he felt so violated was beyond him, but he did.

“I feel ill,” the tactician muttered. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you again,” Tharja said quickly, almost desperately, reaching out for him again.

Robin took another step back, instinct getting the better of him. This was going badly and he knew it, but he couldn’t keep the look of fear out of his eyes. He had all of a month’s worth of memories, but he knew on an instinctive level that this was pushing the limits of weird.

“Oh no! Coming from a normal friend that might have been a bit more comforting a thought,” he muttered, trying to think of how to get the hell out of this situation.

Apparently Robin had still been too loud, because Tharja’s face fell again, her feelings obviously hurt.

She seemed to disappear under her cloak and hair, her chin and mouth the only visible parts of her body.

“Is that what you want?” she asked Robin emotionlessly. “A normal woman?”

Again, Robin’s panic got the better of him.

“What? Yeah, I suppose, but that’s not the poi-”

“All I needed to hear!” Tharja said quickly, turning in a flash of dark fabric and hair and running off faster than Robin would have thought her capable of.

“Wait!” Robin called. “Tharja, stay here! Where I can see you!”

Robin groaned, pinching the skin between his eyes again.

“At least stay the hell out of my tent!” he called desperately.

_Crazy with a capital C, that one. I wonder if Virion would object to sharing a tent for a few nights?_

*

Robin woke the next morning to Frederick’s shouting, like he always did. The man was worse than a rooster. A big, frowny, armour-clad rooster. Yawning and stretching, Robin casually cast a glance at the stool he had placed in front of his tent flaps with his breastplate balanced on top of it as a makeshift intruder alarm. Just in case Tharja hadn’t taken the hint.

It was still unmoved, meaning that no one had been in or out of his tent since he had retired last night.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Robin set about preparing for the day ahead, completely missing where the base of his tent had been loosened to the point someone could easily squeeze under the canvas.

*

They marched for the majority of the day again, only once coming across a Plegian patrol in the distance. Robin had advised discretion over valour, and they had hidden behind a conveniently placed rock formation until the Plegians passed.

“Obviously Flavia and the others are making enough noise to keep the Plegians off our tails,” he said optimistically after the patrol had passed.

Chrom had nodded, watching the cloud of dust fade into the distance.

“I like to think it’s more than just blind luck that’s gotten us this far undetected,” the Prince said at length.

“Brilliant strategy from your dashing tactician?” Robin said with a shrug.

Chrom chuckled and shook his head. “How your attitude never falters…”

“Ego,” Robin corrected. “The word you’re looking for is ‘ego’.”

“We should keep moving,” Frederick had said, appearing behind the two and practically pushing them back into movement.

Robin had almost jumped out of his skin, expecting Frederick to be Tharja. He wasn’t sure what was more disconcerting; when he had spotted her following him around all the time, or now that he couldn’t.

*

Flavia stood at the edge of a vast empty space around the fortress that the Plegians were holed up in; even with the warriors they had managed to scrape together at the last minute their numbers were still woefully small compared to the Plegian forces; after taking out the wounded that had retreated during after the debacle at the Plegian capital and adding the fresh recruits they still barely numbered thirteen hundred soldiers.

The Plegians had at least three times that many in the fortress they were to assault.

It made no difference, though; their plan was to lure them out, into the wastes where the Feroxi’s true potential could be reached.

Ambushing with hidden swordsmen and assassins. Cross-fire from archers. Not to mention the Ylissean mages that had escaped from the battle with Raimi.

They had been playing cat and mouse for nearly a week now; striking supply convoys, lightly defended watch posts, even assaulting mounted patrols along the roads. Slowly the Plegians had come to realise that it was they that were the mice, not the Feroxi. Now the time had come to begin the assault on the fortress.

“You’re up, oaf,” she said, looking over to Basilio.

The big man chuckled, rolled out his shoulders, and began walking from cover towards the fortress over the open ground. It was a killing field; all of the vegetation and even the larger rocks had been moved away, and Basilio had nothing to hide behind. But his plan had been good, so Flavia had opted to listen to him for once.

Basilio just strode out, bold as you please, ignoring the archers training their bows on him.

When he saw that a large proportion of the Plegians were gathered on the fortress’ parapets he stopped and looked up at them.

Flavia watched as the General of the fortress, a fat, balding man pushing fifty, pushed his way to the wall and stood looking down at the lone Khan.

“Hey!” Basilio called up to them. “Plegians!”

Flavia watched as Basilio spun on his heel, bent over, and dropped his pants.

“Come and get us!” the bald Khan roared as he started running, securing his pants with one hand and dodging the arrows from the enraged Plegians, casting a rude hand gesture over his shoulder as he ran with his other hand.

The fortress gates opened and Flavia was so busy laughing herself to tears she almost missed her cue.

“Mages!” she said, trying in vain to stifle her laughter.

Not that the Ylissean mages were doing much better, but they still moved into position.

Basilio jumped back into cover just as the first of the red-faced Plegians came riding out, the furious General at their head.

“Think that got their attention?” Basilio asked cheekily.

“I’ll never look at you the same way again,” Flavia said, bursting into a fresh fit of laughter.

Flavia spun onto her stomach to watch the Plegians’ progress. Once they were all on the open ground of the killing field Flavia gave the order and the thirty odd mages popped out of hiding, some even appearing out of thin air, and let loose the spells they had been preparing. Lightning rained down from the sky as the earth opened up beneath the Plegians’ horses, fire and lava spilling forth even as they were herded into a tighter bunch by powerful wind magic. Flavia’s laughter turned dark as she watched the blood drain from the General’s face when he realised that he’d let himself be lured into such an obvious trap.

The Plegian outriders were slaughtered, but Flavia could already see the second wave approaching through the gates.

“Fall back!” Flavia ordered, still grinning at her partner’s antics.

The games had just begun.

*

Roark was squatting behind an enormous rock, waiting for Flavia’s signal. Apparently he’d know it when he saw it. His armour had been covered in a layer of dust and sand from the desert to stop any glare or reflections giving his position away, and his face was covered in grey Feroxi wode like the rest of the archers.

Roark shook the thoughts from his head. Working with the Feroxi had been frustrating enough when they were allies; now that he was serving under the Khans things were just getting worse. They had no military discipline; no ranks, no squads, no organisation to their army. It was all just ‘hey, you have a sword and I have a sword so let’s go kill things!’. At least they were competent warriors; he had to give them that.

And they made quality weapons, too. The bow in Roark’s hands was of a top quality, very finely crafted.

Roark was no archer, but like most Knights had a passing skill with the bow which he was about to put to good use with the rest of the Feroxi archers. Across the small and dry gully Roark knew that Seth was squatting with another bow, thinking the exact same thoughts as he was.

Namely, ‘what the hell is the signal going to be’?

Roark perked up as he heard the sounds of running and… laughter?

Khan Flavia leapt into the air, sliding down the gully and continuing to run, laughing hysterically. Following her were Khan Basilio and all of the mages. They passed through the gully, climbed up out of the other end, and kept running in the direction that the rest of the ambushes were set up in.

Almost as soon as they were out of sight a large group of Plegian soldiers, all on foot, charged into the gully.

“I guess this is the signal,” Roark said quietly to himself, wondering what they could have done to piss the Plegians off to a point that they would follow the Feroxi into such an obvious trap.

“Open fire!” Seth called, and as one fifty Feroxi leaned out of cover and let loose, arrows darkening the sky.

“Fire at will!” Roark ordered, shooting his own arrows.

He never saw if they landed any hits, but it didn’t really matter. None of the Plegians had survived.

In the distance Roark could see that there was a plume of dust rising, no doubt from more Plegian cavalry.

“Fall back to the next objective!” Roark ordered.

The Feroxi slipped silently away into the rocks and scrub, reminding Roark again as he tromped quickly through the desert making a lot more noise that he was not trained for stealth operations.

*

Raimi watched with some confusion as the Khans and the Mages retreated through the sparse forest the Feroxi were hiding in, laughing their arses off the whole way. She would have to ask about that later; she had just spotted the first of the second group making their way to the battleground.

Well, she had spotted the two Ylissean Knights, which meant that the second group wasn’t far away.

How the Ylissean tactician thought that the two men would be of assistance to the Feroxi on a mission like this Raimi couldn’t understand, but Khan Flavia had graciously agreed to allow them to come, and she did as her Khan ordered.

They had chosen the foot of a great hill, covered in what was possibly most of the vegetation in Plegia, even if it was dry and brown. The hill would afford the superior Feroxi archers a better vantage point to rain down arrows, while also keeping the Ylissean mages and Priests out of harm’s way during the battle. It also added a level of familiarity to the Feroxi, so used to fighting in the frozen forests of their homeland.

This was where they would stop the Plegians, having already demoralised them with the two earlier ambushes they would break upon the Feroxi soldiers like waves on a shore.

One of the Knights, the one with both his eyes, stopped near Raimi, breathing hard.

“Damn this armour,” he complained, putting down his bow and hefting an axe.

Raimi rolled her eyes as the Plegians drew closer. The archers and mages were slithering through the underbrush up the hill behind them while the mages took up positions lower on the mound, some even drawing short swords and readying staffs in case the Plegians got through.

Khan Flavia, still grinning maniacally, strode forward with Basilio, and Raimi and the two knights followed her, the five of them presenting themselves as bait to the Plegians.

“They really don’t like you,” Khan Flavia chuckled to Basilio.

The older man shrugged, grinning.

“What did you do to make them so angry?” the eye-patch Knight asked, eyeing the thousand odd Plegian soldiers charging in loose formation towards them.

“That’s my secret, boy,” Basilio said with a wink. Or a blink; it was hard to tell when the person only had one eye.

The Plegians were drawing close, now; Raimi had to admit, she respected the Knight with both eyes’ courage and focus. He hadn’t uttered a word, instead simply standing and staring down the charging Plegians, axe in one hand and shield on the other.

“What’s your name?” Raimi asked him after a moment’s hesitation.

The Knight looked up, startled to be broken from his battle-meditation.

“Uh, Seth, milady Raimi,” he said hesitantly.

Raimi nodded. “It will be good to fight alongside you, Seth of Ylisse.”

The Knight nodded and turned back to the charging Plegians.

Khan Flavia gave the order to open fire, and the front ranks of Plegians dropped, arrows sticking out of them; the rest still came on, heedless or simply caught up in the momentum.

Khan Flavia gave a different order and the Ylissean Mages, casting in unison, conjured a storm cloud that rained lightning and hail down on the Plegian forces, dropping many more.

When the Plegians were almost upon the five warriors standing alone before the horde Khan Flavia gave the final order, and nearly one thousand Feroxi soldiers appeared out of the light forest around the Plegians, and finally the battle was joined.

*

“Flavia and the others should have struck at the fortress by now,” Robin said, running a hand through his hair. “I think now would be the best time to attack Gangrel.”

He, Chrom and Frederick were in the Prince’s tent, leaning over a map covered in black squiggles and arrows depicting Plegian troop movement and locations. They had passed through the dessert unmolested for nearly a week; obviously his plan for the Feroxi to occupy the Plegians to the south had worked perfectly. He was worried about them facing such numbers, but trusted in Flavia’s ability to lead her troops.

“I think it would be prudent to attack tomorrow,” Frederick said, looking through the papers scattered about the remainder of the table. “The scouts report that the last of the Plegian garrison will be marching south, leaving Gangrel defended solely by his Honour Guard.”

Chrom nodded in agreement.

“Plus,” the Prince added, “It would give us a chance to prepare properly; make any final adjustments to our strategy, that kind of thing.”

Robin huffed and crossed his arms. “Are you saying my strategy needs work?”

“No, no,” Chrom laughed and held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m simply pointing out the fact that we’ve been marching non-stop for a week now; it would be a great kindness to the Shepherds to allow them a good night’s rest and a little bit of a sleep-in.”

Frederick’s brow twitched at the mention of sleeping in, but he held his tongue.

Robin nodded, seeing the Prince’s logic. At least half of the Shepherds weren’t trained soldiers and were growing exhausted. A good meal and a proper night’s rest and they would be fighting-fit for the next day’s battle, though. He hoped.

“Right,” Robin said, stretching his back and making to leave. “I suppose for completion’s sake I should go and make sure there are no holes in my strategy after all. If we somehow lose tomorrow I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“You should rest while you can, Robin!” Chrom called after him. “Even experienced soldiers know when to rest during a campaign!”

The tactician grunted and waved dismissively over his shoulder. After all, it wasn’t like he was going straight to his books.

*

Robin was struck as he walked through the Shepherds’ camp how no matter where they were once the Shepherds set up a camp it always looked exactly the same, right down to position and orientation of the tents. Tents around a central area, usually with a fire pit in it, supply wagon and cooking area off to one side, training area to the south of the camp. It was comforting, and made the little tent city that popped up every night feel like a second home to Robin. Not that he actually knew what or where his first home was…

In his aimless wandering he found himself shuffling towards the supply wagon as he thought. He was sure he’d seen some more of those rock-hard ginger nut cookies in the back somewhere, and nothing went hand in hand like an afternoon of study and cookies.

At least in his mind, anyway. Cookies went with everything. Like pastries. Or cakes…

_Gods I’ve been spending too much time around Gaius,_ Robin thought with an internal moan, forcing himself to think of getting an apple rather than a cookie.

As Robin neared the wagon he heard soft clinking, and then the sound of a woman counting. As he drew nearer he could just make out a head of pale pink hair.

“Olivia?” he asked conversationally as he helped himself to an apple. “What’cha you doing?”

The woman was sitting with her back to the wagon, counting a small bag of gold coins, but she jumped when she heard Robin, yelping like she’d been caught with something she wasn’t supposed to have.

“Sorry,” Robin apologized with a chuckle as he leaned on the wagon and took a bite out of his apple. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay, Robin,” Olivia said with a hand on her chest, taking deep breaths to try and calm her racing heart.

“So…” Robin said through a mouthful of fruit. “What’s with the bag? Or is it one of those things mortals aren’t meant to know?”

 “Hm? Bag? What bag?” Olivia squeaked distractedly, before she looked at her lap and her eyes went wide. “Ooooooh, this bag! Er, it's nothing really. Just a few coins...”

“Ooh, secret stash?” Robin asked, tossing the apple core away and wiping his hand on his pants.

“It's money I've been saving out of my wages, I'll have you know!” Olivia huffed. “Sheesh. ‘Secret stash’ indeed. You make it sound so sinister.”

“Don’t take it the wrong way,” Robin shrugged. “I’m just impressed is all. It takes real dedication to save on a soldier’s pay. Gods know I’ve only managed a few measly copper coins, myself. And I’m technically an officer.”

Olivia’s face lit up at Robin’s admission as she let out a little giggle.

“Thank you, Robin!” she sighed. “Such praise means quite a lot coming from you!”

Robin smiled back. “Really? Well, I certainly aim to plea-”

Without warning Olivia shot up, a horrified expression on her face.

“Oh no! I've got to run. I'm on mess duty tonight. You know what they say, right? A hungry Shepherd is a big jerk!”

“Who says that?” Robin asked confusedly. “You’re a Shepherd now too, ya know…”

Robin trailed off and quirked a brow as he noticed gold coins all over the ground. Apparently Olivia had dropped her bag when she shot up.

“Hey,” Robin said, pointing. “You, uh, dropped your stash.”

Olivia went from rummaging in the supply wagon to crawling in the dirt faster than Robin could blink. Apparently a dancer’s dexterity went a long way to moving like a coiled spring.

“Will you please stop calling it that! People will start to think I’ve stolen it or something!” she pleaded, desperately trying to pick the coins up as fast as she could.

“Please,” the man said, rolling his eyes. “The only thing that gets stolen around here is people’s dessert rations, and we all know which self-admitted thief with a sweet tooth does that.”

“Gah!” Olivia groaned in frustration as more coins started to roll away in her haste to retrieve them. “Why do coins have to be so round!?”

Robin rolled his eyes and set about helping her collect them all. Once she was sure they had gotten all of the wayward coins Robin excused himself, least he force the shy woman to do something else he would be stuck cleaning up, grabbing another apple as he went. He passed through the corridors of tents quickly; one of the good things about the camp always having the same layout was it made it easy for him to find his own tent.

He passed by Nowi and Gregor playing some variant of chess with flat, coin-like pieces instead of the traditional ones; apparently Gregor was winning, judging from the adorable pout on the dragon-girl’s face. He dodged around Stahl running as fast as he could from Sully; their training had clearly once again spilled over from the confines of the training area. Robin skirted said training area, watching as Chrom and Vaike duelled with wooden weapons while most of the other Shepherds watched. As he walked past the supply tent he noticed Cordelia bent over a crate, counting the arrows inside and had to resist the urge to stare at her perfectly shaped legs as he passed. Finally he reached his own tent, smiling happily as he swept aside the flaps.

He was brought up short, and quite frankly speechless, when he walked inside, though.

“Why good evening, Robin!” Tharja said with a huge smile in a sing-song voice. “How fare you today? Enjoying the fine weather?”

“Uh… Tharja?” Robin asked, carefully putting the apple down in his desk and composing himself. “Didn’t we talk about this? What are you doing?”

_And cue exit for the good mood I was in,_ he sullenly added internally.

“What, me? Ho ho! Whatever do you mean? Just a normal greeting on a typical day. Why? Are you concerned for my welfare, good sir?” Tharja said, inching closer to him.

_Oh gods,_ Robin thought. _I knew it was too much to hope she had gotten over the last incident so easily. Is this how a mouse feels in front of a snake? I’ll bet this is how a mouse feels in front of a snake…_

“In a way, yes,” Robin admitted, choosing his words very carefully. “I’m also concerned as to why you’re back in my ten-”

“Oh, you are concerned!” Tharja practically squealed, blushing. “How sweet of you!”

Robin rolled his eyes. He had no idea what was going on, but he was growing more and more uncomfortable by the second. Which, given how naturally uncomfortable he was around his stalker, was a pretty amazing feat. She was acting strange; stranger than usual, anyway.

“You know what? I’m more concerned about what you have in store for me” he sighed. “Being alone, waiting for me in my tent. Without my permission.”

“Of course I have a plan for you, silly-billy!” Tharja giggled. “Now close your eyes, and get ready for... a slice of liver-and-eel pie! That's your favourite, correct? Oh, I do so adore baking...”

_What? Since when?_ Robin thought, remembering how she disappeared every time her name came up on the cooking roster as Tharja pulled a pie out from behind her back; a really tasty smelling, mouth-wateringly good looking pie, apparently baked to perfection. Robin’s stomach growled and his jaw ached in anticipation. The flaky crust was golden brown, steam rising from the top of the pastry and wafting enticingly directly towards the tactician’s nose. If it tasted as good as it looked and smelled…

Robin had to shake his head. He was struck by just how… out of character Tharja seemed to be. He had taken some time to observe her during the march from Regna Ferox, and this happy, smiling and bubbly woman before him was not her. It was almost like an act she was putting on to convince not only Robin, but herself. Catching her eye in the brief moment before Tharja broke eye-contact Robin realised just how nervous she must have been.

“Are you sure you're all right, Tharja?” he asked cautiously. “You didn't eat anything strange, did you? Miscast a hex…? Hit your head on a rock?”

Tharja beamed at him, placing the plate she was holding down on his table and cutting a small piece of pie.

“Goodness me!” she laughed. “Such an imagination you have, good sir. I'm sure I wouldn't know anything about anything strange, much less eat it! Just a typical day for a typical girl here.”

“Uh huh,” Robin monotoned, raising an eyebrow. “This is about the other day, isn’t it? Because if it is, you’re taking what I said waaaaaay out of context.”

“Don’t be silly!” Tharja giggled again.

Robin started to panic a little, expecting some sort of Plegian trap.

“Tharja, I don’t want any p-”

Any further words he had been about to say were cut off by a fork-load of pie being crammed into his open mouth. Robin stepped back, waiting for the inevitable bite of poison on his tongue; instead he was treated to quite possibly the best meat pie he had ever eaten.

It did indeed taste as good as it looked and smelled.

“Okay, I take back whatever I was thinking before,” Robin admitted, swallowing the bite. “That is some damn good pie.”

“Oh, huzzah! I've been working on the recipe every day after normal practice!” Tharja said gleefully, jumping up and down a little in celebration.

Robin’s face slackened as his jaw dropped. Tharja. Jumping up and down in celebration. Like an excitable village girl.

“Who are you and what have you done with Tharja?” Robin asked, stepping away from her again.

Then what she had said clicked.

“Wait,” the tactician muttered. “Normal practice? Tharja, have you been practicing being normal so I would like you?”

“Indeed!” Tharja said with another big smile. “And it worked! I'm perfectly normal now! Ho ho! My yes, so typically normally plain.”

With a groan Robin realised what he had done, and with a sinking feeling he knew he had to fix it. Not because he wanted to, but because it was the right thing to do.

“Tharja,” he said as gently as he could. “You do realise that your ‘normal’ is, on you anyway, exceedingly abnormal?”

Robin watched as Tharja’s face fell again, her lip quivering a moment before she valiantly plastered her fake smile back into place.

“Oh my, huzzah?” she said a little quickly. “Goodness, I simply must... something?”

The tactician sighed, taking a seat on the corner of his cot, indicating for Tharja to take the chair sitting at his table. She did so hesitantly, all of a sudden acting very timid, carefully moving the pie atop Robin’s tactical manuals out of the way.

“Tharja, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” Robin said, making direct eye contact with her. “You shouldn’t have listened to me. I can’t say I liked the old Tharja because I never got the chance to know her very well, but I know for a fact that she was better than the new Tharja. Well, maybe not as good a cook, but my point still stands. It’s not you.”

Tharja nodded woodenly, staring directly into Robin’s eyes. Robin had to admit, her dark eyes were certainly alluring, but the sheen of worry and fear in her gaze made him focus.

“If I promise to get to know the old you, the normally abnormal you, will you promise to stop pretending?” Robin offered.

Tharja finally broke eye contact, looking down and making one last desperate attempt at being ‘normal’.

“Gracious, I... I have been practicing so diligently as of late, I'm not sure I can stop!” she said, her voice shaking.

“Oh,” Robin said with a slight grin, leaning back a little. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Why don’t you go hex something until you feel better and I’ll come find you during dinner, and we can talk over our meal; like normal people do; the real you and the real me.”

Tharja looked back up, nodding. Her usual personality seemed to be coming back when she grinned evilly at Robin.

“I said hex some _thing_ , not some _one_ ,” Robin said stiffly, realising the error he had made.

“Oh you’re no fun,” Tharja muttered, just loud enough for Robin to hear the glee in her voice at getting a free hexing pass.

_What have I just doomed myself to now? Or worse, doomed someone else to?_

“Very well,” Tharja said, rising hesitantly. “I will… see you at dinner?”

She paused, looking over her shoulder at Robin. The tactician nodded and Tharja smiled genuinely for the first time since Robin had met her before breezing out of the tent.

Leaving Robin alone with that glorious, delectable pie.

“It would be rude not to…” the tactician said, justifying himself before pouncing.

*

Dinner preparations went off without a hitch, despite Robin lighting his coat on fire when he was trying to make another carrot stew.

_Next time I’ll roll up the sleeves_ Robin thought sullenly, looking at the fresh burn on the arm of his precious coat and wondering how he would fix it.

Virion, strangely enough, had assisted with dinner as well, claiming to be under mysterious orders to make everyone a feast. Robin had shrugged, too busy focusing on not destroying his meal. Again. At least it seemed like he was slowly improving.

Robin had already delivered Panne’s bowl and was now carrying two more, looking for Tharja. She hadn’t joined the majority of the Shepherds and no one had seen her all afternoon.

Which meant one thing, in his mind.

He opened the flaps to his tent and sure enough, there she was, sitting at his desk and flipping quietly through his spellbook.

“You can tell a lot about a person from the contents of their spellbook,” Tharja said when she noticed Robin. “From which pages and spells hold the most resonance; how each spell has been subtly altered to suit that person’s individual talents; even the type of handwriting.”

“Does mine say anything about being doomed to never having personal space again?” Robin asked sardonically, setting Tharja’s bowl down in front of her and smiling at her revolted expression.

“What fool made this disgusting tripe?” she asked bitterly after her first taste.

“That would be me,” Robin said, struggling to keep a straight face.

“Oh,” Tharja said, blushing and staring into her bowl. “Sorry… It’s, ah…”

“Awful, I know,” Robin said with a laugh as he perched on the edge of his cot. “But I made too much, and if you’re going to insist on following me around I’m going to put you to use.”

Robin pretended not to see Tharja smile triumphantly as he basically accepted that she would be following him around.

“Now,” Robin said, glancing at the Dark Mage woman over the rim of his bowl. “You were going to tell me about yourself?”

*

Gangrel was stalking around his throne room like a caged animal.

“Where is she!?” he raged for the third time in as many minutes.

“Milord, we’re looking,” the terrified servant cowering in the corner stammered.

Aversa had been missing for days; she had simply vanished. No treasure was gone, no maps containing troop dispositions and no documents containing state secrets were missing; she was just gone without a trace.

And without Aversa they had lost their edge; Gangrel couldn’t call the Risen forth. Only Aversa could.

Gangrel roared, striking out with his sword and taking a chunk out of the closest column.

“Find her!” he roared, pointing his sword directly at the servant.

“Milord, please calm yourself,” the big General said from the corner near Gangrel’s throne. “They will find her.”

Gangrel snorted and continued his pacing. General Mustafa was one of his best men; strong, smart and loyal. But even he had been questioning Gangrel far too much lately. Not to mention that there were rumours circulating that he had been bested by the Ylissean Princeling in single combat and let the Ylissean soldiers live.

If he wasn’t so important, and Gangrel weren’t running so low on officers, he would have executed the great brute.

“Just find her,” Gangrel growled dangerously, sitting down on his throne and holding a perfectly manicured hand to his temple.

*

Robin stood with Chrom the next morning, watching as the Plegian soldiers left the castle Gangrel was holed up in.

“Gangrel is assured of his victory,” Chrom muttered, watching as the cavalry rode off.

“If we issue him a challenge there’s no way he’ll refuse,” Robin added, scanning the fortress. “He’s so crazy he’ll just think we’re committing suicide.”

Robin stopped as he noticed a big man with a beard and shoulder plates made of bone touring the castle walls; obviously and officer of some kind.

“Well let’s get back and start getting ready then,” Chrom said, turning away from the castle.

Robin watched the big man for a moment longer before lowering the magnifying lens and following Chrom.

*

Robin waited anxiously as the Shepherds broke camp. He had butterflies in his stomach like he never had before; it was a wholly new experience for him. Perhaps because he knew in his heart that this was the end; this was do or die. Either Gangrel died, or the Shepherds fought to the death.

Once Gangrel was dead Robin was sure that they could force an unconditional surrender from the Plegians; after all, reports coming in said that many of the Plegian soldiers had abandoned their posts and simply gone home. They didn’t want the war, either it seemed.

Robin snorted. At worst they might be able to force an armistice while the diplomats went back to talking. If that happened Robin couldn’t help but weep for Chrom; he’d be caught right in the middle of any negotiations.

Figuratively weep, of course.

Once the camp was secure on the back of the wagon and Olivia, Lissa and Ricken had agreed, Ricken and Lissa somewhat sullenly, to defend the wagon, the Shepherds began to march.

The castle Gangrel was holed up in was at the bottom of a basin, supposedly constructed specifically to catch the water that flowed into it during Plegia’s very brief rainy season, and had some of the nation’s only thick vegetation around the edges of the large bowl. The forest wasn’t very wide, though, and wouldn’t provide adequate cover if the Shepherds needed it.

Chrom marched proudly at their front, head held high. He led them in a way that would be impossible to miss from the high castle walls, his challenge to Gangrel so obvious that even the lowest-born farmer would be able to recognize it.

‘Here I am’ Chrom’s march screamed; ‘I am unbeaten, unbowed and unbroken. You will not defeat me’.

Robin snickered at his poetic side, deciding to take some time to see if it translated to paper once the fighting was over.

They marched with no unit cohesion, simply in whatever order they fell into as if they were defeated and dazed, looking to strike one final blow before they were forced to admit defeat; all of this was according to Robin’s devious plan. Once Gangrel took the bait, which he had no doubt the Mad King would, they would spring into action and form ranks.

It was simple and even a fool could see through the ruse, but Robin counted on Gangrel’s hubris getting the better of his judgment.

As they came into sight Robin gave a satisfied smirk. The entire Plegian Honour Guard, with Gangrel at their head, had taken the bait and stood waiting outside the castle.

“I can’t believe how stupid that man is,” Tharja muttered from his side.

She hadn’t left his side for the entire march; Robin had just sighed and accepted that he would have a second shadow until the fighting was over.

Chrom stopped dead for a moment, Robin wondering confused for a moment at why before he saw it too.

Hanging from the gates to the castle, just in front of the door were three bodies dressed in Ylissean armour; two men and one woman.

Robin had thought to give some form of warning, but when Maribelle shouted in outrage and denial he knew he was too late.

“Father no!” she cried, bursting into tears.

Frederick was stone faced next to her, pale and frowning, staring at the barbaric showing.

Duke Aerir, Duke Themis and Commander Phila had been strung up by their necks and left to rot. Gangrel was cackling and dancing beneath them, occasionally striking the bodies with his sword, bouncing the flat of the blade off of them to make them swing like a sick puppeteer.

Robin shook his head as the Mad King began shouting at his Guard, even going so far as to hit the closest ones, forcing them to take up positions in front of him.

“Shepherds, hold!” Chrom barked the rest of the Shepherds stopping behind him.

“This is an outrage beyond words,” Maribelle growled through her tears, her voice thick with pain.

Frederick still said nothing, but the glare he directed at Gangrel spoke volumes for what was going on inside of his mind.

Robin looked out over the assembled Plegians. At least a hundred men, all veterans, some obvious mages wielding tomes, archers spread out amongst knights and foot soldiers. They outnumbered the Shepherds five-to-one.

Robin grimaced. He had felt bad about beating the Plegians at such odds until they saw what the King had done to their friends.

“Gangrel!” Chrom shouted. “This is your last chance! Let this war end! Let us talk of peace!”

Robin was amazed that Chrom could still think of peace. He was truly holding on to his sister’s ideals.

The tactician could hear the Mad King’s laughter from where he was standing as he shouted orders to the soldiers. “Slaughter them like the others! Hang them from the gate so I might bask in my victory!”

“Form up!” Chrom ordered, falling back as the Shepherds presented a line and shaking his head at Gangrel’s madness.

Chrom, Robin, Vaike, Lon’qu, Kellam, Libra and Gregor moved forward, weapons drawn. Panne, Gaius, Virion, Tharja and Miriel took up positions behind the first rank. Cordelia, Sumia and Nowi took to the air, circling around the Shepherds, waiting for the signal to attack as Frederick, Sully and Stahl brought up their horses, ready to flank for whatever side Robin signalled.

Chrom looked over to Robin, nodding.

With a few deep breaths to centre himself, Robin closed his eyes and began casting his experimental wind spell that had saved them at the Plegian Capital, but altering it slightly.

When he opened them, dark clouds had appeared above the Plegians. The dark-armoured soldiers were milling about nervously, waiting for orders from Gangrel, who was too busy shouting obscenities at the Shepherds to notice his army lacked leadership.

With a flick of his wrist, Robin brought his spell down from the clouds. Razor sharp shards of ice, some as large as his arm, began raining down on the Plegians, skewering them and killing a large number of the front ranks.

Gangrel finally went silent, realising that the Shepherds were there to end the war one way or another.

Robin rolled out his wrist before drawing his sword. The dark clouds remained, though; not dissipating like they usually did after a particularly big Thunder spell.

“Advance!” Chrom called, beginning to move forward.

The rest of the Shepherds began to advance alongside him, keeping their formation tight. Robin spotted an opening on the enemy’s right flank, and signalling to Miriel and Tharja they combined their efforts and sent a fireball into the flank, weakening it further. Frederick saw his chance and the three Knights charged forward, breaking off from the Shepherds. Robin looked up, pleased to see that the three fliers were providing cover for them.

The Shepherds broke into a run, Miriel, Tharja and Robin sending steady streams of devastating magic into the Plegian ranks, throwing them off balance before the Shepherds slammed into them.

*

Gangrel reeled back, horrified.

He wasn’t going to win. The cold hard fact slammed into him with the force of a charging bull. He had done everything in his power, but it wasn’t enough; he had even sought to demoralize the enemy, to terrify them with the corpses of their leaders, but it hadn’t worked.

_It hadn’t worked!_

Panicking, Gangrel began to run back to the fortress, slamming into its huge wooden gates, beating against it again and again with his fists.

“Let me in!” He raged. “I am the King! You will let me in!”

From above the gate Mustafa looked down on his King, a disdainful frown marring his face.

The King was mad; he was deranged. If Plegia was going to survive, then there was no other choice.

“General?” one of his soldiers, one of the soldiers Chrom and his Shepherds had spared, asked.

“The sound of battle appears to be drowning out all else,” Mustafa said, turning away from the gate. “Do not open this gate until the battle is won and silence reigns again.”

_I will not let a tyrant lead us all to our deaths_ Mustafa thought resolutely, ignoring the King’s frantic shouts. _The Ylissean Prince has honour. Once Gangrel is defeated I will offer our unconditional surrender. This war will end today._

*

Robin hung back as the rest of the Shepherds began pushing into the Plegian lines. They were like an unstoppable force of nature; even the King’s Honour Guard, the most powerful soldiers in all of Plegia, fell like flies against the Shepherds.

Frederick, Sully and Stahl struck again and again, harrying the side ranks and taking out archers and mages, pulling back before they could be cut off before striking again. Cordelia led Sumia and Nowi from the sky, strafing the Plegians, raining down javelins and spears and dragon-fire, sowing discord in the centre ranks where the Plegians were supposed to be safe. Robin watched as Vaike and Miriel, working together, overwhelmed a squad of Plegian cavalry singlehandedly; Gaius and Panne were like lightning, flitting through the Plegians, tearing throats and exposed points in armour as they went; Lon’qu, Gregor, Kellam and Chrom were an unstoppable wall, killing everything that came so much as near them while Virion rained arrows from safely behind them. Maribelle sat atop her horse next to Libra, healing every wound that the front line sustained, never faltering; Robin watched as one Plegian soldier broke through, and Libra simply swept out his axe, calmly decapitating the man without even looking before going back to healing.

Robin looked up as he noticed Tharja looking back at him, concern evident on her face as she tried to figure out why he wasn’t still fighting at the front with them.

He waved, grinning before he set another thunderstorm on top of the unsuspecting Plegians.

Tharja smiled a little before she spun back to the battle, casting her own dark variations of the spells Robin usually used; purple-black lightning and fire dancing from her extended hands.

Robin began to walk forward again, before he noticed an extra warrior fighting against the Plegians; Marth was attacking the left flank alone but tearing through it, Plegians actually panicking as they tried to get away from the woman.

Robin, satisfied that the Shepherds could handle themselves for a little while, charged over to where Marth was fighting alone. As soon as he was close enough he began to cast a fire spell, and the Plegians reeled as he swept flames across their line.

Marth looked up, confusion evident on her face before she recognized Robin and set back to the grim task before her.

Feeling a little worn out on the magic front, Robin wordlessly began to fight with his sword next to Marth, the two of them carving through the Plegians like they were new recruits.

Robin marvelled at one point just how similar to fighting beside Chrom it was. A few times he had even slipped and began to attack in a manoeuvre that he and Chrom had come up with, only to have Marth fill in as if she had trained with him just as long as Chrom. Robin knew that she and the Prince had eerily similar fighting styles, but he was shocked to discover that they weren’t just similar, they were exactly the same.

Robin struck a foe with a wind spell, knocking them back before Marth impaled them; Robin would strike high, Marth instantly struck low; they fought back to back in a storm of swords and magic, and the Plegians were no match.

*

Chrom roared as he drove the point of his sword, Falchion, through the breastplate of the Plegian officer, viciously tearing it free again before he moved on.

The Plegians were being routed, that much was certain. Frederick and the Knights and Cordelia and the fliers were preventing the Plegians from escaping, leaving the only option to fight their way back to the castle.

Chrom wiped his wet hair out of his eyes; at some point it had started to rain. He hadn’t even noticed.

Strangely, though, the castle hadn’t opened its gates, nor sent any reinforcements. Chrom didn’t understand or care why; he just knew that Gangrel was almost finished. He had spotted the man a few times through the melee, frantically trying to escape before being pushed back by soldiers too busy fighting for their lives to care about the King. For too long Gangrel had ruled through coercion and cruelty, and now his soldiers had seen it with their own eyes they had had enough. Many of the Plegians had thrown down their arms and knelt with their heads bowed low as the Ylisseans passed, others simply fighting because they believed they had no further recourse.

Chrom had spared those that had surrendered and allowed them to fall back to the castle. Strangely, the gates had opened for those soldiers, but not the King.

Chrom kept charging forward, the Shepherds at his back never faltering or even slowing for a minute.

Before he knew it he was through the army at the castle gates, staring down at Gangrel as he knelt shaking, sword still in his hand beneath the corpses of his victims.

“You bastard Ylissean dog,” Gangrel growled. “I should put you and your other bitch sister down and rid the world of your family’s taint once and for all.”

Chrom took deep, steadying breaths.

“It doesn’t have to end this way, Gangrel,” Chrom offered one last time.

“End!?” Gangrel cackled, rising to his feet. “Who says it will end here? Is the great Prince Chrom pleading for his life!?”

“I’m pleading for yours,” Chrom said. “Don’t make me kill you. We can still settle this peacefully.”

“Until one of us is dead there can never be peace!” Gangrel roared, his voice breaking as he swung his sword haphazardly, striking Themis’ armoured thigh.

“They were alive when I brought them here,” Gangrel taunted, striking again at Aerir this time. “But I soon changed that. You would have been proud, boy; they never once begged, they never once cried for mercy. It was almost boring! But then I broke them, and in their final moments they begged me for death!”

And in that moment Chrom finally saw it; the light of sanity had left Gangrel’s eyes. There would never be peace as long as this tyrant lived. Chrom sadly raised his sword. He had sworn to defend his sister’s ideals; even if it meant striking down a man in cold blood.

Time seemed to slow down and the sounds of the battle fade away as Chrom stared into the eyes of his sister’s killer. Gangrel stared back, breathing heavily, his eyes wide with madness as rain dripped down his twitching face.

Chrom charged soundlessly, moving faster than he ever had before as his booted feet kicked up little showers of mud and water, and swept out his sword at neck height. He could have sworn that in that moment he could see his sword flash through individual raindrops, could feel the blood pumping through his veins like never before as the memory burned itself into his mind forever. Gangrel had once been an accomplished swordsman, but his madness had sapped him of all of his skill, and even as the King brought his sword up too slow, Chrom sliced through his black ruff and his neck.

Gangrel’s headless body fell to its knees, his head bouncing twice before rolling to a stop a meter away.

Silence reigned. Chrom turned and saw the nearest Plegian soldiers watching; some had horror in their eyes, some relief, while others just stared blankly, insure what to do now without further orders.

“All Plegian troops are to stand down and return to the castle!” a deep, familiar voice shouted from atop the gate. “All hostilities are to cease, effective immediately! The war is over!”

The cry was taken up by other Plegians out in the field, and soon all fighting stopped.

Chrom moved out from under the gate and spotted the man that had given the orders. General Mustafa stood atop the gate, looking down at the Plegians.

“The war is over,” Chrom repeated disbelievingly to himself, stepping out of the way as the Plegian troops began to file into the castle.

*

“The war is over! Cease hostilities!”

The cry went up as Marth and Robin still fought on their own on the left flank. Robin had long ago exhausted his mana and had been wielding his light sword two handed, and took two steps back from the Plegians when the call went out, waiting to see what they would do.

To his surprise the man he had just been duelling with turned towards him and actually bowed before joining the rest of the surviving soldiers in retreating.

“We did it,” Robin gasped, doubling over with his hands on his knees. “We actually did it!”

He could hear in the distance similar sounds from the other Shepherds celebrating as they let the Plegians return to the castle. He turned and saw Olivia, Lissa and Ricken bringing the wagon in closer, laughing and waving at the others.

Robin laughed, turning to where Marth had been a second ago. She had gone, but Robin quickly picked her out as she disappeared into the forest at the top of the basin.

Robin, unsure as to why he was doing it, covered the distance between the battlefield and the forest quickly, scaling the edge of the basin in such a way that would have been comical to anyone watching.

Robin stopped at the edge of the forest, listening carefully over the rain and panting.

He heard a rustling, and hurried through the thick foliage to where he heard the noise and burst out onto the other side of the forest.

_Wow, that wasn’t a very thick forest_ Robin thought as he tromped through the wet sand to where Marth was sitting, perched on a rock.

She was just sitting, staring up into the sky and letting the rainwater wash the dirt and the blood off of her face.

Robin stopped short, the breath catching in his throat. He had always thought Marth was pretty in a severe, mysterious way, but never before had she looked so vulnerable. From the gentle curve of her face to her supple lips, she was beautiful in that moment.

She noticed Robin’s approach and looked over to him, smiling.

“Shouldn’t you be celebrating with the rest of the Shepherds?” she asked him.

Robin shrugged, removing his coat.

“Then who would protect you from the rain?” he asked, holding the coat above her in a sort of makeshift umbrella.

She started to laugh, and Robin joined in. Her laugh was infectious, and he couldn’t help himself.

They had finally won against Plegia, and now Robin would get to see what normal life was like.

Standing with a complete stranger who had never even shared her real name with him, Robin finally felt like he could relax. The war was over.


	16. Chapter 16

Three months after Plegia’s defeat at the hands of Chrom and the Shepherds and life in Ylisstol struggled to return to some semblance of normality. Signs of the past war were beginning to fade now as the refugees from Themis slowly returned to rebuild their homes and the conscripted soldiers were discharged. Patrols of Knights and the Ylissean regular army were still a common sight, especially closer to the border, but with the new alliance with Regna Ferox in the north the peoples of Ylisse felt a renewed sense of calm purpose as they set about returning their country to its glory.

Robin was leaning back in his chair, feet up on the table and basking in that sense of calm purpose that was wafting in through the open window, when Chrom burst into the library in a cacophony of slamming doors and rattling shelves. Fortunately for the Prince, Miriel was out with Vaike that day, or he would have gotten an earful from the overzealous new head librarian.

“Robin, I need your help,” Chrom pleaded, crossing the big room in huge, worried strides.

“What is it this time, Chrom?” Robin deadpanned, not looking up from his book.

The Prince looked to be about to answer before Sumia’s voice rang out from the hallway.

“Crooooooom!? Where aaaaaaaaare you!?”

“Hide me!” Chrom whispered urgently.

_Urgh. Not again,_ Robin thought.

“He’s in here, Sumia!” the tactician called, rolling his eyes.

“Traitor!” Chrom hissed, staring daggers at the other man as his bride-to-be swept into the room.

“Here you are!” she said happily, coming up to Chrom and planting a kiss on his cheek. “You were supposed to be helping me with the place-settings for the wedding!”

“Oh, right,” Chrom said lamely. “It’s just, that… uh… Robin! Robin needed… help finding a book! And he called me to help him!”

“Mission accomplished, Chrom,” Robin said, holding up the first random book on the pile next to him. “Good work.”

“Oh, good!” Sumia chirped happily. “Now come on, dear! We still have so much planning to do!”

Chrom glared daggers over his shoulder as Sumia practically dragged him from the library. Robin couldn’t resist and gave the man a happy wave with a huge grin on his face.

It was a library, after all; libraries were meant to be a quiet place.

*

Robin still hadn’t moved when Tharja materialized at his shoulder, holding a tray of food. Looking out the window Robin realized he’d been reading all day and had no doubt missed dinner. Again.

“Thanks,” Robin said with a sheepish grin, accepting the tray.

Like she always did Tharja simply blushed and looked away. Noticing there was two plates on the tray, Robin kicked the other chair out from under the table for her.

Tharja sat down and the two proceeded to eat in silence.

For a month now Chrom and Sumia had been planning the royal wedding; Robin had offered to help, but Sumia was adamant that they could do it alone, so he had been free to fill his time reading in the Royal Library and seeing the sights of Ylisstol.

The other Shepherds were all still around, most of them living in the barracks; indeed, the barracks had become so crowded that Robin had moved into the Castle itself in one of the suites off the main Royal Apartments. Tharja and Virion had both also managed to get the other rooms off of Robin’s; he didn’t really want to know how in Tharja’s case.

Tharja had continued to be his constant shadow, showing up wherever he went. Honestly, Robin didn’t care anymore. He’d tried to talk her out of it so many times he had lost count, and she wasn’t hurting anyone. In fact, when he had announced his plans to retire from the military she had silenced most of the negativity from the others with a single glare.

Robin had retired from the military, but he was still the official tactician for the Shepherds, who were all currently taking a well-deserved break.

Frederick had returned to Castle Jagen in the east with Seth, and Maribelle and Roark had taken over the reconstruction of Themis. All of the rest of the Shepherds were still hanging around Ylisstol, but the missing members were supposed to return for the wedding in… one week.

_One week?_ Robin thought with mild surprise. _Has time really passed so quickly? No wonder Chrom’s nervous._

“I can’t believe the wedding’s only a week away,” Robin said conversationally as he ate with Tharja.

The strange woman simply nodded, staring into her food.

“Are you… going?” she asked after a moment’s hesitation.

“Sure,” Robin said. “I am the best man, after all.”

Tharja looked up expectantly, staring at Robin. Unfortunately, he had no idea what she wanted.

After a few moments she huffed frustratedly and looked away, continuing to eat in silence.

*

“Robin!” Cordelia called out, running to catch up with him.

He was walking through the Knight Quarters in the palace barracks carrying a stack of papers he was supposed to be delivering for Cullen when he heard Cordelia calling out to him.

“Hey, Cordelia,” he greeted, slowing so she would have a chance to catch up.

“How have you been?” she asked as they matched pace, walking amicably down the hallway.

“Oh, you know,” Robin said with a shrug. “Keeping busy. How’re things with the new recruits, ‘Wing-Commander’ Cordelia?”

“Ugh, don’t call me that,” Cordelia said with a groan.

Robin chuckled a little as he shifted the stack of papers.

“But it is your title, right?” he asked cheekily.

“Yes,” Cordelia admitted, blushing a little. “But not to you.”

Robin grinned a little, setting down the papers on the desk of the duty commander of the palace guard before turning to face Cordelia.

“Well if you have some free time I would love to buy the Wing-Commander some lunch.”

*

Robin and Cordelia sat at a small café off of the Ylisstol markets, sipping tea and waiting for the sandwiches they had ordered, watching the hustle of the marketplace at lunchtime.

“It’s amazing,” Robin commented, eyes never leaving the crowd. “Just looking at them, you’d never know we were just at war two months ago.”

Cordelia nodded in agreement. “That’s the truth of it. Life must go on.”

“Speaking of life going on,” Robin said. “Are you going to be at the wedding?”

Cordelia’s smile turned brittle as she looked away.

“Sumia asked me to be in the wedding party,” Cordelia said quietly, “But I felt that I had to refuse. I will be at the ceremony and stay for the speeches at the reception, but I am afraid I am not really one for weddings.”

“Oh,” Robin said, noticing the change in her mood. “I guess I’ll just dance on my own, then.”

Cordelia laughed, some of her earlier cheer returning.

“I’m sure I could squeeze in one dance before I depart, as much as I would love to see how you would accomplish single-ballroom dancing,” she said with a smile.

Robin smiled too, before a strange sound like a cross between distant thunder and an animal growling made him glance around.

“What is it?” Cordelia asked as the waitress brought their meals.

“Nothing,” Robin said with a shake of his head.

*

Pieces on the chessboard clinked and Robin leaned back.

“Checkmate,” he said with particular relish.

Virion sighed theatrically before gently placing his king on its side.

“Congratulations, good sir,” he said in mock sadness. “Truly your skills have improved greatly in a very short time.”

“Your mistake was coaching me,” Robin admitted, taking a long sip of his tea.

“So,” Virion said as he began resetting the board. “Have you made plans with any particular beauties for the Captain’s upcoming wedding?”

Robin shrugged.

“I was going to ask Cordelia,” he admitted. “But she seemed pretty unimpressed about the whole wedding thing, so I kinda… didn’t.”

“Ah,” Virion said knowingly.

“What? ‘Ah’ what?”

“I’m surprised you don’t know; she spends more time with you than anyone else.”

“Don’t know what?” Robin asked exasperatedly.

Virion leaned closer across the low table like he was sharing a secret.

“The lovely Cordelia,” Virion said in a low voice. “Is utterly and completely in love with Prince Chrom.”

“What?” Robin laughed, filling himself another cup. “No way. I don’t believe you.”

“Believe what you will,” Virion said with an over-exaggerated shrug. “But these eyes of mine cannot be fooled in matters of the heart. Cordelia loves the Prince with every fibre of her being, and it crushes her that he cannot or will not return her feelings.”

Robin rolled his eyes, choosing to change the subject. “So who, pray tell, are you going with, then?”

Virion grinned and winked. “Ah-hah! I, the archest of archers, managed to convince the ravishing Olivia to accompany me; I may have had to buy her a new dress for the occasion that set me back a fair bit of coin, but it will be worth it in the end, no?”

Robin snickered and shook his head.

“Your move, archest of archers.”

*

Chrom was jittering nervously as he stood at the altar.

“Relax already,” Robin muttered from his side. “You’ve faced down armies! Charged headlong into danger casting caution to the wind! This should be a piece of cake for you!”

Chrom silently nodded, taking a deep and calming breath.

“I don’t think I could do this without you by my side,” Chrom muttered back.

“Remember; it’s her you’re marrying, not me,” Robin muttered with a grin as the organ started to play.

Chrom took another deep, shuddering breath. Time to take the plunge.

*

Robin looked out over the assembled crowd as Libra held the wedding ceremony; his formal robes had been cleaned to a point where they practically shone as he spoke in his perfect, melodious voice.

The huge church was packed to bursting with important Ylissean nobles and foreign dignitaries, the Shepherds taking up the whole first two rows of pews.

Robin still snickered every time he saw Vaike, looking incredibly uncomfortable, wearing his borrowed suit next to Miriel. He had to admit, though, the two cleaned up nice. Nowi was sobbing and hadn’t stopped since the ceremony had started; the only other person matching her being Sumia’s mother in the front row. The Knights, Frederick, Sully, Stahl, Cullen, Roark and Seth formed an honour guard lining the aisle, standing with their backs ramrod straight, all of their armour polished to a sparkling sheen. Cullen looked so proud he seemed to be about to join Nowi in sobbing. Robin watched other familiar faces as they, in turn, watched the ceremony. Flavia and Basilio were there, wearing what apparently passed as Feroxi finery; Gregor had attempted to find a suit and had managed to buy the oldest, tackiest looking thing Robin had ever seen; Panne was fidgeting uncomfortably, still wearing her normal clothes but obviously having stepped up her usual fur-grooming routine, as she shone silkenly next to Gaius who looked like he was struggling to stay awake in his borrowed suit. Virion almost outdid Sumia for lace ruffles on his suit; he looked incredibly foppish, but still managed to pull off the outlandish fashion. Somehow. At least Olivia didn’t seem to notice, too wrapped up in the ceremony to care. Even Tharja seemed to be enjoying herself as she sat slightly apart from the others, raptly watching the ceremony. Wait, scratch that; she was staring at Robin again, no doubt imagining herself up there with him.

“And now under the eyes of the Divine Dragon and those assembled I pronounce you man and wife,” Libra intoned, finishing the ceremony with a light bow. “You may now kiss.”

A cheer rose up from all those assembled as Chrom and Sumia leaned in for their first kiss as a married couple.

Robin smiled and clapped along with everyone else. It was truly a joyous day.

Then he spotted the only person not smiling or clapping; Cordelia was standing at the back of the church in the shadows, silent tears running from her eyes, and Robin understood that Virion had indeed been right about her.

*

The reception was in full swing when Robin finally managed to get away.

Everyone was dancing, everyone was enjoying themselves, and after giving his speech wishing the couple well in their new life Robin had melted into the background, unable to get Cordelia’s heartbroken face out of his mind.

Robin fidgeted uncomfortably as he slipped out the door; he felt naked without his coat, but Sumia had put her foot down, having him acquire a perfectly fitted suit made by the royal tailor.

Robin eased the collar a little as he walked away from the royal banquet hall. He walked slowly, thinking of trying to find Cordelia. She hadn’t shown up for the party, despite her promise to do so, and he was worried about her.

He found her not too far away, sitting with Frederick in one of the smaller sitting rooms off the banquet hall. Hanging back, Robin simply watched the two for a minute before smiling contentedly as Cordelia let out a little laugh at something Frederick said.

_At least she’s not alone_ Robin thought with satisfaction, turning to go back to the party.

He stopped before he entered the hall, happy music and laughter still blaring from it.

“Tharja?” he called softly.

The woman materialized out of the shadows of one of the great columns near the hallway, looking a little more sullen than usual.

“Feel like dancing a little?” he asked holding out a hand.

Tharja stared at the offered appendage like she’d never seen a hand before, before lightly taking it and stepping closer to Robin and smiling up at him.

“I was beginning to think that you’d never ask,” she said huskily, blushing a little.

Robin grinned as he opened the door and led her directly to the dance floor, celebrating for his friends’ happiness with, of all people, his stalker.

Not that he really minded; after all, it wasn’t so bad when your stalker was a friend, too.

_*_

“It’s got to go, Robin,” Sumia said with her hands on her hips.

“C’mon, bro,” Vaike said reassuringly. “It’s time to let go.”

“There’s plenty more fish in the sea,” Virion said softly.

“You should listen to them, Robin,” Chrom added from the back.

“No!” Robin practically shouted. “No way in hell! I have no memories and no belongings besides my spellbook and my coat! You are not making me get rid of my coat!”

The assembled Shepherds groaned as Robin hugged his beloved coat to his chest, protecting it from his friends. Sure, it was a little beaten up and had more than a few holes in it, but Robin would be damned if he let it go down without a fight.

“We can have the Royal Tailor make you another,” Sumia offered gently.

“So make him fix this one!” Robin pleaded. “I’m not giving it up!”

“Robin, that coat is beaten to shit,” Vaike pointed out. “It’d be easier to just get a new one.”

Robin didn’t answer, just glaring at his shirtless friend.

“If it really means that much to him, I think I have an idea,” Chrom said, crossing his arms and adopting his hardest thinky face.

Robin wasn’t reassured.

*

“Where did you find this heap of rags?” the Royal Tailor asked, turning Robin’s coat over in his hands.

Chrom had brought Robin to the Royal Tailor’s shop, just outside the Castle sector of Ylisstol. It was a cluttered, messy shop full of scraps of fabric and lines of thread like spider’s webs hanging from every surface.

“Can you fix it or not?” Robin asked irritatedly from Chrom’s side.

“Sure,” the Tailor shrugged. “But it’ll take time, and a job like this won’t be cheap.”

The Tailor himself was an older man on the wrong end of fifty, wearing thick glasses perched on his beak-like nose. His white, wispy hair was combed back, and matched the neatly trimmed beard on his face.

“Money is no object!” Robin assured the older man.

The Tailor raised an eyebrow over his glasses at Robin’s comment.

“Says he who is not paying,” Chrom muttered, rolling his eyes.

*

“So,” Robin asked nervously, hovering over Miriel’s shoulder. “Are you sure this is going to work?”

“I refuse to dignify that query with a response,” Miriel said huffily, setting out the necessary focal points for the spell she was about to cast.

She had created a focusing circle out of various crushed gemstones, laying the dust out in concentric lines around the coat which rested on the floor of the Shepherds’ barracks.

All of the Shepherds currently present were watching, interested, bored or just making sure her spell didn’t blow up the entire barracks.

They were crowded around sitting, squatting or standing with fire-retardant blankets at the ready, waiting for Miriel to begin the spell.

Except for Nowi, who felt the need to lean on Robin’s back, looking over his shoulder while he sat watching Miriel work.

“Ooooh,” she cooed softly. “The gem-dust is so pretty! How do you think it tastes?”

“Like dirt, I’d imagine,” Robin said, casting an irritated glance at the manakete out of the corner of his eye.

He wasn’t the only one unimpressed with her overfamiliarity either, apparently. Tharja stood leaning in one of the corners, arms crossed and glaring at the young-seeming woman currently using Robin like a pillow.

Miriel rolled out her neck a little, popping the various containers of crushed gemstones back into her pack.

“I am prepared to commence the experiment,” she announced.

“Please don’t call it that,” Robin moaned, putting his face in his hands.

He didn’t look up as he heard a loud pop and a fizzle, instead cringing and making Nowi jump a little from her position on his back.

“Done,” Miriel said, clearing her throat.

“That was it?” Robin asked tentatively from behind his hands, peeking around his fingers. “It took you, like, an hour to set up.”

“I assure you, the spell was completed successfully,” Miriel said, drawing a dagger.

Before Robin could object she rammed the dagger into the coat with all her strength, much to Robin’s despair.

“What the hell are you doing!?” he cried, jumping up and throwing Nowi off his back.

“Testing the results,” Miriel explained distractedly, bringing the coat to her face and inspecting the area she had stabbed before holding it out to Robin. “Do you see? The experiment was a complete success.”

Robin nodded numbly, ignoring a very upset-looking Nowi and taking the coat, running his fingertips over the area Miriel had stabbed. There wasn’t even a loose thread. He breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled it back on and took a few experimental steps.

“It feels… heavier,” Robin pointed out, swishing the hem of the coat around a little.

“Indeed,” Miriel said, rising from where she was still kneeling with Vaike’s aid. “It was one of the unavoidable side-effects.”

Robin shrugged. He didn’t care; he had his coat back, whole and better than before!

He was so happy with the results that he completely missed Tharja slink away, leaving unannounced.

*

He skipped, literally skipped on his way back to his room, humming happily.

It was getting late, and he wanted to clean himself up before dinner. He had his coat back, and really wanted to show it off; that it was twice as heavy as it used to be didn’t even phase Robin; if such was the price he had to pay, he would gladly pay it.

He stopped skipping, slowing down as he entered his room. Something felt… strange in the air.

His small hairs on end, Robin pushed open his door.

There, sitting cross-legged in the middle of a mostly darkened room was Tharja, her coat off and her hair swept back for the first time since Robin had met her.

In front of her, on Robin’s floor, was a pentagramic symbol made from melted wax the colour of blood, a single small candle at each point of the star providing the only illumination in the room. Robin gulped as he shut the door behind him.

“Tharja?” he asked tentatively. “What… What are you doing?”

She looked up at him, a sheepish smile on her normally severe face.

“I… wanted to add to your coat’s power with a few hexes I’ve come up with. If nothing else they should make it lighter again; at most they will give you protection from most elemental magics.”

Robin nodded, still a little uncomfortable. Dark Magic hung in the air like a cloud, turning the shadows outside the small illumination provided by the candles into a solid, impenetrable thing. Robin gingerly took of his newly mended coat, aware of how much effort Tharja had obviously gone through in her preparations; he didn’t want to hurt the feelings of someone that had been so helpful of late.

“Okay,” Robin said hesitantly, handing over the coat. “But please, be gentle; I just got her back.”

Tharja nodded, carefully folding up the coat and placing it in the middle of the pentagram.

“I need you to sit like I am opposite me,” Tharja explained.

Robin did as he was told, taking a deep breath to quell his uneasiness. She was a friend, he kept telling himself; it was just the atmosphere of Dark Magic making him uneasy. Tharja was going to help his coat the same way Miriel and Chrom had.

Well, not exactly the same way, but it was the thought that counted.

Tharja drew a small, wicked looking dagger from the sheath on the small of her back, looking up at Robin.

“For what I have planned,” she explained solemnly, “I will require the most potent magical focus available to a Dark Mage.”

“That being?” Robin asked hesitantly, eyeing the knife warily.

Tharja answered Robin’s question by lightly running the blade across the palm of her hand and letting a small amount of blood run down, dripping onto Robin’s coat.

Before Robin could object he felt the air-pressure in the room change, making his ears pop. Tharja’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as she began to chant, a dark light springing up from the drops on the coat.

As soon as it began, it was over. Tharja swayed, and Robin reached out a hand to catch her before she fell on one of the candles. Looking around he noticed that the room was much lighter, and the lingering sense of unease had all but vanished.

“Are you okay?” Robin asked, helping Tharja to her feet and leading her to the chair at his desk, lighting the oil lamp on it once he did.

In the much brighter illumination Robin could see Tharja was pale and sweating, gasping for breath and holding her wounded hand to her breast.

“Here,” Robin offered, taking her hand and wrapping his ever-present but never-used handkerchief around the wound.

As he did he noticed a similar scar crossing the new wound, still pink and relatively fresh.

“How did you get this one?” Robin asked, actually forgetting his coat as he gently ran his finger across the welt on her palm.

She shuddered at his touch before answering.

“In… In Plegia, when you were wounded. I didn’t have anything else to work with.”

Another fact without a memory of how Robin acquired it popped unbidden into his mind, making him look at Tharja sternly.

“Doesn’t casting Dark Magic that way lower your lifespan?” he asked crossly.

Tharja looked away. “It is the easiest way to get guaranteed results.”

“For my coat? Tharja, you’re a little more important than my coat.”

Tharja looked up at Robin, eyes shining.

“But just a little,” Robin added with a wink. “Thank you, Tharja.”

She nodded, heart still beating out of control as Robin bent to retrieve his coat.

“I suppose the bloodstains will give it character, huh?”

_*_

Robin yawned and stretched from his usual spot in the Royal Library. Life had been so slow since the wedding that he honestly had nothing better to do than read. The clean-up of Ylisse after the war was being handled by the military, something Robin intended to avoid like the plague, and apart from the odd minor skirmish with bandits he had barely left the castle.

It was time for a change. He just didn’t know what kind of change.

Robin clapped his book shut, standing and stretching some more.

As much as he loved his friends, they were all getting married now, or engaged, or at the very least exceedingly loved-up. Robin felt like a third wheel everywhere he went. The only time he felt like he wasn’t imposing was when he and Virion were spending time together, something that had become much more commonplace lately.

Robin found himself distracted that night as Virion beat him for the third time in a row at chess.

“Checkmate,” Virion said, moving his knight into position with a flourish.

Robin sighed and stretched his neck, pulling down on his head with both hands.

“What is troubling you, my friend?” Virion asked, filling both of their cups with the customary tea again. “I haven’t beaten you this readily since we took up the game so many months ago. Tell me; do you suffer from a malady of the heart? Oh, I knew my little Robin would grow up eventually! Tell me which of the lovely flowers has caught your tactician’s eye.”

Robin chuckled and rolled his eyes.

“At the risk of sounding pessimistic,” Robin said as he began resetting the board, “It’s the exact opposite. Everyone’s so… so…”

“’Loved-up’?” Virion asked with a knowing grin.

“Get out of my head,” Robin said dismissively. “But… yeah. I feel like I’m just a third wheel right now. How do you deal with it?”

Virion chuckled as he sipped from his cup.

“Why my dear Robin, I spend my days chasing the skirts of the castle maids and servants; there are many, many beauteous ladies that go unnoticed in our day to day life. I feel it only fair that they get a decent amount of my affection too, don’t you?”

Robin groaned. “But I’m not you, and I’m bored.”

“Hrm,” Virion said, tapping a finger to his chin as he contemplated his first move. “There are rumours, hailing from the frozen land of Regna Ferox, of healers that specialize in maladies of the mind.”

“Hey, I’m not crazy,” Robin said defensively as he made his own opening move.

“I never said you were,” Virion countered. “But your memories still elude you, do they not? Perhaps one of these healers could remedy that.”

Robin stopped dead, looking up at Virion.

“Where do you hear this kind of stuff?”

“Ah-hah! The noblest of archers always has an ear to the ground for rumours of any kind.”

“So you’re a gossip, then?”

“In layman’s terms, I suppose.”

Robin stroked his chin, deep in thought. If what Virion was saying were true now would be the best time to go, before the winter snows set in and made the eastern mountain passes near Jagen unpassable, making them take the longer route through Central Ylisse. Plus things were quiet at present in the diplomatic area; General Mustafa was leading the front to find the next king in Plegia, and their relationship with Ylisse, while strained by the previous conflict, still remained somewhat cordial. Robin made up his mind.

“Do you know their exact whereabouts?” Robin asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Virion chuckled a little as he moved his rook into position.

“I do not know the exact positions,” he admitted. “But if we travel to the general area and find some people with knowledge of the region in one of the nearby towns we should be able to pinpoint the location with great ease.”

“We?”

“You didn’t think that the archest of archers, the great Virion, would let one of his dearest friends take up this quest alone, did you?”

Robin smiled as he moved his bishop. “Check. And I’m touched you think so highly of me.”

Virion scoffed. “It has little to do with that! Imagine, if you would, an entire nation of village girls who have yet to feel my silken caress! It makes me wish to weep! Checkmate, by the way.”

Robin looked aghast at the chessboard. He had completely missed Virion’s feint. Again.

“So I’m distracted tonight,” Robin complained.

Virion sighed and began to clear away the chess pieces.

“It is no fun to constantly beat you at this game anymore,” he complained.

Robin wasn’t listening, head bowed in thought.

“What do you think, Tharja?” he asked suddenly.

Virion almost jumped out of his skin as the woman stepped out from behind the curtain of the common room they occupied, looking questioningly at Robin.

“Well, you’d wind up following me anyway, right? We may as well make it official,” Robin said with a shrug and a sly grin at Virion.

Virion eyed the dark woman warily as she took small steps to stand closer to Robin.

“Why Robin, are you asking me to join you on a romantic getaway?” she asked hopefully.

“If by romantic getaway you mean ‘we walk to Regna Ferox’ then yes,” Robin said with a chuckle. “We’d have to buy you proper travelling clothes first, though; you’re usual clothes are too… uh, thin for the northern climate.”

Tharja looked like she was about to start jumping up and down with excitement.

“You mean not only are we going on a romantic getaway, but you’re going to take me shopping, too?”

Robin rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

*

“Well, I can’t say I agree with your decision,” Chrom said honestly. “But if this is your wish I will not stop you.”

Robin had decided to meet with Chrom the next day to tell him of his plans, and currently sat with Chrom and Sumia in their personal living area; the same one he had been introduced to Emmeryn in, so long ago.

“Will you be all right alone?” Sumia asked with worry evident in her voice.

“I’ll be fine,” Robin said, waving a hand dismissively. “Besides, I’m not going alone; Tharja and Virion are coming with me.”

“Tharja… and Virion?” Chrom repeated slowly.

Robin nodded. “Come on, this could be the perfect chance for me to get my memories back! Plus if all goes according to plan I’ll be back to taking up space in your library in a few short months.”

Chrom looked at Sumia, obviously looking for support, but his new wife seemed to have the opposite opinion to him on the matter.

“That will be lovely, Robin! I’m so excited for you!” Sumia said happily. “Wait here; I have something for you to take on your trip.”

She stood and went into the private chambers she shared with Chrom. Robin cast a questioning glance at the Prince, who simply shrugged.

“I want you to take this with you,” Sumia said as she remerged, holding a small pouch the size of Robin’s fist. “I’ve been saving this for a while, but now that I’m… well, Queen, I don’t really need it anymore.”

Robin took the pouch, opening it and gasping.

“Sumia, this is full of gold coins! I can’t take this!”

“Please,” Sumia insisted, sitting back down next to Chrom and taking his hand in hers and smiling. “I insist. Consider it an order from your Queen.”

Robin rolled his eyes.

“Chrom tries to use that line on me too; it rarely works. But thank you all the same.”

*

“So his real name isn’t Gregor?” Robin asked curiously. “But… now it is? Well either way, it was awfully nice of you not to take his soul. Can… er, can you actually do that?”

“Of course I can, silly,” Tharja giggled, wrapping herself around Robin’s arm a little tighter. “But only if the person is willing to give it as payment for something.”

“Right,” Robin sighed.

They were walking through the Ylisstol markets, looking for travelling clothes that would suit Tharja while they headed northward. She would need proper clothes to keep her warm; so a blouse and pants… A pair of proper walking boots… At least her cloak would be good enough to keep her warm with the new clothes.

Robin gave a subtle twitch of his arm, trying to encourage Tharja to release him. She hadn’t let him go since they’d set foot in the marketplace; maybe she had social anxiety or something? More likely was that she just wanted an excuse to hang off of Robin.

Robin stopped abruptly, looking into one of the stalls selling women’s clothes, blushing when Tharja ground up against him.

“Do we have to have another boundaries talk?” Robin asked, looking down at the woman.

For her part Tharja looked up, trying to look as innocent as possible.

“Forget it,” Robin groaned. “Let’s check this place.”

Fortunately Robin had been able to get all of the clothes Tharja would need from the one stall, as well as information on a good place to find boots at an affordable price.

Clothes clutched under one arm and Tharja still attached to the other Robin made his way through the marketplace, doing his best to dodge the various people going about their business.

“It will be so nice to get away from all of this and have you all to myself,” Tharja said as the approached the stall selling boots.

“Remember Virion’s coming too?” Robin reminded her.

“I’m sure I can ignore one other person,” Tharja said seductively, grinding against Robin again.

Robin groaned in irritation, doing his best to shake the woman off as they moved up to the stall.

“Is everyone in this city in heat or something? Off! Off or I leave you here!”

*

“So how long will you be gone for?” Cordelia asked, lightly stirring her tea.

“A couple of months at the least,” Robin replied, leaning back in his chair. “We’re making the trip on foot, so it’s going to take a while.”

Robin and Cordelia were sitting at the same café they always met at for lunch when Cordelia had free time. Robin had made Tharja promise not to stalk him for the afternoon, leaving him with some free time before they left the next day. Virion was probably having one last hurrah among the serving girls in the palace, so Robin had elected to see if Cordelia had eaten lunch yet. Fortunately she had not.

“That’s good,” Cordelia smiled. “I can only imagine what you’ll be like when you have your memories back.”

“It would be nice to know where all the facts floating around my head came from,” Robin admitted, taking a sip from his tea.

_I drink a lot of tea, don’t I?_ Robin noted absently.

“Do you think that your personality will change?” Cordelia asked curiously.

“Doubt it,” Robin said offhandedly. “I’m too used to being carefree now; I wouldn’t change even if I could.”

Cordelia giggled a little before going quiet.

“It will be lonely around the Castle without you,” she admitted after a brief pause.

“So start eating lunch with Sumia,” Robin suggested. “You two don’t spend that much time together anymore.”

“But she… she’s the queen,” Cordelia protested.

“Yeah? You’re pretty important too; you’re the Wing-Commander now,” Robin pointed out. “Besides, Chrom and Sumia will go nuts if they spend all their time together. You should split them up for a little bit, give them some breathing room.”

“You just know everything, don’t you?” Cordelia giggled.

Robin shrugged. “Yeah, but I still have no memories to back these facts up with.”

“For now,” Cordelia said, leaning forward. “You’ll find what you’re looking for, Robin. I know you will.”

“Thanks,” Robin said with a smile. “It’d be nice the remember when my birthday is, anyway. The thought of never having an excuse for cake again is a disturbing one.”

*

“These clothes are stifling,” Tharja complained as the trio made their way to Ylisstol’s east gate.

It was early in the morning; dawn had just begun to peek over the forests around the capital and the world was beginning to stir. Robin had deliberately decided to set out early so they would get a full day’s worth of travel before having to stop for the evening, meaning that they would be about a third of the way to their first stop in Jagen by nightfall.

It was chilly that morning, autumn slowly giving way to winter. All of the trees around Ylisstol had shed their leaves in spectacular shows of orange, red and brown; a sight Robin had vowed to never forget, such was its beauty. He had thought of postponing the trip until spring, but had decided against it when news of Lissa and Lon’qu being an item broke, steeling his resolve to get away from all of the happy couples, at least for a little while.

Tharja and Virion were both wearing plain travelling clothes and the archer had a regal looking green cloak about his shoulders, maintaining it was necessary that he showed some modicum of class as they travelled. Tharja still wore her Dark Mage cloak, but pulled uncomfortably at the clothes she was wearing.

“Well you could change back into your normal clothes and freeze to death,” Robin said sarcastically as they walked.

“I would just use you to keep me warm,” Tharja said huskily, drawing closer to Robin.

“Ah-ah-ah!” Robin said, warning her off. “Two paces at all times! That was the deal!”

Tharja huffed and crossed her arms, pouting like a child. Robin had to admit the effect it had on her face was rather cute.

Before Robin knew it he was looking through the gates at the open road stretching out into the forest before them.

“I feel like I should say something to mark the beginning of this journey,” Robin said distractedly as they walked.

“Like what?” Tharja asked.

“I dunno,” Robin said with a shrug. “Something like ‘and now we take our first steps into the great unknown’? Something cool and epic like that.”

“You worry too much about appearances, friend Robin,” Virion said with a chuckle. “Sometimes a stoic silence can be just as cool as an epic line, though.”

Robin thought for a minute.

“Okay, let’s try that then.”

They walked on in silence for some time, leaving the city behind and entering the forest.

“Nah, this isn’t working for me,” Robin said, resting his arms behind his head as he walked. “C’mon guys, help me come up with a line.”

*

Robin huffed, his breath coming out as a white cloud in front of his face as he sat hunched over in the small tent the trio of travellers had brought with them for just such an emergency.

That emergency being it was pouring down rain.

They had made good time, cutting through the forests and making it to the mountainous terrain separating Jagen from Ylisstol and had even managed to get a fair way up the first of the passes before the rain had started. Dark clouds had plagued them for days, dropping the temperature to nearly freezing and making it necessary to camp in a manner Robin hadn’t intended to almost every night; a tent and a roaring fire.

He had intended to travel much more rustically, in the same manner he had with Chrom, Lissa and Frederick on the first journey they had undertaken more than six months ago now; a small fire and sleeping under the stars. Apparently he had gravely underestimated just how cold and unbearable the weather was going to be.

Tharja shifted a little from her position with their backs pressed together, reminding Robin why he had been so eager to avoid the tent. It was one tent, one very small tent, and where Robin was concerned Tharja had absolutely no sense of personal space.

“Tharja, please,” Robin pleaded for the fifth time that afternoon.

“But it’s so cold,” Tharja moaned, snuggling closer to him. “And you’re so warm!”

“Pray, fair maiden of darkness, bring some of your divine warmth to the side of one much more willing to share it with you,” Virion offered suggestively, glancing up from the book of poetry he was currently reading.

The archer was lounging on his side at the back of the tent, using their packs as a sort of low bed he could lean against.

The change in Tharja’s personality was like a switch being flipped as she glared silently at the archer. Robin could actually feel the malice radiating through her back and into him.

With a sigh Robin stood and stepped out into the rain, drawing up his hood as he did so.

“It’s not going to stop raining any time soon so we may as well just soldier on.”

“That,” Virion drolled from the floor of the tent, “Is a horrible idea.”

*

“This was a horrible idea,” Virion repeated for the tenth time as they trudged through the freezing rain.

“I don’t hear Tharja complaining,” Robin pointed out, hitching his pack further up his back and making sure his hood was still secure over his face.

“That’s because her lips are frozen!” Virion said with exasperation so great he let slip and forgot to use his normal flowery speech.

When Robin looked back he could indeed see that the poor woman was shivering, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.

“I-I’m f-fine,” she managed, taking a few more steps to keep pace with the two men.

Robin groaned and rolled his eyes, doing his best not to feel guilty and failing miserably.

“There was a town near here somewhere,” he said. “We should stop at the inn for the night.”

Virion perked up instantly, the thought of a warm bed revitalising the man while Tharja nodded numbly.

They had passed through the small town on their last journey, barely even sparing it a passing glance as they did so, but Robin had recalled seeing an inn on the main street of the little town.

Night was falling as they stumbled into town and the rain hadn’t relented in the slightest; if anything the downpour had gotten even heavier.

Robin practically fell through the doorway to the inn, catching himself at the last second and stopping to adjust his coat.

The innkeeper, an older man with frizzy white hair and a neat little beard on the edge of his chin looked up from behind the counter.

“Evening,” the innkeeper greeted as the three travellers entered the lobby. “Lookin’ fer a room I take it?”

Robin nodded, pulling out the small bag of coins Sumia had gifted him and placing a single gold coin on the countertop.

“One room, three meals, a line to hang our clothes to dry on and towels. Please,” Robin said.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he was just as cold and miserable as Virion and Tharja were.

The innkeeper nodded and stood, snatching up the valuable coin.

“Right this way,” he said.

*

“You probably could have haggled him down a fair bit from what you paid,” Virion noted as he hung his soaked clothes next to Robin’s.

“Don’t care; too cold.” Robin muttered while vigorously drying himself with one of the towels they had been given.

The innkeeper had led them by a covered path through an open courtyard with rooms facing inwards towards it, right up to the back of the inn. The old man had opened the door to ‘one of the nicer rooms’ as he had put it, offering to light the neatly stacked logs in the large fireplace as he strung up the rope for them to dry their clothes on. Robin had grinned as he lit the logs with a flick of his hand and a small spell, thanking the innkeeper anyway and asking him to have their dinner brought to the room.

Robin shucked his pants, wrapping one of the towels around his waist as he did, hanging them up next to Virion’s as the other man emulated Robin’s actions.

As far as Robin knew, Tharja was doing the same thing behind them. He wasn’t sure though; he was afraid to turn around and check. The last thing she needed was more ammo to use against him.

Keeping his back to the side of the room Tharja was on, Robin crab-walked to the fireplace with his sodden boots in one hand, placing them closer to the heat so they would dry quicker.

Risking peeking over his shoulder Robin caught a tantalizing glimpse of Tharja’s bare back as she wrapped herself in one of the thick blankets they had been provided. Doing his best not to blush as she took up a position in front of the fire with him Robin scratched absently at his own bare torso.

“At least it’s warm in here,” Robin muttered, holding his hands out over the fire.

Tharja’s response was to smile tiredly as she leaned against his shoulder, closing her eyes comfortably.

Virion joined them a moment later, pulling up a small stool and sitting on the opposite side of Robin than Tharja.

“Hardly the most auspicious beginning of our journey,” Virion said as he began warming his own hands.

“I’m sorry,” Robin sighed, perching his chin on his hand. “I honestly didn’t expect the rain to get heavier while we were walking. I didn’t mean for us to nearly freeze to death.”

“I’ll forgive you if you keep me warm tonight,” Tharja said without opening her eyes.

“That would be highly inappropriate,” Robin said as he rolled his eyes again.

“She has a fair point, though,” Virion said with a sly grin. “There are only two beds for our three bodies in this room. Mayhap the innkeeper assumed that there was a coupling among us?”

“You two take the beds,” Robin said tiredly. “I’ll take the floor. I can get closer to the fire that way, anyway.”

“Then you’ll have to find another way to earn my forgiveness,” Tharja mumbled from Robin’s shoulder.

“Maybe this makes us even for the whole stalker thing?” Robin asked.

After a few moments of silence in which he thought he’d actually hurt Tharja’s feelings Robin realized that the mage had fallen asleep on his shoulder.

“Help me get her into one of the beds,” Robin said to Virion, taking her shoulders with special care to ensure she remained covered by the blanket she was wearing.

“Without the innuendo,” Robin added when he saw the lecherous grin on the archer’s face.

*

Robin groaned and hung his head as he watched the rain fall.

It had been raining non-stop for three days now, and all Robin could think was that soon the rain would turn to snow and they would have to back-track and enter Regna Ferox from the lower central pass, adding an extra two months of travel time onto their trip.

Robin was leaning on the railing outside of their room separating the walkway from the waterlogged courtyard that was beginning to resemble a miniature lake rather than a small garden.

As restless as he was, though, it seemed that Virion and Tharja were content to sit and wait out the rain.

Virion had acquired an old looking tea set from the innkeeper and was back to his usual routine of reading and drinking tea all day, with the occasional game of chess with Robin thrown in for good measure. Robin could only play so many games of chess in one day, though.

Tharja had realised that they were in an inn completely full of strangers that would never know if she practiced small curses on them; things like running eyes and constant sneezing, rashes and hiccups, minor annoyances that would go unnoticed while she documented the results. Robin had considered asking her not to hex the other patrons, but as long as she kept busy and kept the hexes non-fatal he would rather not intervene.

Robin rubbed his hair in frustration. Even Virion had had the foresight to bring a few light books with him; all Robin had was his spellbook.

An idea popped unbidden into Robin’s exceedingly bored mind.

_I could try those spells in the back I’ve never looked at before_ he thought, pushing up from his position against the railing. _It’s not like I’m doing anything else right now._

Robin spun and stepped back into the room he and the others were sharing and went straight for his bag, finding the pouch that contained his spellbook.

Hefting the tome with a satisfied expression and ignoring the questioning glances from the other two, Robin walked back outside.

He took up his position just outside the door again, standing in front of the empty courtyard area.

_As long as I don’t feed too much mana into it I should be able to cast without causing any collateral damage_ Robin thought, flipping through the spellbook until he came to the spells at the back.

As his eyes settled on the first one, Flux, he remembered just why he had never bothered casting them in the first place as a feeling like ice down his spine spread all over his body.

_I’ve come this far_ Robin reasoned, beginning the hand gestures for the simple-seeming spell.

Robin focused, muttered the spell’s incantation, and pooled his mana, released with the gestures and… nothing.

Confused Robin ran through the steps again with the same results.

“What the…?” Robin muttered, looking closer at the spell.

Perhaps he had misread some part of the incantation, or… something.

“You’re not feeding it,” Tharja said, making Robin jump as she appeared at his elbow.

“What?” Robin asked, fumbling with his spellbook in a desperate attempt not to drop it. “What do you mean?”

“That’s Dark Magic you’re trying to use,” she explained patiently. “All Dark Magic requires a sacrifice to work. Usually you can bargain with the life or pain of whatever you’re casting at, but doing so without a sacrifice means the spell won’t work.”

“Is that… right,” Robin muttered, making a mental note to add that little titbit of information to the margin of the spell.

“Alternatively,” Tharja added, reaching into the bag at her hip, “You can offer the spell a reagent in place of a sacrifice; it’s not quite as potent, but works just as well for practice.”

Tharja pulled a small packet out of the bag and unwrapped it, holding out the contents in one hand.

“Here, one of these should do the trick,” she said, offering one of the dried newts to Robin.

“Uh, thanks…” Robin said hesitantly, accepting the newt.

“Now try again, focusing the spell through the newt rather than your hand,” Tharja instructed, placing the newts back in her bag.

Robin nodded and began to cast again.

_Incant, pool mana, focus spell and…_

Robin winced as the newt shrivelled and turned to dust at the same time a blast of dark energy turned a portion of the standing water in the courtyard to steam.

“There! You did it!” Tharja said excitedly.

Robin nodded, looking at his hand with wide eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Tharja asked when she noticed Robin’s expression.

“N-nothing,” Robin said quickly, dropping his hand and closing his spellbook. “Thanks, Tharja; this opens me up to a whole new world of tactical possibilities.”

Robin brushed by her, moving to put his spellbook down and hiding his hand in his coat’s pocket.

His hand that had spontaneously grown a deep purple six-eyed symbol on the back of it; the same symbol he had seen on the back of the hand that had killed Chrom in his dream six months ago.

Robin took another worried look at the back of his hand.

He sighed in relief as the mark began to fade.

“Is something… amiss?” Virion asked curiously, looking up from his book.

“Yeah,” Robin nodded as Tharja came into the room behind him.

“Who’s hungry?” Robin asked boisterously, trying to distract himself from the thoughts going on inside his head. “I’m buying!”

_*_

A few weeks later Robin grumbled quietly to himself as he trudged through the snow. The closer they had gotten to Regna Ferox the colder it had gotten, and now it was snowing.

Robin had decided he hated the snow. Not as much as he hated the desert, but he still hated the snow.

At least they had managed to get through the mountain passes without incident, just ahead of the seasonal weather that would render them unpassable. It had stopped snowing the previous night, though, and the morning sky was a perfect and unblemished blue that stretched from horizon to horizon as far as Robin’s eyes could see. It was admittedly one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Probably because it had dumped all the snow on the ground, seemingly just to spite the tactician and his travelling companions.

“Ah, such beauty in the heavens above must surely reflect on the good fortune we will encounter during the remainder of our trip,” Virion said poetically as they walked along the frozen road.

“You know you just jinxed it now, right?” Robin asked playfully.

“It is my way!” Virion shrugged. “I cannot leave beauty of any kind go unnoticed or uncomplimented, especially with this silver tongue of mine.”

Robin chuckled as he rolled his eyes.

“Oh noblest Virion, oh archest of archers, please teach me the ways of your unflappable optimism!” he said, spinning to walk backwards as he mocked his friend by striking stage poses.

“I sense mockery in your tone, friend Robin,” Virion said, prancing ahead and taking up the act. “But fear not! Noblest Virion can indeed teach you the ways of the highborn ma-AGH!”

So caught up in their little silliness, Robin and Virion failed to notice that Tharja had kept walking at her normal pace; once she was alongside Virion he was posing in such a manner that all it had taken was a light prod to send him crashing to the snow face first.

“If you change my darling in any way I will hex you up to your eye-balls,” she warned dangerously.

Robin burst out laughing as he bent to offer Virion a hand up; the archer patted the snow off of his cloak, laughing along with Robin.

“Perhaps you do not need my subtle coaching after all?” Virion said as they jogged to catch up to Tharja.

“That would be the general consensus, yes,” Robin agreed.

*

“There should be a village just over this bridge… and through this forest…” Robin muttered, walking while holding the map in front of his face.

“Were you not the one that admitted your foul sense of direction when first we met?” Virion asked, sighting down the shaft of an arrow into the woods.

He tsked after a moment, lowering the bow.

“Alas, the game has eluded me,” the archer muttered in disappointment.

Tharja empathetically rolled her eyes. “So we’re eating dried meat again?”

“I’m sure there’s somewhere in this village we can get some fresh meat,” Robin said, folding the map back up and putting it back in his pack. “And gloves. I can’t believe I forgot my gloves…”

Virion and Tharja both chuckled cruelly as they waggled their gloved hands in front of Robin’s face, passing him and stepping onto the bridge.

“Yeah, yeah,” Robin muttered as he buried his hands in his coat pockets in a vain attempt to warm them up a little. “Rub it in. I hate the snow…”

Another hour of walking through the snow-coated forest and Robin called a halt, listening intently.

“Do you hear that?” he asked, craning his neck to listen more carefully.

“Hear what?” Virion and Tharja asked in unison.

“Sounds like trouble,” Robin said, gripping the hilt of his rapier.

*

Peering through the snow-covered bushes Robin squinted, trying his best to get a tactical sense of what was going on at the gates to the small village. There was one red-haired woman with a thin sword standing outside the broken gates with something like five bandit bodies already at her feet, staring down a group of at least twenty more, each one of them easily twice her size and holding axes with blades bigger than her head.

“We can take them,” Robin said confidently as the bandits began encircling the woman. “Classic ambush from behind; we hit them with enough magic and arrows and they’ll go down like a sack of potatoes.”

“Indeed,” Virion said, readying his bow with an artistic flourish. “By your command, oh able tactician.”

Tharja simply nodded, holding her spellbook at the ready.

“Let’s not waste time, then,” Robin said, standing and muttering a quick spell, sending a torrent of lightning bolts at the bandits.

Tharja followed suit and soon dark fire was licking at the bandits on the periphery of the group, bunching them together and making them easier for Virion to target. The archer’s bow sang out a steady rhythm as he unleashed arrow after arrow on the unsuspecting bandits. Once the last of the bandits dropped, one of Virion’s arrows sticking out of his neck, Robin began walking forward with his sword in hand, Tharja and Virion trailing behind him.

“Are you okay?” Robin asked the red-headed woman who was currently doubled over and panting.

Hearing Robin’s voice her head snapped up and a huge smile split her face before she sheathed her sword.

“Oh hello handsome! I knew someone would rescue me!” she cried in apparent delight.

Robin did his best to appear friendly while inwardly cringing.

_Tharja’s not going to like that one._

“Uh, right. So you’re okay then?” he asked again.

“Yup!” the woman piped up, her smile never once faltering. “You can call me Anna! I’m a travelling merchant, but I think that I might have a job for you three!”

“And what, pray tell, can the archest of archers do for such ravishing beauty?” Virion asked, suddenly appearing by Anna’s side with her hand in his.

“Down boy,” Anna laughed, removing her hand from Virion’s grasp. “My wagon and all my merchandise was taken by friends of the bandits you just, ah, took care of. If you can help me get it back, I think I could see you come into some pretty coin.”

Robin thought for a moment.

“We don’t need any more coin,” he said after a moment. “But we could use a guide to this area of Regna Ferox if you’re familiar with it.”

Anna stopped to think for a minute, holding her index finger to her chin as her smile briefly faltered.

“Ya know what, I’m kinda desperate,” she admitted with an embarrassed smile. “So how about this; you help me get my stuff back, I’ll play tour-guide and show you around, and even let you ride in the wagon while I travel the area. Deal?”

Robin looked at Virion and Tharja, already knowing what their responses would be. Tharja was scowling at the chirpy woman, while Virion was pleading with his eyes for Robin to accept the deal. Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t…

“I… Suppose that sounds acceptable,” Robin said with a shrug, choosing the lesser of two evils.

“Awright!” Anna yelled, jumping up and down as she pumped her fist before thrusting her hand towards Robin. “You got a deal, partner!”

Robin grinned sheepishly, shaking her hand and trying to ignore the withering glare he knew that Tharja was shooting at him.

*

“This is where they took your wagon?” Robin asked with defeat writ on his face. “This… this fortress?”

“Yup!” Anna chirped happily from beside him.

They were squatting in the light bushes near the bandit’s main stronghold, looking for some weakness they could exploit to get in and liberate Anna’s goods. Weaknesses of which there were apparently none.

“What did they do, kick a local Lord out? There’s no way we’re getting in there,” Robin complained, eying the thick stone walls and iron gates.

“Not from here,” Anna said, finger to her chin again. “C’mon, follow me.”

Robin and the other two followed Anna around the outside of the bandit fortress, which was actually more like a heavily defended manor, if Robin were honest with himself, to what he assumed was the back. Ruined stone walls and haphazardly boarded up holes greeted them with nary a guard in sight.

“They don’t station guards around this part of the fort,” she said excitedly as she dashed towards the nearest hole. “Or maybe they do, and the guards are just too lazy to patrol in the cold; I dunno.”

“How do you know all of this?” Robin asked a little sceptically, following her with Tharja while Virion covered their approach.

“The reason the bandits were after me in the first place was they caught me casing the joint, silly,” Anna said with a giggle, lifting and slipping beneath a great board and disappearing into the fort.

“What have we gotten ourselves into?” Robin muttered, holding the same board up for Tharja and Virion.

“You mean what did you get us into?” Tharja asked, her tone only a fraction of how acidic she would have normally asked the question.

They proceeded silently through the drafty rear of the fort with weapons at the ready, Anna leading them deeper. Robin finally took the chance to look more carefully at their new companion; she was, in a word, very red. Her stylish travelling clothes matched her hair with just the right amount of yellow trim to make them look out of place in a dilapidated fort; even her thick brown cloak had a red lining stitched to the underside of it. She moved with the skill of a practiced thief, though, and seemed oddly adept at picking the three locked doors they came across.

“Are you sure you’re just a merchant?” the tactician whispered as they stopped for Anna to get her bearings at an intersection.

“Yeah, why?” she asked distractedly, studying the hallways for some sign of where to go next.

“Well you just seem very…” Robin struggled for the right word. “Thief. Ish.”

“Excuse me?” Anna whirled on Robin, apparently completely forgetting where they were as her voice rose in volume and pitch. “I’ll have you know I come from a very prestigious family of travelling merchants thank you very much! The Anna Clan has been doing business since before King Marth defeated the Dark Dragon, and-”

“I just meant the way you picked those locks is all!” Robin whispered frantically, trying to calm the red headed woman down.

“Oh,” Anna said, deflating and returning to her usual smile, finger back in place at her chin as she winked. “Well, I’m also a master locksmith, of course!”

“Of course,” Robin mumbled as Anna pushed on ahead.

“Do you think we can place our trust in our eccentric new friend?” Virion asked quietly, coming alongside Robin as they followed Anna.

“I don’t,” Tharja said from behind them.

“Well, let’s just wait and find out,” Robin muttered back. “If everything goes pear-shaped then hey, at least we’re three of the most bad-ass Shepherds on the roster.”

“Can I just hex her now and get it over with?” Tharja asked with a note of dark glee at the prospect in her voice. “I promise I won’t make it too messy.”

“No hexing,” Robin said with a roll of his eyes. “Not until we know what’s what. If she betrays us, then you have my permission to go open-season on her ginger butt.”

The Dark Mage cackled under her breath, eyeing Anna like a snake would watch a mouse scurrying around its cage with nowhere else to go. Robin found himself actually praying that Anna was on the up-and-up; he shuddered to think of what he’d just given Tharja licence to do.

“Are you slowpokes coming or not?” Anna called from up the hallway. “We’re almost there!”

“Of course,” Robin repeated again, unease growing.

_Why haven’t we run into any bandits yet?_

*

Robin groaned internally as he threw himself backwards around the corner he had just rounded, very nearly colliding with Virion and Tharja.

_Damn me and my big mental mouth_ , he thought frustratedly as he struggled to regain his balance.

Anna seemed to have no such problem, darting to the other side of the doorway in a red blur.

They had found their objective, a big horse-drawn wagon with the horse still secured to the front. The bandits were lazing about a big space which had probably been the fort’s receiving dock during better times; now it looked like the bandits all lived in the one room to conserve heating supplies, trash and loot was strewn about everywhere along with personal belongings and what Robin hoped were simply piles of grubby clothes.

_This explains why there weren’t any others in our path at least._

“Enemies,” Robin warned. “At least twelve, maybe more within shouting range. We’ll have to act quickly. Tharja, you and Virion lay down some cover while Anna and I charge in. Ready?”

“Yes.”

“By your leave.”

“Nuh-uh, hold on a sec!” Anna whispered frantically. “Are you all nuts? Those guys’ll tear us apart!”

“Relax,” Robin said with a predatory grin. “We’re Shepherds.”

“What does tending sheep have to do with-” Anna started, being cut off by Robin darting into the dock with his sword held high and screaming.

“Shepherds! Attack!”

The bandits all looked up at once, mouths hanging open, some with half-chewed food still in them before Virion’s arrows and Tharja’s magic were on them, covering Robin’s charge. Glancing quickly over his shoulder he was glad to see that Anna had gotten over her initial fear and was charging behind him, sword drawn and a grim set to her usually jovial features. Robin snapped back to the battle as he slid on his knees beneath the axe of the first bandit, coming up in a spinning flourish and running the man behind him through as Virion took out the initial bandit with precision archery. Tharja was casting smaller spells that were easier to control than her usual Dark Magic, her skills still proving devastatingly effective with the more common elemental magic as she forced three of the bandits back with carefully aimed thunder spells.

Robin spun around another bandit, slicing out at the man’s neck as he did before dancing out of range of another. He had been paying close attention while sparring with Lon’qu, and was putting the man’s sword technique through its paces.

Anna was right beside Robin, ducking and weaving a lot more than he was, but she still managed to land a few good blows. As the last of the bandits fell Robin realised how heavily he was breathing.

“I think,” he gasped, leaning on Anna’s wagon, “That I spent t-too much time… reading in the last… few months.”

“Catch your breath on the fly and get in,” Anna said quickly, throwing what seemed to be random bags and crates into the back of the wagon.

Robin did as he was told, noticing sourly as Virion and Tharja followed him that they were breathing much easier than he was.

“Someone has to get the door,” Robin pointed out as Anna jumped onto the driver’s seat.

“Allow me,” Virion said, shooting an arrow through a rope that had apparently controlled the counter-weights for the massive door, causing it to slam downwards very, very loudly.

“If there’s anyone left they definitely heard that,” Robin muttered, rubbing his ears as Anna whipped the horse into motion.

He could hear shouting from further in the fort, but before he could see any more of the bandits they were away, racing through the frozen woods and making Robin grateful that they had opted to leave their packs near the village.

*

“I can’t believe that went so well!” Anna chirped as she skipped back to the wagon.

“Yeah. Well,” Robin groaned from behind the stack of boxes he was carrying.

They had made it back to the village in record time, and after returning to contents of the random bags Anna had thrown into her cart to the villagers she had wrapped up her business in the town and the newly acquainted quartet were finally ready to set out. Robin had been following Anna around the village all afternoon while she conducted business, carrying whatever she managed to acquire to sell in the next village. Virion and Tharja, however, were at the tavern; warm, comfortable and no doubt eating his coin purse empty.

“We can even be in the next village before nightfall!” Anna continued, flipping a silver coin over and over her fingers. “I love the smell of profits in the afternoon! It means I did something right in the morning!”

“Yeah, joy,” Robin moaned, lifting the boxes into the back of the wagon.

To his surprise Tharja and Virion were already sitting in the back, waiting patiently; or about as patiently as Tharja ever waited for anyone else, anyway. Her face lit up when she saw Robin, though, and she flashed him a beautiful smile.

Of course she was happy, Robin realized with a sigh, climbing into the tray next to her. She had spent all morning killing bandits. Killing was one of her favourite hobbies, after all.

Anna climbed up onto the driver’s seat as Robin got settled, and with a light whip of the horse they were off, the merchant casting one last wave over her shoulder to the lingering villagers.

Robin groaned suddenly, banging his head on the crate nearest him.

“What is the problem?” Virion asked.

“I forgot to try and find gloves! Again!” he cried.


	17. Chapter 17

Lon’qu sniffed, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. Glancing around the training field he resisted the urge to let out a shiver in the cold winter air, ignoring the sweat freezing on his clothes and going back to his daily training regime.

He swung his sword, a memento of his long-abandoned homeland in neat, graceful arcs the way that he had seen those fortunate enough to enrol in his homeland’s dojos do, but his style was singular and unique. Where his homeland’s artistic sword-styles focused on form and grace, Lon’qu’s style had evolved into a strictly combat-oriented form thanks to the influence of the peoples of Regna Ferox.

_Well,_ Lon’qu thought with a wry smirk, _mostly due to one Feroxi in particular…_

With thoughts of his former lord distracting him the swordsman missed the small patch of ice on the ground, and with a grunt he fell onto one knee, catching himself before he could fall and cause himself injury.

Rising Lon’qu let out a colourful string of curses from his homeland, the only other memento he still kept with him, as he gave up and began trudging back to the barracks he was currently living in. He stopped long enough to retrieve his sheathe and towel, both now frozen. Lon’qu didn’t want to admit he didn’t like the cold; that would be showing weakness. But he would freely admit he wasn’t overly fond of the way it made training difficult.

A guffawing chuckle came from the open window as Lon’qu approached, Vaike resting his arms on the sill, and his chin on top of his arms as he watched his friend practice lazily.

“Toldja’ it was too cold to train,” the blonde axeman said, his tone fairly dripping boredom.

“I still got through most of my routine,” Lon’qu shrugged as he stepped into the warmth of the barracks.

Vaike sighed as he half slipped, half fell back in through the window, going limp as he turned and sliding down the wall. Lon’qu quirked a brow at his comrade’s behaviour; the usually boisterous fighter’s lethargy was strange, but apparently in the southlands this was a common malady during the long winter months.

“Maybe you should go for a run?” Lon’qu suggested dryly, placing his sword securely on the rack before moving to make himself something to eat at the small counter to the side of the door.

“Can’t. Too cold out,” Vaike grumbled, not even bothering to look up.

Lon’qu rolled his eyes as he poured some of last night’s soup into a bowl. Sometimes he felt sorry for Miriel, having to put up with Vaike. But then he remembered that Miriel was just as ‘eccentric’ as her partner, and that feeling turned to confusion as to what the pair even saw in each other.

Deciding to eat the soup cold Lon’qu turned from the counter, hesitating as he recalled that Stahl had been on cooking duty the previous evening and the Knight had bland taste, he turned back and grabbed the salt, intending to add a little flavour from the small shaker.

Instead the lid came off and the entire contents fell into Lon’qu’s bowl.

“Ooh, that’s some bad luck if I’ve ever seen it,” Vaike chuckled. “And before you get all antsy, no Teach didn’t loosen it. I woulda’ just thrown it atcha’.”

Lon’qu growled, thumping the wooden bowl back onto the countertop and stomping over to where everyone’s coats were hanging on the far wall.

“Goin’ out to get food?” Vaike asked, suddenly alert and on his feet. “Hold up, Teach’ll come too.”

“I thought it was too cold out,” Lon’qu grunted.

“Yeah, but not so cold Teach’d pass up hot food,” Vaike grinned.

Lon’qu rolled his eyes again, waiting for Vaike to grab his coins from the room that they shared. His gaze lingered on the bowl, the empty salt shaker sitting next to it, and the swordsman’s frown deepened.

_Why do I have such a bad feeling now?_ He wondered to himself.

*

“This is a serious threat, and we shall treat it as such,” Chrom declared to the Ylissean Council of Elders. “Any threat against the Royal Family is a threat against the very sovereignty of our nation. We have already lost the Exalt once, which in my mind is far too many times.”

“Rest assured, Prince Chrom, that we are doing everything in our power to get to the bottom of this,” Cullen assured the irate royal.

The Council had convened on special circumstances that day to discuss an overt death-threat that had been issued to the Royal Ylissean Family. Meaning Chrom, Sumia and Lissa. Just the thought of anyone even trying to harm his wife or his sister set Chrom’s blood boiling, his hand tightening on Falchion’s grip…

“Commander Frederick, perhaps the Knights would be of some assistance?” Sumia asked from her position on Chrom’s right side.

The Prince looked over at his queen, resisting the urge to smile. She had seen that he was being blinded by his temper, but rather than berate him or try and get him to focus she had shifted attention away from him to give him time to cool down. She really had been the best thing to ever happen to him.

“What do you mean, my lady?” Frederick asked, his brow furrowing a little at the unfamiliar title. “My Knights are admittedly hampered by the snow, which is probably why these curs decided to make their move during the winter.”

Sumia shook her head, smiling a little.

“I know that,” she said. “But the Knights are a calming force on the populace, especially after the war. A small show of solidarity by increasing the patrols around the capital will hopefully discourage any hostility towards the Royal Family, as well as helping to further secure your position in the people’s minds.”

The men around the table nodded, Frederick and Cullen both looking suitably impressed. Many of the members of the Council had spoken vehemently against Chrom marrying a commoner, but at times like these Sumia truly showed that she was worthy of sitting at his side.

“Agreed,” Chrom said, calmer now. “I would still like to prioritize finding out just who these would-be ‘assassins’ are, though.”

“Bah,” one of the older councillors scoffed. “Probably some sore Plegians trying to get revenge for being beaten again.”

“I won’t discount the possibility,” Cullen said thoughtfully. “However I’m going to keep all avenues of investigation open at this time.”

Chrom nodded, leaning forward a little.

“Agreed,” the Prince said. “However, there is one little thing I’d like to suggest…”

*

Lon’qu let out a sneeze, quickly facing away from the table to do so. In his homeland such behaviour, even turning to face away from the table to do so, would have been the height of rudeness. The other people sitting at the table, though, simply chuckled.

“Some Feroxi you are,” Sully scoffed before draining her mug of warmed ale.

Lon’qu narrowed his eyes at the Knight, but she simply belched and called out for another ale.

“Someone’s probably talking about you,” Gaius muttered absently over his shoulder, his back to the table, clearly pre-occupied with casing the tavern for an easy mark.

Vaike grunted agreement around the chunk of salted pork in his mouth, continuing to eat with gusto. The other member of the small group sniffed disinterestedly at her own cup of heated wine, the Taguel Panne clearly having no desire to take a second sip of the beverage. She had warmed to him after he had practically forced her to give him her secret nightmare-supressing herbal tonic, but neither were an individual given to much talking. Lon’qu eyed the Taguel and the Knight with wary eyes; he was still unaccustomed to being around women. And without a battle to keep his mind off of things it just kept going back to…

With a loud scratching sound on the bare wooden floor Lon’qu’s chair slid back as the swordsman rose and slapped a few coins on the table for his drink and food.

“Leavin’ already?” Vaike asked around a mouthful of food.

Lon’qu merely nodded, exiting the tavern with quick, light steps as he tried to outrun his memories.

*

 That evening Lon’qu panted, collapsing bodily onto the floor of the stables and rolling onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. Push-ups weren’t his exercise of choice, but when it was cold out there weren’t a lot of other options. Frankly he preferred a run before going to bed, but in the dark he could potentially slip on some ice and injure himself, and that would be a far worse fate. Not as bad as going to bed without working out, but still pretty bad.

Just as Lon’qu was beginning to warm to the idea of doing sit-ups until he puked a deep chuckle made him glance up, before he bolted into a respectful standing position.

“Prince Chrom!” he said hastily, dusting himself off.

“Relax, Lon’qu,” the monarch laughed. “I’m just here to talk.”

Lon’qu raised one brow curiously, but nodded and approached the Prince. Chrom grinned, leaning back against one of the posts holding up the roof and crossing his arms.

“You clearly take your training very seriously,” Chrom said as Lon’qu drew to a halt.

The swordsman nodded silently, wondering what the blue-haired man wanted. After a few moments of awkward silence Chrom chuckled again, running a hand through his hair in a very Robin-like motion.

“Still not one for talking, huh?” he asked, his grin never faltering.

“You give the orders, I stab people,” Lon’qu said with a shrug, parroting what he had said during their first meeting.

“Good, because I have an order for you,” Chrom said, looking away from the other man. “But… you may not like it.”

Lon’qu sighed as the bad feeling he had been having all day finally manifested.

“Your word is law, Prince Chrom,” the swordsman said. “What would you have me do?”

*

The next morning Lon’qu panted, coming to a stop from his run around the military ward in the training square outside the Shepherds’ barracks. It hadn’t snowed for the last few days, so there was little risk of him slipping on ice or slush, although the oppressive cold still remained. The sun had just risen, so it would hopefully warm up during the day. It was the perfect time to run some sword-drills. Just as he went to draw his weapon a voice called out cheerily from the barracks, causing the mercenary to freeze as his fight-or-flight instinct went into overdrive.

“There you are, Lon'qu!” Princess Lissa called out, all happy smiles and waving despite how early it was. “I take it my brother talked to you?”

Inwardly the man cursed. Chrom had said he wanted someone to act as his sister’s bodyguard, but Lon’qu hadn’t expected his new orders to take effect so early! And the Princess was clearly ready to follow him everywhere he went today, wearing a lovely yellow coat in place of her usual dress, coupled with a thick white scarf and gloves. He blinked, realising that Lissa was waiting for a response.

_Dammit Lon’qu, you’re a proud Feroxi warrior!_ He mentally berated himself. _She’s just one girl! This is no different to a battle! Take the initiative and make the first strike!_

“Er…” Lon’qu managed to grunt, earning a snort of laughter from Lissa.

“Oh, stop it! Yes, I'm a girl, but it's your job to guard me!” She declared, crossing her arms and pouting in a playful manner that just increased Lon’qu’s anxiety. “So no running away and being all weird. All right?”

Lon’qu actually winced, shaking his head and choosing to change the subject.

“Prince Chrom said there was a plot on your life,” he deadpanned, avoiding eye contact. “Is… this accurate?”

Lissa sighed and grinned a little, casually approaching him with her hands clasped behind her back.

“Yeah, I guess somebody wants my sweet little head on a platter,” she sighed. “Don't ask me why, though!”

Lon’qu rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and taking a step back to remain an equal distance from the girl. Unfortunately the Princess’ naivety was a thing of great proportions, so it was clear that Lon’qu would have to explain the situation to her.

“You're of royal blood,” he grunted, moving to the side a little to maintain distance. “That's enough to make you a target. And any shadow could hide a knife, so we must ensure you are never alone.”

Lon’qu winced, realising what he had just said. Lissa burst into a fit of giggles, beaming at him with all the radiance of the sun.

“My hero! I don't have to worry about a thing with you around!” she laughed, spinning and beginning to sing a little to herself.

“Don't be careless!” Lon’qu snapped. “Keep your eyes open! Death could lurk in any nook or...”

Trailing off, the swordsman let out a deep sigh, holding his face in his hand as Lissa continued to carelessly dance around him.

“Surely there is someone else better suited to this task…” he muttered dejectedly.

Lissa responded by twirling and laughing, grinning up at the dour swordsman.

“Yeah, but you were just lazing around catching butterflies all day, so Chrom-”

“I was training!” Lon’qu snapped angrily, cutting the Princess off.

She blinked at him for a few tense moments before laughing awkwardly, rubbing the back of her head and grinning sheepishly.

“J-just kidding, Lon'qu! K-kidding!” she assured him. “I'm sure Chrom was impressed by your skill and charm and good looks! I mean, out of everyone here, he's trusting you to keep his little sis safe. That's a pretty huge honour, right? ...Riiiiight?”

The swordsman quirked one brow at Lissa’s statement, crossing his arms and huffing.

_Skill, sure,_ he thought to himself. _But charm and good looks? What’s she trying to butter be up for, I wonder?_

“I suppose…” Lon’qu ground out, his frown deepening.

It appeared that this was an assignment he wasn’t going to be getting out of any time soon, so he would just have to make do. As if reading his thoughts Lissa’s perpetual good cheer returned as she nodded and stepped forward.

“Right! So come on, no more grumbling!” the woman declared, holding out her hand to him. “Let's shake hands and make nice!”

Lon’qu simply frowned and stepped back, his arms remaining firmly crossed as he glared at his new charge.

_This woman is going to be the death of me,_ Lon’qu thought with a sigh that emerged as a snort from his nose.

“Oh, fine, no handshaking,” Lissa sighed, dropping her hand and placing both on her hips to glare at him. “We can just... nod at each other. Sheesh! Do you really have such a problem with women?”

Lon’qu blinked a few times, not expecting the question.

“I find them… disconcerting,” he found himself answering truthfully.

“But it will not interfere with my duty,” he hastily added.

Lissa grinned again, in a way that Lon’qu knew from experience watching his friend Robin suffering meant nothing good was in store for him.

“Maybe as thanks for guarding me I'll go ahead and fix your little problem...” she pondered out loud, turning and tapping one finger to her chin.

“No,” Lon’qu deadpanned.

“Aw, c’mon, I’m sure I can-”

“No.”

“But-”

“No.”

“Fine!” Lissa snapped, finally losing her temper with Lon’qu’s abject dismissal. “I'm going to train, then, too! You can... just practice over there and look dour.”

With that declaration the Princess stomped towards the barracks, probably to fetch the light axe she had recently taken to training with after witnessing Libra’s skill. Meaning that she really was going to stick to Lon’qu like a bad smell, weather he wanted her to or not. A shudder that had nothing to do with the near-freezing temperature passed through the swordsman as Lissa remerged from the barracks, holding her light axe in her hands and grinning ear-to-ear.

_This woman is going to be the death of me_ , Lon’qu repeated in his mind, sighing as he drew his sword and began to go through his forms while Lissa clumsily swung her axe around.

*

Lon’qu let out a frustrated sigh as he sat with his chin resting on one fist, watching the rain falling from the atrium of Ylisstol’s Royal Palace. A spat of unseasonable warmth had moved in, turning the snow into rain and creating a hellish world of slush and ice that Lon’qu was amazed could exist anywhere in the world. In Regna Ferox it hardly ever rained; it either snowed or it was insufferably hot and humid. In his homeland it was much the same as Ylisse, but he had honestly never seen weather as miserable as this before.

What surprised him most, though, was that no one seemed to notice just how miserable the weather was.

Apparently ice-rain, as the Ylisseans called it, was a common occurrence for this time of year and in no way a portent of the coming apocalypse, but it was still depressing to Lon’qu. After all, there was only so much one could do to train indoors.

Even worse, there was only so much one could do to train indoors while the nation’s princess hounded him incessantly.

For the last two weeks Lon’qu had been constantly vigilant for any sign of the assassins supposedly set on taking Princess Lissa’s life, but there had been no sign. Meaning that Lissa had been treating the last two weeks as an extended excuse to get out of the palace and spend time with the other Shepherds, dragging Lon’qu along with her. Quite frankly, he didn’t mind that she was making herself a target; in fact, the sooner the assassins presented themselves and Lon’qu dealt with them, the sooner his life would go back to the way he was used to it being. He was confident in his abilities to handle trained assassins, but if he had to sit through one more session of afternoon tea between Lissa and Maribelle, or listen to Lissa and Queen Sumia talk about dresses or hair, or… anything else girly he might just resign and go back to Regna Ferox in defeat.

At least, for the moment, it was blessedly quiet while Lissa was in the council…

Lon’qu glanced up, frowning as his peace was interrupted by someone’s muttering. The mage, Miriel, wandered into the atrium with a book obscuring her face, reading as she walked. Lon’qu had seen her do this numerous times and chose to remain silent and hope that she simply kept going and left him to his business, however from the way that she was walking directly towards one of the columns in the middle of the space with no sign of slowing down…

“Hey,” Lon’qu called out.

“… the moon is illuminated by the sun? A most curious claim. And yet...” Miriel continued to mutter, dead to the world as she read.

“Miriel,” Lon’qu tried again, rising from his seated position and turning to face the mage.

“… the sun's light dims and is extinguished as it falls below the horizon. How, then, can-”

Lon’qu sighed and crossed the floor in a flash, stopping the woman with a hand on her elbow as the brim of her hat brushed the column. She made a strangled sound as she swayed, her glasses slipping down her nose and almost falling off, but she managed to catch herself without walking into the pole.

“Pay attention,” Lon’qu deadpanned.

_I can’t believe I just touched a woman,_ he thought bitterly, stepping three quick paces back as Miriel righted herself.

“Apologies, I was lost in my reading…” Miriel muttered, going around the pole and sticking her nose right back in her book.

Lon’qu watched, somewhat bemused, as the mage continued muttering to herself while she disappeared from sight.

“Assuming the sun does somehow continue to shine from beyond the horizon...”

Lon’qu allowed himself a brief smile, or as close as his stiff and dour face could come to one these days, before he made to move back to the spot he had been occupying watching the rain falling. He was halted midway across the atrium when someone called out to him, dashing any hopes of relaxing again.

“I saw that, you big softie,” Lissa said, coming into the atrium with a huge smile on her face.

“What?” Lon’qu demanded, stepping back to ensure that a decent amount of space was between them.

He couldn’t deal with so much female contact in such a short period of time…

Lissa stopped a short distance away from him, too close for Lon’qu’s comfort, and grinned up at him. Her gaze drifted over to the massive viewing windows, though, and her smile grew even wider.

“It's about time the rain stopped,” she sighed happily. “I thought it'd never—ooooooh! Look! A rainbow!”

She reached out, trying to grab at Lon’qu’s sleeve in an obvious attempt to drag him to the windows, but the swordsman evaded her grasp, frowning deeply.

“Keep your distance,” he snapped. “I can see it from here.”

Lissa blinked a few times before giving Lon’qu a grin that he now knew from experience meant that she was about to start hounding him again.

“Can you even guard me from that far away?” she asked slyly, leaning forward and clasping her hands behind her.

Lon’qu quirked a brow as she began to circle him, slowly spinning to continue to face the blonde.

“I can close the distance in the blink of an eye,” he said defensively.

_Gods woman, you’ve seen me do it before!_ He thought irritably.

“Seriously?” Lissa chuckled, the light of mischief coming to her eyes. “I’m nowhere near that fast! Here, just lemme see how long it takes to-”

She trailed off, darting towards him with a playful grin wholly out of place on the face of a princess. Lon’qu merely sighed and danced away from her grasping hands. They repeated this little movement a few times, backing across the atrium before Lon’qu grew tired of her irritating ignorance of his personal space.

“Enough!” he growled, stopping Lissa in her tracks. “Stop trying to get closer!”

“You’re pretty sharp,” Lissa chuckled, panting a few times before taking a deep breath and giving him a stern look. “But I'm just trying to be friendly. How are we supposed to be best buds if you're way over there?”

“I am close enough to protect you, and we are not ‘best buds’,” Lon’qu deadpanned without missing a beat.

Lissa’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before she huffed and crossed her arms, spinning away from Lon’qu so that he couldn’t see her face.

“Geez, what a grump,” she pouted. “Why even bother guarding me if that’s how you feel?”

“Because those are my orders,” he answered without hesitation.

Lissa sniffed once, making Lon’qu think that he had actually hurt her feelings. He hadn’t intended to insult the Princess, merely get across the point that he valued his personal space.

“… and morale would fall if anything happened to you,” he grudgingly muttered, just loud enough to know that she had heard him.

“Oh, puh-leeeeeese!” Lissa scoffed. “No one would care if something happened to me. Someone stronger would just roll my corpse out of the way and take up the fight...”

_What an oddly Feroxi mentality to have_ , Lon’qu thought absently.

“Do you truly not see how your presence energizes the others?” he snapped without thinking. “How your smile and demeanour put everyone at ease?”

_Oh gods what am I saying?_ He thought, aghast.

Lissa froze for a moment before casting a careful glance at the swordsman over her shoulder.

“R-really?” she asked in a quiet voice before letting out a little laugh.

“So what about you, then?” she asked, spinning to face him again. “Does my smile put you at ease, too?”

Lon’qu noticed that her usual smile had a definite hint of something else in it this time…

“Perhaps…” he grunted, crossing his arms. “From a distance, anyway.”

Lissa rolled her eyes and sighed, groaning loudly.

“Why do I even bother?” she asked herself, shaking her head and making to leave the atrium. “I’ll see you later, grump.”

“Wait,” Lon’qu called, following. “I’ll go with you.”

Lissa spun on her heel, her face red.

“No you won’t!” she cried. “I’m going to take a bath! You try and I’m siccing Frederick on you!”

Lon’qu froze in place as Lissa stormed out of the room, a slight reddish tint coming to his own cheeks before his mind started working again.

“But my orders... You'll be... Argh!” he growled before taking a deep breath and calming down.

With another deep breath he started walking after Lissa. Neither of them would like it, but Lon’qu still had a job to do. He would just… wait outside her room until she was done bathing.

*

Resisting the urge to sigh as he trudged through the snow in Ylisstol’s countryside a week later Lon’qu glanced over his shoulder through the trees at the Haildom’s Princess, walking along the forest path at an idyllic pace behind him. One of the local farmers had been struck with pneumonia and his son had gone to the capital to seek aid from the church, and Lissa had just so happened to have been training her healing magic when the lad had arrived. If nothing else the Princess was just as dedicated to her training as Lon’qu was to his, and of course, constantly looking for any excuse she could find to escape the confines of the capital, she had leapt on the opportunity, and with bemused looks Libra and the head-priest had given her their blessings to go in the place of one of their healers.

Much to Lon’qu’s frustration the rain had returned to its frozen state as snow, too, making travel that much harder.

“The path’s kinda slippery here, Lon’qu!” Lissa called out to him before breaking into a mischievous grin again. “Should we hold hands?”

“No,” Lon’qu said without thinking.

Lissa sighed, no doubt rolling her eyes behind his back. He stopped momentarily, giving the girl time to catch up to him.

“Honestly, you think you’d be used to me by now,” she groaned, closing the space between them as she complained. “And you’re always so serious! It wouldn’t kill you to smile once in a-”

Lon’qu shushed her, his hunter’s senses strained to their limit as he surveyed their surroundings. Something was off… it was hard to say what, as there were no birds or animals to fall silent in the winter months, but still there was an oppressive feeling of-

“That is so rude!” Lissa practically shouted, arriving at his side. “Naga only knows why I’m-”

Lon’qu’s eyes widened as he spotted movement in the forest around them, his hand automatically flying to his sword.

“Get behind me!” he shouted desperately, shoving Lissa back. “Quickly! There’s a-”

The rest of his sentence was lost in a pained grunt as an arrow buried itself in his shoulder, the one that he had just positioned in front of Lissa’s head. Lissa let out a little shriek as Lon’qu stumbled, but he righted himself almost immediately and yanked the arrow out, tossing it aside.

“N-no, Lon'qu!” Lissa wailed in panic. “You're hurt! Please, you can't... Don't die!”

“It was one arrow!” the swordsman snapped, spinning.

He grabbed Lissa by the wrist, a little rougher than he intended to, and dragged her along the path at a sprint. More arrows flew out of the trees around them, stitching the ground behind the fleeing Shepherds.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ He berated himself, eyes darting around at the shadowy forms tailing them in the trees.

He had allowed himself to grow complacent. Of course the assassins wouldn’t attack her in the city; not with the Shepherds and the Knights and the Royal Guards constantly around her. But if they had been watching her they would have known that eventually she would do something like this and simply bided their time. If only Chrom had hired him to track down the assassins rather than guard his sister this wouldn’t have happened!

Lon’qu stole a glance over his shoulder, meeting the terrified eyes of the woman clinging to his hand for dear life.

_It’s just like before…_ he realized, his blood running cold.

_No. Not again_ , Lon’qu fiercely promised himself. _I won’t let it end like that again._

“Not again…” he repeated aloud, his voice coming out as a hoarse growl between clenched teeth.

“Lon’qu…” Lissa muttered, struggling to keep pace with the taller man as they pelted through the forest.

It wasn’t far to the plain overlooking Ylisstol, Lon’qu reasoned. All they had to do was get into sight of the walls and the assassins would no doubt give up their chase for fear of retribution from the Guards. With a wild grin Lon’qu spotted where the land started to rise to the hills that separated the forest and the plains. They were almost there!

They burst into the comparative brightness of the hill, Lon’qu practically dragging Lissa up behind him as a triumphant laugh rose to his lips. They made it! They had made-

The dup skidded to a stop as Lon’qu came face to face with a loose line of mercenaries, all wearing snow camouflage rising up from beneath the fresh powder.

They weren’t safe. They had been led into a trap, and Lon’qu had fallen for it.

“I wager we’ve found your assassins,” he muttered to Lissa.

The princess nodded and gasped, panting heavily after being forced to keep up with the much fitter warrior. Her hand tightened around Lon’qu’s, and he squeezed back just as hard.

_I’m not letting this happen again_ , he told himself, narrowing his eyes at the bandits that were advancing on them now.

“Lon’qu…” Lissa called out to him, her voice trembling. “I think… we’re surrounded.”

The swordsman glanced over his shoulder as the archers that had hounded them through the forest emerged onto the hill, the four men panting and out of breath. Lon’qu couldn’t help but smirk, rotating his injured shoulder a little.

“Nine against two,” he muttered, his smirk widening. “I still don’t like their odds.”

“What-” Lissa started before Lon’qu cut her off.

“Stay close,” he instructed, finally releasing her hand. “I’ll punch a hole for you. When I do, run to the City Gates. Understand?”

Lissa swallowed and nodded, willing her knees not to tremble.

“I’ll bring back help,” she promised, mercifully without arguing for once.

Lon’qu’s grin took on a predatory tinge as he tensed, preparing himself. All at once he launched himself forward with near blinding speed, relying on his dexterity to overcome his lack of armour. The first of the assassins didn’t stand a chance, falling beneath the Feroxi swordsman’s opening blow. The second, standing two feet away, didn’t fare much better as Lon’qu danced between them, his sword a silver flash in his hands.

“Run!” he shouted to Lissa. “Now! Go!”

He spun, cutting an arrow out of the air as it flew at Lissa when she raced past him. One of the closer assassins spun, bringing a heavy axe down at the fleeing woman, but Lon’qu was between them in the blink of an eye, parrying the blow and turning it aside.

And Lissa was through them, racing towards the city wall. Lon’qu hopped back a few steps, circling his sword and glaring at the remaining seven men.

“You should be running,” he growled.

The assassins had enough time to look startled before he launched himself forward again, tearing into the seven unprepared men with reckless abandon. The assassins actually faltered before the lone swordsman, the remaining three with melee weapons stepping back in fear as Lon’qu rushed past them, moving for the vulnerable archers. Even better, the four bowmen had all grouped together, making a perfect target for him.

“How well will you die!?” Lon’qu snarled, turning his charge into a spin and shearing through the thin leather armour of the closest two bowmen with one strike.

His back-slash cut through the third, but he didn’t notice as he had moved again, re-engaging with the remaining three warriors.

“Who dies next!?” he roared, each step propelling him faster and faster towards his foes.

_Not again,_ Lon’qu thought desperately. _I’ll save her this time! Never again!_

Practically throwing his sword around Lon’qu darted between two of the remaining assassins again, slicing through the one on the right as he spun out of reach of the other. He faltered as the third scored a glancing hit on the Feroxi’s wounded shoulder, cutting through his thick coat. Lon’qu wordlessly growled, slipping the ruined garment off and facing the remaining three assassins in nothing but his blue tunic. One of the assassins had an axe, the other a short-sword and the last was the remaining bowman. Shaking the pain out of his head Lon’qu kicked at the snow near the closest fallen assassin, the man’s hand-axe flying up into the warrior’s waiting hand.

Lon’qu growled again, brandishing his sword in his good hand and the appropriated axe in his other.

“Come on,” he goaded the men, his breath coming out in great white clouds. “Come on. Come on!”

The remaining three assassins exchanged glances, beginning to back away. The archer’s hands shook as he hesitantly nocked an arrow. With a lusty roar Lon’qu threw away the last of his humanity, becoming the weapon that he had trained his whole life to be. He traded blows with both of the assassins at once, knowing that he would take a hit from the bowman at such close range once he dealt with the other two, but not caring in the least. If he could kill these men then Lissa’s life should be out of danger, at least for the time being. And by now she would be safely back in the city.

Lon’qu grinned a little as the sword grazed his chest.

Lissa would be safe.

He coughed as a knee hit his stomach.

She was back in the city, where no one could hurt her.

With one last burst of strength Lon’qu drove his sword through the chest of the sword-wielding assassin before spinning and releasing the hand axe he was holding at the bowman, the small axe spinning and hitting the stunned man in the side of the head, dropping him like a sack of dirt.

Ke’ri was… No, not Ke’ri. It was Lissa this time.

“I saved her…” he muttered, his head falling as he collapsed to his knees.

There was a brief moment of silence before the last assassin let out a relieved sigh.

“Don’t know what the hell they make you freaks out of up north…” the man muttered. “But at least I get all the bounty, now.”

_Well, at least this was all of them_ , Lon’qu thought, grinning a little as the sound of footsteps on the snow came closer.

_And you’re wrong,_ he mentally added, glancing up at his soon-to-be killer. _I’m not actually Feroxi…_

Lon’qu’s hand shook from blood-loss as he subtly reached into his ruined tunic, looking for the small blade he kept inside one of the seams. He would die here, no doubt, but if it meant that Lissa would be safe… that she would laugh again… smile again…

The Feroxi swordsman let out a small chuckle at his thoughts as his fingers found the hard edge of the small blade.

_Maybe I’m not as afraid of women as I thought_ , he reasoned. _I wish I could see her smile again, though._

“What’re ya laughin’ at, ya freak of-” the assassin started to say, his question cutting off mid-insult with a pained grunt.

The sound of something falling to the snow barely a foot away from Lon’qu made the exhausted swordsman glance up. There, lying face-down in the snow, was his assailant.

“Lon’qu?” a frightened voice asked quietly.

He looked up a little more, eyes widening as he spotted Lissa staring down at him behind the assassin.

“… that’s the last of them,” he managed to get out before pitching forward and passing out face-first in the blood-red snow.

*

Blinking his eyes open Lon’qu hissed, the bright light above him momentarily blinding him. His wounds ached, clearly telling his groggy mind that he was still alive.

“Hold still,” a familiar voice said from his side. “Let me tend to your wounds.”

Lon’qu blinked a few more times, his vision clearing up with the fog from his mind. He was lying a short way away from where he had dispatched the assassins, with Lissa leaning over him with her healing staff, channelling the magic into healing his wounds. Glancing off to one side Lon’qu could see that Lissa had even tied up the surviving bandit, still unconscious in the snow.

“I’m fine,” he groaned, forcing his exhausted body up into a sitting position. “Are you hurt?”

Honestly, he wasn’t fine. He was cold, his recently-closed chest and shoulder wounds ached, and his head felt like it had been stepped on by one of the great bison that roamed around in Western Regna Ferox, but he still had a duty to protect the princess.

She nodded meekly, withdrawing her staff.

“No,” she said quietly, before adding in an even smaller tone “thanks to you.”

“Good,” Lon’qu sighed, grunting again as he let himself fall back into a prone position on his back.

“That’s good…” he repeated, unable to stop the small smile from rising to his face.

_I did it…_ he congratulated himself. _I actually did it…_

Lissa sniffled a few times, returning to silently healing him as the swordsman basked in his victory.

“Lon’qu, you just… you saved my life,” Lissa said at last.

Lon’qu smirked, a rare expression for him to make.

“I followed orders,” he said without thinking. “You will be safe now. That was apparently all of them. Once I can stand I will escort you back to the palace.”

A few more moments of silence passed, in which the pain in Lon’qu’s chest and shoulder finally receded, before Lissa spoke again.

“Um, Lon’qu?” she asked hesitantly.

The exhausted swordsman grunted, cracking one eye open to look up at her.

“Now that you foiled the plot, I guess your bodyguard duty will be over...” Lissa said slowly, looking away as she treated his wounds. “I suppose we're done walking together like this, huh?”

“I see no reason to continue,” Lon’qu shrugged, hissing in pain and regretting the movement immediately afterwards.

“Yeah, but…” Lissa went on. “We were finally… getting close. I’d be sad to lose that now.”

Lon’qu grunted, forcing himself into a sitting position again. The pain was tolerable this time, so he waved Lissa away and returned his face to its usual scowl when he realized how close she was actually sitting to him.

“Do not lay this at my feet,” he said coldly. “I told you to keep your distance.”

“Yeah, but…” Lissa said, a waver in her voice.

Lon’qu glanced at the girl as she hunched over a little, holding her staff tightly to her chest. A thought struck him, then; one that he hadn’t had in years. Not since he had fled Chon’sin.

_What am I so afraid of?_

This girl, this woman sitting in front of him, hale and healthy while there was a pile of would-be assassins cooling in the snow a few feet away, was living proof of the fact that he could stop his past from ever repeating itself again. Lon’qu blinked a few times as, for the first time in a long time, he felt something other than intense discomfort sitting so close to a woman.

He felt a faint warmth in his chest, followed closely by a wave of guilt when Lissa sniffled again.

Heaving a great sigh as he climbed to his feet Lon’qu dusted the snow off his clothes before offering his hand to help the woman up.

“I… suppose… we could still chat. If you want…” he offered hesitantly.

Lissa’s gaze snapped up, eyes shining with the tears she’d been holding back as her look of confusion gave way to a radiant smile.

“From time to time,” Lon’qu hastily added.

Lissa nodded again, laughing a little as she took his hand and allowed herself to be pulled up.

“You mean it?” she asked excitedly, refusing to relinquish her hold on his hand. “Oh yay! Thanks, Lon’qu! Really! Just… thank you.”

Lon’qu nodded once, embarrassedly looking away from the beaming girl and frowning into the distance.

“Of all the women in the kingdom…” he muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” Lissa asked, grinning ear to ear as she drew closer to the man, entwining her arm with his own.

“I said I’m freezing without my coat,” Lon’qu said hastily, attempting to move away from Lissa.

*

A few months later Lon’qu sighed, swinging his sword absently through the motions of his practice routine in the early morning sunlight; to any onlookers he would have looked the epitome of concentration and grace, but Lon’qu’s heart was elsewhere that day and his sword form suffered.

With a frustrated sigh he gave up, slowing the flashing weapon and giving a few cool-down swings before trudging beck to the bench his towel and coat were on. He rotated his shoulder as he walked, the scar still occasionally flaring with phantom pain like it presently was, but ignored the old injury. Apparently it was a common side effect of emotionally traumatic injuries, the phantom pain; to Lon’qu it was a constant reminder that he had finally overcome the past that had been haunting him.

Just thinking about it made him grin a little. He was unstoppable now. Untouchable. Now that he had overcome his past-

“Wow, that’s certainly a rare sight,” a familiar voice said from behind Lon’qu, making him spin to face Prince Chrom.

“You smiling?” the blue haired man laughed. “Something good must have happened.”

Lon’qu nodded, returning to his usual frown. Not because he disliked the Prince, but it was just his default facial expression.

_Untouchable indeed,_ he chided himself. _This does save me some time, though._

“Finishing up?” Chrom asked, unclasping his usual cape and tossing it onto the bench. “That’s a shame; I came all the way here looking for a sparring partner.”

Lon’qu shook his head, readying his sword again.

“I can always go another round,” Lon’qu stated, already moving back to the training ground.

A few of the other Shepherds went about their usual training regimes around the two men, offering Chrom a few quick and informal greetings before going back to their drills, or in Stahl’s case desperately trying to survive while Sully pummelled him.  

“You know,” Chrom said conversationally, spinning Falchion around a few times to warm up. “I never properly thanked you for saving Lissa back during the winter. Thank you for that, Lon’qu.”

“I merely followed my orders,” the swordsman replied tersely.

“Yes, I’m sure that’s all it was,” Chrom chuckled, raising his sword to a ready position. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Lon’qu shrugged, coming forward fast and low at the Prince’s legs. Chrom parried the blow easily, grinning amicably the whole time as they exchanged blows. Over the last few months Lon’qu had become closer to Lissa and, as a result, become closer to the rest of the Royal Family, too. He held a lot of respect for Chrom as a ruler and fellow warrior, and Queen Sumia… didn’t make him want to run screaming from a room. Which was a marked improvement over his attitude to other women.

Lissa, however… It was strange, but Lissa he actually enjoyed spending time with. He didn’t mind any more when she invaded his personal space. He didn’t mind when she ignored his protests and clung to him. He didn’t even mind when she interrupted his training, which was an astounding thing. He found himself looking forward to the time that they were to spend together, and as a result-

“You’re wide open!” Chrom declared, thrusting at Lon’qu’s shoulder.

The Feroxi swordsman cursed his distraction, stepping back and deflecting Chrom’s sword before giving ground and stepping back.

“That’s two firsts for today,” Chrom pointed out. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you distracted on the field before.”

“Apologies, milord,” Lon’qu said quickly.

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with my sister, would it?” the Prince asked knowingly.

“Heh, don’t worry about answering that,” he laughed. “The look on your face says it all. It also says that I have to let Sumia change my training space into a nursery, too…”

Lon’qu raised a brow in query at the Prince’s statement.

“I made her a bet,” the other man shrugged. “If you were pining over Lissa as much as she is you I lost my training room.”

“I’m not pining,” Lon’qu protested, feeling some heat rising to his face.

“Heh, there’s no need to growl,” Chrom placated, sheathing Falchion. “In fact I came here to talk to you about it.”

Lon’qu remained silent, sheathing his sword and eyeing the Prince. Employer or not, the swordsman didn’t like it when people pried into his personal business. After a few moments of silence Chrom laughed awkwardly, starting to head back to the bench they had left their belongings on.

“You know, Lissa says you’re actually quite talkative,” Chrom pointed out conversationally. “I’ll have to have a word to her and remind her the meaning of the word.”

Lon’qu responded by grunting and reaching for his towel a second time.

The Prince rolled his eyes and sighed.

“You’re going to make me do all the work, aren’t you?” he asked exasperatedly.

“I love your sister,” Lon’qu stated calmly.

“Well, look, I think the two of you are-” Chrom started, stopping dead in his tracks as his jaw dropped.

The Prince stared at Lon’qu for a few seconds, earning a small grin from him.

“Jeez, you don’t… beat around the bush, do you?” Chrom stammered, struggling to regain his composure.

“Denying my emotions goes against my beliefs,” Lon’qu shrugged again, before admitting, “Although I only realized the depths of my feelings during our match.”

Chrom nodded, his composure returning.

“So that’s why I won so easily,” he laughed.

Lon’qu frowned, glaring at the other man.

“Look, I’m not going to get in your way,” Chrom laughed. “I came down here to let you know that. I mean, Sumia’s not a noble, either. So I guess… you have my blessings.”

“… Just like that?” Lon’qu asked curiously.

“Just like that,” Chrom repeated with a nod. “I thought you’d be used to this kind of informality, being from Regna Ferox.”

Lon’qu shook his head, trying to organize his thoughts.

“I am not from Regna Ferox,” he blurted out while he was distracted. “I just wound up there.”

Chrom hesitated a moment, blinking in confusion.

“But, if you’re not Feroxi where are you from?” he asked curiously.

“A small nation across the sea,” Lon’qu answered. “Called Chon’sin.”

“You’ll have to take us one day,” Chrom said, making to leave. “I mean all of us.”

The Prince clapped Lon’qu on the shoulder as he passed him, giving the swordsman one final nod before entering the barracks. Lon’qu stood silently for a moment, processing this new information. He had only just realized the depths of his feelings for Lissa, and now…

Shaking his head Lon’qu steeled himself. He had never been one to question his convictions before. Why start now?

*

Lon’qu glanced up from where he was sitting in one of the atriums in Ylisstol’s palace, the same one that he and Lissa had watched the rain in so long ago, as the boisterous Princess made her entrance. They had been meeting here for their regular conversations since Lon’qu had foiled the assassins’ plot against her life, the swordsman usually finding some mundane excuse to be at the palace to meet her. This day, though, he didn’t even bother with the pretence.

“Heya, Lon’qu!” she called cheerily. “I’m back for another chat!”

The swordsman resisted the innate urge to smile now that his emotions were clear to him as Lissa skipped up to him, settling for a terse nod instead.

“… All right,” he said as Lissa beamed up at him.

“Yeesh, try to contain your excitement there,” Lissa huffed. “Oh, and be sure not to smile. Most boys would cut off a leg to have a cute girl drop by to talk.”

Lon’qu looked away as a smirk finally won out against his resolve and a smile rose to his lips.

“Would you have me paste on a fake grin whenever you grace me with your presence?” he asked playfully.

“Well, no...” Lissa giggled. “Actually, that would be really creepy, coming from you.”

“Then this is what you get,” Lon’qu said, looking back to Lissa with a straight face.

To his surprise, though, Lissa didn’t begin their usual back and forth. The conversations usually started with her harping on him about never smiling before they discussed whatever Lissa felt like. Instead the Princess fidgeted a little before letting out a heavy sigh.

“All right, all right. You don't have to be so cold to me,” she muttered.

“I just miss you, you know!” she declared, looking up at him with a serious face. “You were guarding me around the clock for so long, and now I barely see you. But I suppose you wouldn't understand how I feel, huh? I mean, you can't stand girls. All right, listen. If you don't want me here, just say so and I'll leave you in peace.”

Lon’qu blinked a few times. This wasn’t going the way he expected it to. She… was completely missing his behaviour.

_Bah, as dense as her brother_ , he thought warmly.

“I like it when we speak,” he said in his gentlest tone of voice.

“Great, fine. Don't worry, I won’t force you to keep coming to see the poor, sheltered and lonely Princess. You don't have to... to, uh…”

Lissa blinked a few times at Lon’qu as he smirked openly now, resisting the urge to chuckle with all his might.

“Wait, what'd you say?” she asked incredulously. “I must not have heard you right... Because it almost sounded like you said you liked having a girl come bother you.”

“You heard me fine,” Lon’qu said. “And you are no bother. I... also miss the time we spent together.”

His ears started burning a little from the strange embarrassment of admitting his feelings, but it was a good feeling. Lissa looked away, eyes wide and disbelieving.

“I must be losing my mind,” she muttered.

“This must come as a… surprise, given my disposition,” Lon’qu said at length. “But I wish to spend… more time yet with you, Princess.”

“But… but… you hate women!” Lissa spluttered, her face beginning to go red.

“I don't hate anyone,” Lon’qu explained patiently. “And as far as my issue with women, you... are the exception. I find myself thinking of nothing but you. My every moment is consumed with you, to the point where I cannot even focus on my training. If you will allow it, I swear to be with you and protect you for the rest of your days.”

Lissa blinked up at Lon’qu as her eyes began to grow moist. At some point during his speech Lon’qu had taken both of her hands in his, and now held them close to his chest, over his heart.

“Lon’qu…” Lissa said, sniffling cutely. “Of… of course I’ll allow it! And I'll watch your back, too!”

She scooted a little closer to Lon’qu on the stone bench, seemingly waiting for him to flinch away from her. When he didn’t she let out a little laugh, looking back up to him.

“But you have to be beside me always,” she said with a happy smile. “Promise me; no more distance!”

Lon’qu nodded, wrapping an arm around her and holding her close to his chest.

“No more distance,” he said into the top of her head.


	18. Chapter 18

Robin ducked low to avoid the hanging beads in the doorway to the healer’s hut, failing miserably and spending nearly a full minute flailing around wildly to dis-entangle himself from the strings assaulting him.

“This has been a spectacular waste of time,” Robin grumbled, trying to brush the incense ash off of his coat and casting one final dirty glare at the bead curtain.

“No luck here either, huh?” Anna asked lazily from the wagon.

Robin shook his head and climbed back aboard the tray, doing his best to avoid stepping on the various goods and other passengers. They had been travelling with Anna for nearly two months now while she made her rounds as a travelling merchant to every village in Eastern Regna Ferox’s frozen north. Robin had seen countless healers, shaman and medicine-men, but none of them had done anything but give him a headache, or a nose-bleed, or make him drink strange elixirs that had given him wild hallucinations. Robin was beginning to doubt the validity of their quest. Or that Virion would ever live down finding the tactician half-naked and hallucinating in the middle of the night. Or that Tharja would ever forgive the archer for making Robin cover up before she could ingrain the image of his bare torso into her mind.

All in all, it had been an ‘interesting’ couple of months.

“That was the last one I had heard rumour of,” Virion muttered dejectedly. “I apologize; I had no intention of raising your hopes like this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Robin said, lowering himself down next to where Tharja was curled up and napping on a pile of furs that Anna had gotten ‘at a great price’. “At least we managed to get out of Ylisstol before being roped into even more weddings.”

“Ah, I love weddings,” Anna sighed wistfully as she directed the cart away from the village they had just been in. “Everyone’s so happy, and happy people are big spenders!”

“Do you ever think of anything besides money?” Robin asked.

Anna seemed to think for a moment, adopting her usual pose of finger to her chin.

“Nope,” she said with a huge smile. “Money, goods and profit! In that order.”

Robin rolled his eyes and let his head fall back.

“Of course it’s that order,” he chuckled defeatedly.

*

“Maybe we’re looking at this the wrong way?” Robin suggested, idly sloshing the ale around in his mug.

He, Virion and Tharja were waiting in the local tavern while Anna conducted whatever business she had in the town, a small barren place that was little more than an inn, a tavern and a trading post on a hill in the endless Feroxi forest. The tavern was clean, though, and Robin was sick of eating campfire food, so he had kept his complaining to a minimum as they had brainstormed.

“How so?” Virion prompted when the tactician fell silent.

“These healers,” Robin began explaining, downing the rest of his mug in one go. “They focus on physical injuries that have affected a person’s mind. Maybe my problem isn’t physical as much as magical?”

“A spell?” Tharja perked up, paying more attention. “That would explain the aura you give off…”

“I admit I have no information on the topic,” Virion said sadly. “Perhaps we had just return to Ylisstol and seek the aid of the Royal Mage Academy? We have already been gone quite some time, anyway.”

Anna chose that moment to make her entrance, appearing next to Robin’s elbow and leaning in to join the conversation.

“What’re we talkin’ about?” she asked cheerily.

Robin didn’t even jump; between Tharja’s stalking, Gaius’ constant thievery of his deserts and Kellam’s… Kellam-ness he had grown used to sneaky companions.

“Do you have any information about a healer or a mage that might be able to undo a spell sealing someone’s memories?” he asked hopefully.

Anna pulled up one of the chairs, sitting down and thinking.

“I heard a story about a witch-doctor on a small island to the south-east of Ylisse,” she ventured. “Apparently they can undo any curse or spell that people bring to them.”

Robin nodded in thought for a moment. The Southern Islands were, literally, on the other end of the continent. It wasn’t a short trip, but at this point he had almost tapped out Regna Ferox’s supply of healers, not to mention that travelling south would get them closer to their end-destination of Ylisstol.

“Well, what do you think?” Robin asked, turning to the other two questioningly. “One last try and then we go home?”

Virion shrugged. “I see no harm in the idea. At the very least it brings us closer to our final destination.”

Tharja nodded happily, blushing a little. “If it’s for you then I would travel to the ends of creation itself.”

“Great!” Anna spoke up. “When are we leaving?”

Robin exchanged confused glances with his other travelling companions before blinking a few times at Anna.

“Don’t you have… you know, work?” he asked.

“Are you kidding?” Anna said, getting excited. “I bet the people on that island have never seen any of the stuff from Regna Ferox! Spices, furs, natural glacier-water; I’m going to make a fortune!”

Robin rolled his eyes as Virion chuckled and Tharja scoffed.

“Of course you will,” the tactician said. “I guess it’s settled then.”

*

The trip back through to southern Ylisse, at that time of year with most of the mountain passes still frozen over, would have taken six months at least; of course the irony that by the time they arrived the passes would have been open again didn’t escape Robin. Instead Anna suggested that they take a boat from the port town on the eastern coast of Regna Ferox. Apparently one could charter a merchant boat specialized in moving quickly through the Eastern Sea, cutting their travel time down to a little less than a month.

Robin was pleased to note that the days were getting longer again, too, meaning winter would soon be over, much to his relief.

_Maybe I am from a desert?_ He thought as he desperately tried to warm his hands.

The port town they were in was a small affair, much the same as so many of the other villages they had passed through; an inn, a tavern, a few trading posts and some small houses on the periphery. Anna had called it ‘Nauta’, and apparently it had once been an important whaling town before the decline in demand for whale-products, yet still functioned as an important supply post for the passing ships due to the depth of its harbour. It was further west than the Eastern coast, too, but apparently a ship’s captain in the village owed Anna’s Aunt a favour, meaning free passage. The dock itself was a simple affair, an old wooden construct that would allow boats to unload their old cargo, pick up their new cargo and be on their way. Anna had assured them she could secure passage for them and the wagon with her Aunt’s contacts, leaving Robin and the other two to laze about and wait for her to call them.

“So it’s back to the south now, eh?” Virion drolled as they leaned on the dock railing, watching the various ships come and go.

 “I was getting sick of the snow anyway,” Robin admitted, clapping his hands together. “And I never did get around to buying those gloves.”

“All you had to do was ask and I would have kept your hands warm,” Tharja said, sidling up to Robin. “Your hands and the rest of you…”

He just shook his head and sighed, biting back the witty retort he had come up with as he saw Anna skipping happily back towards them from the trading house.

“Okay, we’re all set to go!” she said happily. “They’re going to bring us straight to the island!”

“What, really?” Robin asked.

“Sure! Never doubt the power of a favour owed to an Anna,” she explained with a wink.

They followed the plucky merchant onto one of the smaller boats, her wagon and horse already safely secured with the cargo by the time they had arrived. It was supposed to be a three week journey by sea, and Robin was seriously looking forward to getting away from the frigid Feroxi climate.

*

A month later when Robin stepped off the boat he found himself realizing just how preferable icy climes were to tropical ones. The plain wooden docks were some way from the small village they would supposedly find the witch-doctor in. The island itself was beautiful; palm trees swayed in the breeze while brightly coloured birds flitted to and fro and the sound of the ocean on the shore beat its steady rhythm, lulling Robin to sleep as he lounged in the back of Anna’s wagon.

“It’s so hot!” the merchant complained, fanning herself in the afternoon heat as she led the horse and wagon from the docks.

“Nay, fair Anna, it is the humidity that causes the worst of your discomfort,” Virion said from the wagon bed.

“I’m all of a sudden glad that I brought all our old clothes with us,” Robin said.

He, Virion and Tharja had all changed back into the clothes they wore most of the time in Ylisse; Robin’s plain cream shirt and dark trousers under his coat, Virion’s light-blue battle-gear that looked more at home in the courts of Ylisstol rather than actual battle, and Tharja’s practically see-through and skin-tight suit worn under her Dark Mage cloak that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Anna, however, only had her thick red winter clothes, and was suffering immensely in the tropical climate.

“I hate you all,” she moaned from the front of the wagon.

“I’m sure you can find some lighter clothes in the village,” Robin said as he stretched out.

“Ew. Village clothes. No thanks,” Anna said quickly, regaining her composure.

“Amazing,” Tharja muttered from next to Robin. “Something she and I finally agree on.”

Robin chuckled a little. It was no secret that Tharja’s personality was a little abrasive and she didn’t get along well with… well, anybody besides Robin, but during their travels in the last few months Robin had noticed Tharja’s harsh exterior give way a little. It had started when she began to actually talk with Virion, and once they had joined up with Anna things had snowballed, even if they still rarely agreed on anything. She still came across as dark and creepy, but Robin knew that she had warmed considerably to spending time around people; most importantly, people that were not Robin.

The setting sun beat down on the winding path through the rainforest, casting strange shapes and patterns in shadow over the wagon as they trundled along. Robin was content to lean back and simply enjoy the ride through the forest until a familiar sound made him groan as he snapped back to alertness.

“I know that particular groan,” Virion said, reaching for his bow. “We are about to come upon a battle, aren’t we?”

Robin sighed and nodded.

“Uh-huh. Is it really so hard to get proper work?” he complained as he hopped down from the bed of the wagon. “Or is being a bandit just really fun or something?”

“Why don’t we ask them?” Tharja suggested, hopping down next to him.

A young boy burst through the undergrowth, cutting off any comments Robin or the others might have had, and skidded to a stop in front of the wagon.

“Help!” the boy cried. “Please help, milords! Our village! Bandits’re attackin it!”

“Yeah, I figured as much,” Robin muttered, taking a good look at the boy.

He would have only been about Ricken’s age, and he looked scared out of his mind, panting while he leaned heavily on the rough-cut lance in his hands. His skin was a dark tanned colour and it looked like he had cobbled armour together out of whatever he could find; including a brass pot for a helmet. Tharja snickered openly at the boy while Virion and Anna tried valiantly to hold their laughter back.

“Slow down, kid,” Robin said in his best impersonation of Chrom’s comforting tone. “Fill us in and we’ll do what we can to help.”

“Er, right,” the boy said, taking a few deep breaths. “M’name’s Donny- ah, Donnel, lords, and like I said, m’village is under attack by bandits.”

“How many?” Robin pressed.

“It’s… ah, about twenty all up,” Donnel said. “M’sorry, they’ve been pesterin our village for ages now, n’we finally got fed up an’ told em to scat, now they’re burnin the place down!”

 “Can you fight?” Robin asked, already thinking tactics while he talked.

Donnel looked confused for a moment before he realized he was holding a lance.

“Not… Not very well, milord, but I’ll do m’best ta save my home!”

Robin nodded.

“Then you lead the way. Anna, stay with the cart, one of us will come get you once it’s safe. Virion and Tharja, we know how to play this game.”

“Donny, was it?” Virion asked, jumping down and extending a hand to the boy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Th-thank you, milord,” the boy stammered.

“Why do you keep calling us that?” Robin asked.

“Well… you’re Shepherds, arentcha?” Donnel asked hopefully.

“Ah hah! His eyes ring true and his hopes go answered this day!” Virion said in his best stage voice. “For now, the Shepherds descend to save his village!”

Robin rolled his eyes. Any chance to steal the spotlight…

*

They followed Donnel through the forest and back to the village, the sounds of fighting getting louder the closer they got. Robin noted how Donnel moved through the forest; quickly but silently, automatically knowing exactly where to place his feet or which branches not to touch to make as little noise as possible.

They stopped near the edge of the forest, Robin looking out to get a tactical sense. The villagers were holding off the bandits, keeping them at bay with lances and bows and by throwing rocks, but Robin could tell that it was only a matter of time before the bandits beat through their line.

“Mostly garden variety bandits,” he reported to the other two Shepherds. “Axes, swords, one or two bows; they’ll be your first target, Virion. Tharja, group them like we practiced up north. Donnel, you’ll be with me going up the middle. Hang back and attack when you see an opening. Don’t take any unnecessary risks. Ready?”

Three affirmatives sounded and Robin burst from the bushes, sword in hand with the village boy on his heels.

Lightning crackled in the twilight sky as Tharja brought bolts crashing down on the bandits the furthest out.

Virion lined up his shots, waiting patiently for the archers to appear before firing, felling them both with deadly accuracy.

Robin whirled as he met the first of the bandits, knocking his axe away and striking out with his sword before extending a hand and knocking three more of the bandits back with a wind spell. Robin spun to see a bandit with his axe raised to strike drop as one of Virion’s arrows buried itself in his chest.

Donnel hurried up behind Robin, striking out with his lance and knocking one of the bandits’ in the head, distracting him long enough for Robin to finish him with a sweeping blow from his sword.

The villagers, emboldened by their unexpected reinforcements, charged out of the village gates. Between the three Shepherds and the villagers the bandits were soon routed.

“That was the most terrifyin’ thing I ever done in my whole life,” Donnel panted, sinking to one knee.

“You did well, Donny,” Robin congratulated him. “You’re a real natural at this.”

The village boy nodded his thanks as Tharja came sauntering up to them.

“Nothing like a little bandit-slaughter to liven up the day,” she said happily.

“Okay, I can’t tell if you’re joking, and that scares me. Where’s Virion?” Robin asked.

“He went to tell Anna that it’s safe to bring her precious wagon in now,” Tharja said, looking bored as she studied the villagers.

The collective villagers seemed to be unsure as to how to treat the two newcomers, eying them warily from across the village gates while they treated their wounded. One of the older looking ladies caught a glimpse of Donnel and started walking over, an angry frown on her face.

“Donnel!” She called. “Didn’t I tell you to stay in the village!?”

Donnel’s head snapped up as his face went pale. “Ma!”

“Don’t you ‘Ma’ me, mister!” the woman shouted, rapping Donnel’s pot-helmet with the back of her knuckles. “What if you’d been killed? What then, huh?”

“Jeez, I’m sorry Ma,” Donnel said as he stood.

“Your son’s a hero, miss,” Robin said, stepping forward. “He’s the one that found us and led us back to your village to help.”

Donnel’s mother seemed to size up Robin, staring him down the way only a mother could. The tactician wilted under her glare, shuffling his feet like a child being scolded.

“Well, thank you for saving our village,” she said after a moment of glaring.

Robin nodded mutely as she strode off, shouting at the other villagers to start cleaning up the mess that the battle had left behind.

“Gods I’ve never been so terrified,” Robin muttered as he reeled from Donnel’s mother’s glare.

“She has that effect on people,” Donnel said with a grin on his face. “But she’s the best.”

*

Robin kicked at the dirt, sighing.

Another healer had been a total waste of time. The next morning he had set out alone for where the witch-doctor made his home out in the rainforest, getting his hopes up despite every other crushing failure he had found with the other healers. The tactician groaned inwardly as he walked back to the village, finally deciding that enough was enough.

“I guess we’ll just go back to Ylisstol,” he muttered to himself. “Hopefully Chrom hasn’t given my room away yet…”

Robin continued walking, not taking note of anything besides the general direction he was going in. For nearly a year now he had wandered around the wilderness, first in blistering cold and now in oppressive humid heat and he had nothing to show for it. Despite telling himself time and again not to get his hopes up that’s exactly what he had done. At least the time hadn’t been a complete waste; he had spent the entirety of the journey laughing and smiling with his friends, and even made new ones; he had seen more of the world at a much more leisurely pace than when they had been marching; not to mention that-

_“Robin.”_

Robin spun, looking for the source of the feminine voice calling out to him.

“Who’s there? Tharja?” he called to the empty forest. “I thought you were staying at the village? And, you know, over the whole stalking me thing.”

_“Robin, you must return to Plegia.”_

The tactician shook his head with another sigh. “I am not having another conversation with the voices in my head.”

_“I’m not in your head.”_

“Right. You’re in Plegia. Silly me,” Robin said sarcastically.

_“Go to Plegia. There you will find the answers you seek.”_

“Pass,” Robin said dismissively, starting to walk again. “Thanks for the offer though.”

After a few steps Robin stopped, threw back his head and groaned loudly.

“Dammit. Fine. I’ll go back to Plegia. But if this is just my overactive imagination I’m going to be very upset.”

*

Another two months later Robin stretched and yawned loudly as he stepped off of the boat behind Anna’s wagon and onto the hard-packed, dusty soil of Plegia.

“Never thought I’d come back here as a tourist,” he muttered, looking around the small port town they had arrived in.

“It’s so… diff’rent than the village,” Donny muttered, looking around awestruck. “I ain’t never seen so much sand.”

Donnel, or Donny as they had taken to calling him, had surprised them all by begging to come with them, citing a desire to become a Shepherd. Despite his mother’s objections he had followed them onto the boat they had taken to Plegia, and Robin had to admit the boy had martial talents that just needed a little shaping. He’d pass the boy on to Frederick once they made it back to Ylisstol for proper training. Hell, maybe the villager could make a Knight if he tried hard enough.

“I never thought I would miss the snow,” Tharja complained, holding her heavy cloak open and fanning herself with an open hand.

Donny actually blushed when he caught sight of that, and looked away hastily. Robin chuckled and shook his head. The boy was so naïve it was a wonder he’d shown the stones to come with them.

“So,” Virion asked, matching Robin’s pace as the others rushed ahead looking for shade, “Has there been any further word from our mysterious voice? Or are we simply to wander the desert until we find what we’re looking for?”

Robin scoffed. “We just spent another two freaking months on a boat; the voice has five minutes to tell me where to go or we get back on the boat and head to Ylisse.”

“I will admit I am finding the constant sailing… tiresome,” Virion said hesitantly.

“Yeah, and you don’t even get seasick,” Robin moaned, recalling all the time he had spent hanging over the railing of the ship as his stomach emptied itself without his permission.

“Perhaps we should simply take the land-route in our return?” Virion offered.

“First things first,” Robin said, rolling out his neck. “We need directions.”

*

Anna laughed as she counted the coins in her hand, running them through her fingers with glee.

“I can’t believe I made so much selling those fruits from that island! Tropical fruit movement is something I should really look into!”

Robin chuckled and shook his head as he unpacked their camp supplies wagon. The five travellers were sitting by the wagon near on oasis, setting up camp for the evening or simply going about their usual nightly rituals. Tharja was elbow-deep in her pack when she tsked and looked up, eyes locking on Donny.

“You. Boy,” she called to him. “Fetch me some lizard eyes from the ones coming to drink at the oasis. The big ones that look like they have horns.”

Donny shot up like a rocket, stammering a quick “Y-yes, ma’am,” as he ran for the edge of the oasis.

Tharja chuckled a little as she leaned back.

“I don’t know whether to think that was cruel or brilliant,” Robin said as he piled some wood in the centre of their fire-pit.

“Tis the way of the world,” Virion said as he began unpacking the ingredients for that night’s dinner. “Even the mightiest emperor can be laid low by the subtle blush of a woman’s cheek, and our Tharja here is one of the finest women ever to be born of this harsh land of sand and heat.”

“That’s right; you are from Plegia, aren’t you?” Robin asked, cutting off whatever acidic remark Tharja had been about to make to Virion’s praise. “Do you want to go and visit any family or something while we’re here?”

Tharja frowned and shook her head.

“Why bother?” she asked. “All they’ll do is complain that I never write and call me a traitor for siding with Ylisse during the war.”

“Your family supported Gangrel?” Robin asked curiously.

“My family supports Plegia,” Tharja corrected. “My father was advisor to the last King; the one that had the big war with Ylisse. And my Uncle is a high ranking Dark Mage in the Royal Guard. After that debacle I swore I wouldn’t serve anyone blindly like my father did. Except for you, Robin; you say the word and I’ll blindfold myself and do whatever you want…”

Robin groaned as Virion and Anna both started laughing.

_I really thought she was getting over this obsession,_ he thought as Tharja squirmed up against him.

“And I do mean _anything_ ,” she whispered suggestively, running a hand up the inside of Robin’s arm before resting it on his chest.

The irritated tactician rose quickly, ignoring the laughter from the other two and the sultry look on Tharja’s face.

“I think it’s about time I went and… tried to contact that voice again,” he sighed. “Or something. Alone, Tharja. Stay there and… do whatever it was you were doing with those lizard eyes.”

*

Robin stood alone in the desert at twilight, basking in the cool breeze and the blessed silence. According to Tharja twilight was one of two times of day when Dark Magic was most potent, so she had insisted he try to contact the mysterious voice that they had followed halfway around the world. He had purposely chosen an area away from the oasis they had decided to stay the night near; far enough that he wouldn’t be disturbed, but close enough that if something happened he would be able to make the return journey quickly. The terrain looked like the rest of Plegia that Robin had seen; sand, some rocks, more sand. Just sand and rocks as far as the eye could see. Nothing special. No reason for him to have brought them in this direction, beside the lingering sense that something was out here.

“All right, voice,” Robin called to the empty desert. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Silence greeted Robin. After a few moments of waiting the tactician let out a long sigh and sat down on one of the nearby rocks.

_This was such a stupid idea,_ he thought bitterly, kicking at the dust. _And a waste of time. I chose now to start listening to the voices in my head? When they say ‘hey, travel for an extra two months and get your butt to the country you just finished invading and maybe, just maybe, I’ll tell you something about your past’? Gah, I’m such an idiot._

“Aw, forget it,” he muttered, sinking his face into his hands. “We should just go home. This was a waste of time.”

“Why are you sitting out here talking to yourself?”

Robin’s head shot up, his hand immediately dropping to his sword.

“Whoa!” the interloper called, holding up her hands and taking a step back. “Easy! I didn’t mean to startle you!”

“Sorry,” he groaned, relaxing and running a hand through his hair. “Force of habit.”

The woman who had found Robin seemed to bounce on the balls of her feet for a moment before coming to a decision.

“So what’re you doing out here all alone?” she asked curiously, taking another step towards the tactician.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he shot back defensively.

“True,” the woman laughed. “But I live near here. You’re the one sitting in the dark talking to yourself.”

Robin chuckled a little at her logic. As she drew closer to him Robin got a better look at her in the low light. ‘Woman’ was probably too generous a term for someone so young; she only looked about fourteen or fifteen. Wearing an ankle length white skirt and a sleeveless leather vest she looked like she would be at home in the desert, except that beneath a head of long, dark purple hair her skin was far too pale for someone that had lived in the desert long.

“I’m out here looking for answers,” Robin admitted, spreading his hands wide.

“By talking to yourself?”

“It’s the best way to get intelligent conversation.”

The girl giggled.

“That’s funny,” she said. “I’d say making me laugh has earned you a free meal. Follow me.”

Before Robin could respond the girl was off into the night, her shadow the only thing left that Robin could see. With a patented ‘what have I got to lose’ shrug Robin picked himself up off the rock he was sitting on and followed the girl.

They didn’t go far before darkness fell completely and the only light was from a weak crescent moon. Fortunately it was a clear night and the desert sands seemed to be pretty smooth where she was leading Robin, so he didn’t trip once. He stumbled a few times, but managed to catch himself before face-planting. The girl moved like she had walked the path in the dark a hundred times before, expertly avoiding the rocks and edges of dunes as she led Robin deeper into the desert.

When they finally stopped at the foot of a strange pile of stones it took Robin a moment to realize that the stones were camouflage for the house beneath them.

“Huh,” Robin said, marvelling at the simplistic defensive design of the building in the moonlight.

“I know, pretty cool, right?” the girl said as she walked inside.

Robin lingered for a moment before he saw a light shine out of the doorway. Stepping carefully Robin followed her inside.

It was a simple building; a large circular main room with a kitchen and a living area with a few low benches around a table, five rooms off to either side that Robin assumed were either bedrooms or a bathroom and a balcony around the upper tier of the central room with large windows disguised as natural holes in the rock formation.

“I was wandering through the desert one day when I found this place,” the girl said, setting down the pack she had been carrying near a pile of what had to be her other belongings. “Just abandoned and empty out here in the desert. Imagine that? A perfectly good house like this, completely abandoned! How weird is that?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty weird,” Robin agreed, walking around the circumference of the main room and poking his head in the doorways.

Bedroom, bedroom, an old dried up bathroom, bedroom…

“No way,” Robin gasped, igniting a fire spell in his outstretched hand for light as he stepped into the last room.

The walls of the room were filled, floor to ceiling, with old books. Robin ran a hand across the spines of some of the titles; historical records, political volumes, tactical manuals, books about the various plants and animals around the world, books about magic…

“This is amazing,” Robin muttered, looking around the room with wide eyes.

His gaze stopped on the desk near the back of the room with several large tomes piled on it. Gingerly, Robin picked up the book on the top of the pile, a blue cloth-bound tome the width of Robin’s arm that looked to have been extremely well read, and began to leaf through it. It was _A Beginner’s Guide to Battlefield Tactics_. Robin felt an overwhelming surge of nostalgia as he closed the book and carried it with him to the main room where the mysterious girl had set up a pot over a small cooking fire.

“Find something good?” she asked as she stirred whatever was in the pot.

“Yeah,” Robin said with a faint smile. “I actually did.”

“Well, finders keepers!” the girl sang as she stirred the pot.

Robin sat down on the bench opposite the one that the girl was perched on and looked at her over the small fire.

“I’m Robin, by the way.”

“I’m Fae; nice to meet you!” the girl said, looking up from her cooking and giving Robin a big smile. “It’s not very often I get to eat with new people, and I’ve been travelling a long time; it’s probably why I talk so much. So where are you from anyway, mister Robin?”

“I don’t know,” Robin said truthfully. “I’ve got amnesia; I don’t have any memories that are more than about a year old.”

“Wow, that sucks,” Fae said sadly, before perking up again almost instantly. “But look on the bright side; you get to try all your favourite foods again for the first time, you don’t have to remember all the embarrassing stuff you would have done as a kid, and you even get to have another first kiss!”

“Yeah, I don’t think that last one’s high up on the importance ladder.”

“Aw, boys are no fun,” Fae huffed.

“So why are you travelling all alone?” Robin asked curiously as she began to ladle out a thin looking soup.

“I always have,” she said with a shrug. “I guess I always will. There’s a lot to see in this world, and I feel like I’ve seen so little of it.”

“You know that’s one of the reasons we started travelling, too,” Robin said conversationally as he started to eat. “I mean, sure ‘let’s go find Robin’s memories’ was a great official reason to travel a little, but getting to see as much of the world as I have has been really great. This is really good, by the way.”

“Aw, thanks,” Fae said with a shy smile. “So you have no memories? None at all?”

“Well I wouldn’t say none… My head is full of facts and tactics and knowledge, but no memory of how any of it got there. I get weird senses of nostalgia all the time, but nothing to go off when I do. It’s really rather irritating, to be honest.”

“I can imagine,” Fae said over her bowl. “So have you found anyone that might be able to help?”

“Well we came here following a lead,” Robin admitted. “But it looks like that lead goes nowhere.”

Fae seemed to lose herself in thought for a few moments as they ate before speaking again.

“There’s supposed to be a shrine to one of the last divine dragons out in the desert near here,” she said, thinking carefully. “You could try going there and trying to contact the dragon and asking her nicely if she can restore your memories?”

“‘One of’ the divine dragons? How many are there?” Robin asked.

“Oh, there were lots,” Fae said excitedly. “Lots and lots; a whole race! Back before the time of the Hero King and the founding of the realms and everything the land belonged to the Dragon Tribes, the biggest of which was the Divine Dragons. They ruled over all the other dragons until the Earth Tribe betrayed them and started a war that the Dragons never recovered from.”

“How do you know all this?” Robin asked, leaning forward.

“I visit a lot of those shrines,” Fae said with a shrug. “I’m kinda like an unofficial dragon-scholar! I can take you to the one in the desert if you want?”

Robin weighed his options before answering.

“I’d appreciate that, but I’d have to find my friends again first. I’m sure they’d love to see it just as much as I would.”

“Yay! More friends!” Fae clapped, bouncing up and down.

*

Robin trudged into the firelight, making the others look up.

“There you are!” Tharja admonished. “I managed to save you some of the dinner.”

“Did you manage to contact our mysterious guide-voice, or are we simply to return to Ylisse?” Virion asked lazily.

“Who’s yer new friend?” Donnel asked from where he was cleaning the dishes.

“Ooooh, she’s so pretty!” Anna exclaimed. “But you know what would make you prettier, hon? Something from my cart! For an affordable price, anyway.”

Everybody was staring expectantly at Robin with a mysterious purple-haired girl half-hidden behind him.

“Everyone this is Fae,” Robin introduced. “Fae’s very generously offered to lead us to a shrine out in the desert that may or may not help return my memories. My thinking on the matter is what do we have to lose at this point?”

Robin turned to glance at Fae and, seeing her expectant expression, stepped to the side to make introductions.

“Sorry Fae; the scary looking one is Tharja, don’t worry, she’s a lot nicer than she looks; the one with silver hair is Virion, stay far, far away from him; the red head is Anna, don’t sign anything she gives you; aaaaaand our curly-haired friend is Donny. That’s everybody except the horse. So… I guess we’ll rest here tonight and make for the shrine come morning.”

Donnel got up and cheerfully greeted Fae, oblivious to the three glares being shot at Robin behind him as he did.

Fae started a little nervously, but before long she was deep in a spirited conversation with Anna and Virion about trade and economics, something she was apparently very interested in, while Donnel watched and listened with a wide eyed, uncomprehending look on his face.

Robin settled down next to the fire and took a few sips from his waterskin before pulling out the book he had found in the abandoned house.

“What did you find out in the desert?” Tharja asked curiously, settling down next to him.

“It was…” Robin thought for a moment. “There was an abandoned house. It looked like it had been vacant for a few years, but everything in it was untouched. Books, silverware, even the furniture. I… er… borrowed this book.”

Robin held the book out to Tharja, who accepted it and looked at the first few pages.

“ _A Beginner’s Guide to Battlefield Tactics_?” she read aloud. “I always assumed you were a little beyond the beginner level.”

Robin chuckled. “I am. But I had the weirdest sense of nostalgia when I picked up this book, so… I decided to hold on to it.”

“I’m sure you’ve read this book before if it’s the beginner’s guide,” Tharja said, handing it back.

“Yeah, probably,” Robin agreed, putting the thick book into the pouch next to his spellbook. “Knowing the way I read I’ve probably read it twenty or thirty times.”

Tharja went quiet for a while, leaving Robin to drift in and out of the hazy realm of half-sleep, before she spoke again in a small voice.

“Do you really think you’ll get your memories back?”

Robin shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t really care anymore. I doubt that there’s anything in my old life as important as the people in my new life.”

The last thing Robin saw before he fell asleep was Tharja smiling at him and blushing a little; apparently his veiled compliment had struck home.

*

Grunting as he snapped from asleep to awake, Robin rubbed his face and yawned before sitting up and looking around.

The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a pale light on the desert and the people lying around the ashes of last-night’s camp fire. Virion was curled up with his winter-cloak as a blanket, snoring lightly; his bedroll having been donated to Fae for the evening. The girl Fae was curled up on the bedroll between Tharja and Anna, the three of whom had lined up their rolls, possibly as a defence against any late-night wandering on Virion’s part. Donnel was already up, filling the waterskins and jugs that would sit in the back of the wagon during their trek across the sands today. Robin gave a stretch and stood, opting to help the young man.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled as he drew nearer, grabbing some of the empty jugs and wading into the oasis next to Donnel.

“Mornin’, Robin,” Donnel greeted cheerily. “Sure is early for ya to be up.”

“I’m excited, what can I say?” Robin admitted, dunking the jug into the water. “This one isn’t like all the other healers and crap that I’ve gone through in the last year. This one feels different.”

A look of mild confusion crossed Donnel’s face. “But I thought ya weren’t goin’ to another healer.”

Robin laughed. “No, Donny. But I’ve been chasing healers and remedies to restore my memories for a whole year now. They all had the same… I don’t know, feeling of anticipation in the air before I went to see them. This shrine Fae’s taking us to… it feels different somehow.”

“Sorry Robin, but I ain’t following ya,” Donnel said. “Must be a mage thing.”

“Yeah, probably,” Robin agreed, corking the jug he had filled.

The two finished their chore in silence while the sun crested the distant mountains, and Robin lightly kicked Virion awake as he brought the jugs to the cart.

“Up and at em, ladies,” Robin called as he began to assemble the necessary ingredients for a cold breakfast. “The day is upon us! C’mon, wake up or I’m sicking Virion on the lot of you!”

*

“I. Hate. Sand,” Robin complained for what was possibly the millionth time as he up-ended his boot, pouring the grains out of it. “I mean how does this stuff even get in my boots? There’s barely enough room in them for my feet!”

The group had chosen to take a break in the shade of a rocky outcropping; so far the desert crossing had been just as boring as Robin had suspected. They had talked a little during the morning, but as the day wore on and it became increasingly warmer the conversation had dried up. Robin was worried for Anna’s horse, but the animal seemed to be doing much better than the humans it was pulling.

“So we’ve heard,” Tharja muttered, emptying her own shoes.

They had started walking alongside the wagon to try and stave off some of the monotonous boredom, something Robin and Tharja were now regretting.

“Yeah, the sand gets everywhere,” Fae said cheerily as she jumped from the back of the wagon. “We’re almost there anyway.”

“Will it be safe to leave the wagon here?” Robin asked, looking around the abandoned landscape.

“Yeah, should be fine,” Fae said with a smirk. “Not a lot of people still come out this way.”

“I can see why,” Virion muttered, eying the scorching desert sands all around them.

*

A great stone altar loomed above Robin and his travelling companions, white stone standing in stark contrast to the darker earth of the desert around it. Twin rows of giant white columns, something Robin was beginning to note as a recurring architectural theme when it came to dragons, rose up out of the sand, simply standing in the silent air majestically, casting long shadows across the approach to the altar.

As they approached there was a sense of… something in the air, something Robin couldn’t put a name to; a feeling half felt or a noise half heard. Tharja looked unsettled, too, so Robin assumed it was a type of magical resonance.

It was as if time stood still around the altar; no wind blowed, nor were there any clouds in the sky; it was as if the travellers had completely stepped outside of the flow of time.

“A great tower once stood here,” Fae explained in a hushed voice. “This altar and the columns are all that remain.”

Robin nodded wordlessly, scanning the area for any imminent threat as they approached the steps to the massive stone slab the altar was set on.

Virion absently fingered at his bow string, eyes darting from shadow to shadow. Donnel walked close to Anna, nervously watching his new friends for any sign that he should be worried; the merchant woman seemed immune to the ancient aura the place was giving off as she looked around the ruins, no doubt trying to find something she might sell.

As they followed Fae to the foot of the steps, Tharja cast a curious glance at Robin.

_I’ve literally spent an entire year around her and still I have no idea how to decipher those glances,_ Robin thought irritatedly as she pushed ahead a little.

Robin hesitated when he reached the top of the stairs.

“What’s wrong?” Fae asked, looking back over her shoulder from halfway across the altar.

Robin shook his head, hurrying to catch up.

The surface of the altar was perfectly smooth and clean, as if untouched the elements despite having sat out in the desert for thousands of years. An ethereal aura hung about everything, and dancing shapes in the corners of Robin’s eyes made him turn, only to behold empty space and further desert.

“This is a place of great magical potency,” Tharja muttered in awe as she inspected the runes on one of the smaller columns ringing the altar itself. “I can practically feel it like a physical thing.”

Before Robin could answer he heard something silently calling to him from the centre of the altar, where a plain rectangular shrine sat embedded.

Fae stood silently and watched expectantly as Robin slowly approached and carefully put a hand down on the edge of the shrine, before jumping back from a blinding flash of light.

“Holy crap!” Fae shouted, awe and glee warring in her voice. “I can’t believe she actually answered!”

Robin looked with wide eyes at the girl, before looking back at the strange shrine.

Lying atop the shrine, which had been empty literally only seconds ago, was a woman.

She yawned and sat up slowly, blinking as if she had been asleep inside the shrine. Like Nowi she had long, pointed ears and when she yawned Robin could easily see that her teeth were much sharper than a regular human’s. Her long, dark green hair cascaded down her shoulders in a perfect wave as she slid off the shrine, stretching in a very human manner before realizing she had an audience.

“Ancient blood has awoken me,” she said slowly. “But I cannot linger long; my rest was not complete.”

Robin tried desperately to get his mouth to close.

Looking around he was relieved to see similar reactions on the faces of the others, all except Fae.

Virion looked at a loss; usually he would be hitting on a woman as beautiful as the dragon-lady, but something about her bespoke of ancient power not to be looked down on, no doubt silencing and confusing the man. Tharja had gone paler than usual; she was much more attuned to magical resonance than Robin, and no doubt she was feeling a little overwhelmed by the dragon’s presence; Robin certainly was. Donnel looked like he was about to drop to his knees and start praying, and Anna, for the first time since Robin had met the woman, looked at a complete loss as to how to proceed.

“Well,” Fae prompted with a light elbow in Robin’s ribs. “Ask already!”

“Uh, sorry,” Robin stammered, stepping forward. “I’m, ah, Robin, and I… uh…”

“I know who you are and of your circumstances, Robin,” the dragon-woman said with an ethereal, musical laugh. “You do not need to hold me or my kind in such high regard; in fact, I know you already treat with two others of my race in a very human manner.”

“Two?” Robin asked, forgetting who he was talking to for a moment. “I know Nowi’s a dragon, but who…?”

A light cough and a slight embarrassed wave from Fae got Robin’s attention, before the girl pulled the hair back from her _very much not human_ ears.

“Can we talk about it later?” Fae asked shyly. “Time is a ticking.”

“Right,” Robin said, snapping back to the dragon-woman. “I was hoping you might be able to… you know… help with the whole amnesia thing?”

“You wish to know if I can cure your amnesia?” the woman asked in her clear, melodious voice. “I cannot.”

Robin couldn’t help but drop his head as disappointment took root in his soul again.

“Do not despair, Robin,” the woman said, appearing before him and lightly forcing him to look up with a hand beneath his chin.

“I offer you knowledge,” she continued. “I cannot return to you what neither you nor I have. You have no memories because they have been taken by an ancient, horrible force that I had hoped to never face again.”

“What?” Robin asked desperately. “Who has my memories?”

“I do not remember his name,” the woman said sadly, releasing Robin and heading back to her shrine. “Such is the fate of one as ancient as I. But know that your fate and his are inexorably linked.”

“What does that word mean?” Robin heard Donny whisper to Anna, who quietly shushed him.

“My time here is at an end,” the woman said sadly, looking out over the desert.

“Aw… but you just got here!” Fae moaned.

“You cannot outrun your destiny, Robin,” the woman warned cryptically, turning to him as she climbed back onto the altar. “But you may change it, if your spirit is willing.”

“If my… This really raises more questions than it answers,” Robin said, finding his voice again.

“I am sorry,” the woman said, now sitting on the shrine. “I wish I could answer them for you.”

“Then just answer one. What’s your name?”

The woman seemed to be surprised by Robin’s question, before she smiled again as she lied down.

“It is Nagi, Robin. My name is Nagi.”

Robin nodded as Nagi faded into the shrine.

“Thank you, Nagi.”

The altar went silent as the dragon-woman disappeared again, and time seemed to return to normal, the wind blowing grains of sand on to the altar and through the columns.

“That. Was. So. Cool!” Anna exclaimed, jumping up and down and shattering the peace. “Did you see her!? We should see if we can get her do it again and charge admission!”

“What do you think that our mysterious beauty meant by your fate being linked to another’s?” Virion asked, moving to study the altar, before muttering “This was truly a pointless endeavour.”

“Not so much,” Tharja corrected him, crossing her arms and thinking. “We found out that Robin’s memories were stolen, and that his fate was linked to the thief’s. Right, Robin?”

“Robin?” she asked again, turning when Robin didn’t answer.

Robin had moved, and was standing at the edge of the altar looking out over the desert with Fae.

The view was beautiful; much like before in the north, the sky was a perfect, uniform blue over a seemingly endless sea of sand.

“So… you’re a dragon, too?” he asked, eyes not leaving the horizon.

“Yup,” she replied. “But by our standards I’m a pretty young one.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“Because when people find out it’s always ‘ooh, transform and do tricks’ or ‘can you burn this guy’s house down’ or ‘let us worship you’. It gets old.”

“I can imagine. I assume that’s why you travel alone?”

Fae nodded.

“Well, we’ve already got one manakete living with us among the Shepherds…” Robin began, before Fae cut him off.

“Thanks, but I’m not quite done seeing the sights,” she said, smiling in a carefree way.

“Well, the offer stands,” Robin said with a happy shrug. “We’re kinda hard to miss. Just go to the biggest building in Ylisstol and ask for me if you ever change your mind.”

A thought popped into Robin’s head.

“Give this to one of the guards, and they’ll bring you directly to me,” he said, fishing the charred stuffed rabbit he had been carrying around with his spellbook and other things for more than a year now.

“I’ll remember that,” Fae said, taking the small toy and putting it in her own pouch, hopping off of the altar and beginning to walk out into the desert, waving back at Robin and the others. “It was nice meeting you all!”

“What?” Donny asked, hurrying over to the edge. “She’s just leavin’?”

“She’s still got sights to see,” Robin said softly as the retreating form of the manakete girl disappeared in the heat haze.

Robin looked back to where the others were watching him expectantly.

“C’mon,” Robin said, clapping a hand on Donnel’s shoulder. “I think it’s time we all went home.”


	19. Chapter 19

Late spring in Ylisstol was a season of lush greenery and bright, sunny skies. The people rejoiced at being freed of winter’s grasp, and the city-state’s hibernating commerce bounced back almost as soon as the snow started to melt. Farmers began tilling the frozen soil around the capital in preparation for the thaw while the merchants in the city moved their winter stock back into storage, preparing for the excitement that only spring after a long, cold winter could bring.

It was into this Ylisstol that Robin and his travelling companions had arrived the night before, and now the tactician found himself in a state of pure, euphoric bliss. It had been so long since he’d felt this way he had actually forgotten the sheer, unadulterated pleasure. Subtle movements sent fresh waves of sensation running through his body as-

Three loud, resounding bangs distracted his thoughts.

“Robin! Wake up!”

With a snort and a low groan Robin rolled tighter in his blankets, ignoring the familiar voice and trying as hard as he could to return to the hazy land of half-sleep that he loved so much.

Three further, louder bangs echoed through his room in Ylisstol’s palace, the door rattling on its hinges.

“Robin!”

Losing his cool, he shot into a sitting position.

“It has been more than a fricking year since I’ve slept in a real bed! By whatever gods you hold dear, leave me in peace or I swear I’ll-”

The rest of his threat was cut off as the door burst open and Lissa came running through it, crossing the space before Robin could utter another syllable and tackling the tactician in a very tight hug.

“Robin!” she screamed with delight, almost throwing him out of the bed with the force of her charge. “I can’t believe you’re back!”

“Gahk! Lissa! Breathing!” he choked in response from between her shoulder and neck. “Can’t breathe! Hugging… Dying!”

“Oh, sorry!” she said, bouncing off of the tactician. “We were just so excited you’re back we couldn’t wait to see you again!”

“We?” Robin asked, rubbing at his neck.

Before he could ask for further clarification he spotted Lon’qu leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed, grinning like a bastard from above the princess’ head.

“Hello again, stranger,” the stoic swordsman greeted. “Perhaps we should allow Robin to dress and present himself to the Shepherds properly, dear.”

Lissa jolted, quickly climbing off of the bed and moving over to the door. “Oh! Right! Sorry, Robin! Promise to come by the barracks later and catch up with everyone! We all missed you so much!”

And with that, she closed the door, leaving Robin sitting in his bed very much awake. With another groan he forced himself out of the comfortable bed and silk sheets, yawning and scratching himself before glaring at the closed door again.

“I’m back for less than twenty four hours…” Robin muttered darkly to himself as he went about getting ready for the day. “And already I’m remembering why I left in the first place…”

*

Robin gave a great yawn and stretched his arms above his head as he stepped out of his quarters in the castle a little later, blinking and looking up and down the vaguely familiar hallway he found himself standing in.

Fortunately, he thought with a grin as he started to walk, Ylisstol hadn’t changed a bit.

They had arrived late the previous night, and Robin had been hoping to get a good night’s sleep; or at least a decent sleep-in. Anna and Donny had been astounded when he, Virion and Tharja had simply strolled past the palace guards with a few passing greetings before directing the newcomers to the barracks that would be their new home.

Robin smiled a little as he recalled the greeting that Chrom and Sumia had given him the previous evening.

Chrom had flown down the castle steps, bare-chested and wearing nothing but his pants and his cape, before wrapping Robin in the tightest, bone-crushing hug he had ever received, followed closely by the second most bone-crushing hug he had ever received when Sumia, clad in a silken nightgown and a simple robe, ploughed into him when Chrom was done.

Admittedly, he had missed his friends, but the absurdity of the Exalt and Queen of the Haildom hugging what must have looked like a random vagabond wearing nothing but their pyjamas on the palace steps must have been quite a sight for the guards.

He had assured them that he would join them for breakfast the next morning, made sure his room in the palace hadn’t been turned into a nursery or anything else, then immediately beelined for his bed.

Now, yawning and stumbling a little, he found himself making his way to the Royal Apartments for his promised breakfast. The royal guards at the entrance to the apartment snapped to attention when Robin approached, and then allowed him to pass.

Robin nodded back before he stepped into a scene of domestic bliss, finding himself immediately feeling very out of place after so long on the road. The room was small and informal, much more comfortable compared to the stuffy dining room that the Exalt would use for formal functions. It was well-lit by large windows overlooking the gardens, and Robin could see with barely a glance why Chrom valued it so highly. The rather small table next to the windows was piled high with breakfast foods, Chrom, Sumia, Lissa and Lon’qu, all sitting and chatting quietly over breakfast around it. Or simply sitting quietly while the others did the talking, in Lon’qu’s case.

_What in the hell is Lon’qu doing here?_ Robin thought with a confused glance at the swordsman, before Lissa discreetly reached over and wiped some syrup from the corner of his mouth.

Lon’qu shifted uncomfortably, but smiled warmly as he mumbled his thanks.

_Well, that answers that question._

“Robin!” Chrom greeted excitedly when he noticed the other man, rising and pulling out the fifth chair. “Come in! Join us!”

The tactician snickered as Lon’qu’s eyes widened and his face went ashen, clearly embarrassed to have been seen showing such weakness. As he sat and Chrom piled breakfast in front of him Robin couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place.

“Wow,” Robin said. “Breakfast with the royal family? I feel so special.”

“Don’t start with all that ‘royal family’ junk,” Chrom said happily. “To you we’ll always just be Chrom and Sumia.”

“And Lissa and Lon’qu!” Lissa added from across the table, shooting an annoyed glance at her oblivious brother.

“So tell us about your trip,” Sumia invited as Chrom resumed his seat. “You were gone for nearly two years!”

“Urgh. Yeah,” Robin groaned, running a hand through his hair. “We were getting sick of boats and decided it would be a good idea to walk home from Plegia, conveniently forgetting that it would take more than half a year.”

“I thought you were going north,” Chrom pointed out, curiosity evident on his features as he piled food onto Robin’s plate.

“Well, we did,” Robin explained, shovelling food into his face. “Oh gods it’s been so long since I’ve had bacon… Uh, anyway, we started in the north, and then travelled by boat down Ylisse’s eastern coast to the island where we met Donny who’s currently in the barracks; you’d like him, nice kid. After that we followed a lead to Plegia by boat again, and then when we got there we voted on it and decided to walk back.”

“So your trip was met with success?” Chrom asked hopefully.

“Nope,” Robin sighed. “It was fun, but I’ve still got no memories earlier than that field. Besides which I-”

His further explanation was interrupted by the sound of crying from the next room, Robin’s train of thought completely disappearing and leaving him sitting in stunned, confused silence.

“Is that… what I think it is?” he asked with wide eyes as Sumia excused herself and rose, heading for the sound, grinning mischievously.

“You haven’t heard?” Lissa asked excitedly.

“I don’t believe it,” Robin gasped when Sumia returned, holding a tiny bundle containing what could only be a baby.

“Robin, meet Princess Lucina,” Sumia said with an unmistakable tone of pride in her voice.

Before Robin could say no he found the child thrust into his arms, staring up brightly at him from under a shock of dark blue hair the same colour as her father’s, the mark of Naga shining in her left eye. The child looked up at him, laughing as she reached up, tiny hands grasping at the air as she gurgled happily in his arms.

“Aw, she likes you!” Sumia exclaimed happily.

“I’m impressed; she usually won’t let anybody but me or Sumia hold her,” Chrom said, leaning an elbow on the table. “Well don’t just stand there gawking! Sit back down and relax already.”

Robin nodded numbly, still looking at the child in his arms.

“Congratulations,” he finally managed after he resumed his seat. “I’m so happy for the both of you.”

Chrom reached over and grasped Sumia’s hand, and they both smiled at Robin.

_Wow, I really missed a lot, didn’t I?_ he thought as he looked down at the baby cooing softly in his arms again.

“So,” Robin asked, looking up at Lissa and Lon’qu pointedly as he bounced baby Lucina a little in his arms. “Who else got married while I was away?”

*

“You didn’t put her down for the rest of that meal,” Chrom pointed out as they walked through the castle grounds. “And not a peep from her, either! I think I know who to get to babysit next time Sumia and I have to go to a summit or something.”

Robin rolled his eyes.

“Just because your kid doesn’t scream when I hold her doesn’t mean you can sign me up as royal nanny.”

“The title suits you though,” Lon’qu quipped dryly.

The foreign swordsman and Chrom both laughed, leaving Robin to groan and think that at least Chrom was getting along with his new brother-in-law.

Everyone was married now. _Everyone_. Either married or so close to it didn’t matter anymore.

That’s what Robin had missed.

The only other people that weren’t getting hitched were the ones that had left with Robin, Gregor, Cordelia and Frederick.

Frederick and Cordelia had both been too busy for a relationship, despite spending almost all of their time together, according to Lissa; while Gregor had simply contented himself to wearing that abominable suit of his to everyone else’s weddings and chasing the skirts of the local tavern girls. And the palace’s servants. And… anyone else that would hold still long enough for Gregor to flirt with. It was like an older, low-born Virion, apparently.

“We can even get you a little apron with House Ylisse livery,” Chrom joked, sending both him and Lon’qu into further fits of laughter.

Robin rolled his eyes again.

“Not even if you have Miriel magically affix it to my arse permanently,” Robin muttered, pushing past the two laughing men and entering the barracks.

And instantly regretting his decision.

“Robiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin!” Nowi cried as she tackled him around the waist. “Welcome home!”

“Yeah, good to see you too Nowi,” Robin gasped, trying to free himself of the overbearing dragon-girl’s hug while the rest of the Shepherds closed in.

“Hah! The Vaike knew that his sworn rival would return!”

“Hey Bubbles! Been a while!”

“By Naga’s divine providence you have been returned to us unharmed; praise be.”

“It is… good to see you again, man-spawn.”

“Oy! Is good seeing young Robin again, yes? Tavern wenches best be watching out now, ha!”

_Oh crap,_ Robin thought to himself as he was swamped. _This is going to be a long morning._

*

Robin took a deep breath and basked in the silence.

He had spent the entire morning being fawned over by his friends and asked constant questions about their journey. He had deflected a good portion over to Virion, who had taken up his habitual seat next to the tea set in the barracks, and the man’s penchant for story telling seemed to serve him well as he told the tales of meeting Anna and then Donnel. Robin had finally managed to escape as the archer began to tell of their journey through Plegia, going into excruciating detail about the landscape the way only a poet could.

Robin stretched as he walked back to the palace, making sure to take as many alleys and back roads as he could; he felt stifled being inside all morning, probably a side effect of spending the better part of two years on the road.

The air in Ylisstol smelled familiar, though; it made Robin think of bread and wine, of fine meals with friends and training until he dropped.

The air in Ylisstol smelled like home to Robin, something he was both surprised and relieved to realise.

It had taken all of that travelling, looking for something that wasn’t even important to come to the conclusion that-

“There you are!”

Robin froze as a shouting voice shattered his musing, looking up as a great winged horse descended from the sky. The pegasus’ rider nimbly dismounted before wrapping Robin an intense steel-clad embrace.

“Ow! Dammit Cordelia, you’re always wearing armour!”

The red-headed Pegasus Knight Commander stepped back, smiling sheepishly.

“Sorry. When I received word that you had returned I had to come find you.”

“What, you just dropped everything to come and find your old tactician?” Robin asked with a lop-sided grin.

“Oh no,” Cordelia said with a glint in her eye. “I came to find the only person I haven’t shown-off Ylisstol’s new Pegasus Knights to yet.”

Robin gulped as he was dragged, only half-willingly, onto her pegasus, frowning as he recalled how long it had been since he had actually flown.

A short hop and flight later and Robin was falling off of the pegasus, doing his best not to seem too desperate to get off the beast in front of Cordelia’s new recruits. He cleared his throat and straightened his coat, standing straighter as Cordelia shouted for her troops to fall in.

Robin was slightly shocked to admit that the Pegasus Roost was a lot bigger up close than it looked from the ground; a large circular space with tiered stables for the flying horses ringing the room was offset by the large opening on one side of the room, looking like it could be shuttered off in the case of a siege. A winding stairway emerging from the floor offered entrance from the tower next to racks of saddles and other riding equipment. Robin assumed that the armoury would be downstairs where there was more room.

Eleven young women in armour all lined up, standing at attention.

“This,” Cordelia orated, walking along the line and back again. “Is the tactician Robin. This is the man that led our army to its victory over Plegia two years ago. If he says to jump, you say how high! Am I clear, Knights!?”

“Yes, Ma’am!” the eleven women shouted, stone faced and staring straight ahead.

“Well?” Cordelia asked expectantly, looking at Robin.

The tactician hrmed, stroking his chin while looking the line up and down.

“They look good,” Robin said after a moment. “Are they combat ready?”

This seemed to be the question Cordelia was hoping for, judging from the carnivorous glint in her eye.

“Knights!” Cordelia called. “Take to the sky and show the master tactician just how combat ready you are! Formation B!”

The Knights scrambled as Robin stood back; in less than ten minutes the women had their mounts saddled and were all holding training weapons as they urged their mounts out of the roost.

Cordelia led Robin to the edge of the tower, where she beamed with pride as the Pegasus Knights swooped and soared, showing off their skills.

“All of this in two short years,” Robin muttered appreciatively as he watched the manoeuvres get more and more complex. “Congratulations, Commander. I’m impressed.”

Cordelia blushed a little and mumbled her thanks. Apparently she still couldn’t handle praise from her friends.

“And what of Commander Cullen’s Knights? Have the ranks refilled a little?” Robin asked conversationally.

He knew it was none of his business after he had declined the position of Chief Tactician for Ylisstol, but he was curious all the same.

Cordelia smiled when she replied.

“Lord Cullen stepped down as Knight Commander after you left. It’s Knight Commander Frederick, now; and yes, the ranks have swelled quite a bit in the time you were gone.”

Robin whistled low. “So Frederick got promoted too? I can’t think of anyone else more suited to the role, honestly.”

“He takes his role… very seriously,” Cordelia said as the Pegasus Knights began to run their final manoeuvres. “At the detriment of most else in his life, it would seem.”

Robin quirked an eyebrow, but before he could ask Cordelia what she was talking about he had to step back as the Pegasus Knights came in for their landing.

He started to applaud as they dismounted.

“Very good, ladies! Very good!” Robin said. “I’ll be sure to keep your particular skills in mind if we ever go to war again.”

Cordelia was smiling so much that Robin was afraid the top of her head was about to pop off, when a messenger in house Ylisse livery came bolting up the stairs.

“Wing Commander! Prince Chrom is calling an urgent war council!”

The messenger started when he spotted Robin.

“Milord Tactician, your presence was requested, too!”

Robin nodded and began heading to the stairs as Cordelia began issuing orders for drills to the Knights.

_I have only been back one day and already Chrom calls an emergency war council,_ Robin thought with worry. _It figures I couldn’t even get even one bloody day to relax._

*

It was a strange sensation, entering the palace’s war room. Robin had only ever held war-councils in a tent, so having a dedicated room for it felt… Ostentatious.

In a good way, of course.

There were a number of people around the room, but Robin was too distracted with ogling the new surroundings to identify them at present. Chrom looked up from maps and reports spread out over the table, smiling lightly as he did.

“Just like old times, hey Robin?”

“You and I remember old times very differently,” Robin pointed out, moving to lean on the table. “For instance this war room? Much nicer that your tent.”

“Indeed,” Raimi said from behind Chrom.

Robin started, cursing his distraction. How he kept missing these people in heavy armour was well and truly beyond him. Beside her stood a taller woman in armour adorned with dragon-wing effigies and long dark pink hair going well past her waist.

“Raimi? If you’re here then I assume this has something to do with Regna Ferox? Uh… sorry, you I don’t know.”

“Of course milord,” the new woman said with a disarming smile. “My name is Cherche, and I’ve come with lady Raimi to deliver a very important message.”

Raimi nodded grimly.

“We’ve been attacked by our neighbours from across the sea; the Valmese army has invaded our shores.”

Everybody else in the room went tense or cursed. Robin scratched his head and waited patiently.

_They’ll remember I don’t have any memories any second now._

“Prince Chrom, I believe that we need to mobilize our armies,” Cullen said after a brief pause.

“Agreed,” Chrom said. “I’ll lead a vanguard with the Shepherds. Frederick, you will come in behind us with the majority of the main army. Cullen, I trust you can hold the capital while we’re gone?”

“By your will, milord,” Frederick said, bowing as he left to organize the troops.

“Of course, Prince Chrom,” Cullen said, thumping a fist over his heart and making his exit.

“Now,” Chrom said turning to Raimi. “I need every drop of information on this foe that you have.”

_Ooookay. I’ll just… get caught up on the politics later_ Robin thought as Raimi began to detail the beachhead the Valmese had set up on Regna Ferox’s western shore.

*

Robin knocked loudly on Virion’s door.

The noble archer had been scarce ever since word had spread that the Valmese army had invaded Regna Ferox and the Shepherds were marching the next day. He had skipped dinner, and more worrying was the fact that none of the servant girls had seen him all afternoon.

Robin tried the door again when there was no response.

“Virion? C’mon, man! I saved you some dinner! It’s real food! You know how long it’s been since we’ve eaten real food, right?! Don’t pass this up, because I will totally eat this myself!”

He was about to try knocking again when the door opened, revealing a very strained looking archer.

“Is everything… alright?” Robin asked when Virion stood in the doorway.

“You may wish to come in,” Virion said cryptically, leaving the door open as he returned to his room.

Robin followed with a concerned look on his face. He’d never seen Virion act this way before; he’d seen the man dumped, chased off by jealous lovers, and even once he’d seen the man get his butt kicked for hitting on the wrong woman (and wound up in a bar room brawl that they had sworn each other to silence over); but he’d never been this… dour. This depressed, and at the same time focused.

He had his three bows spread out, and was in the process of restringing and cleaning them. A thin rapier, probably half the size and weight of Robin’s, sat next to a light buckler; both looking like they had just been cleaned and polished, too.

“Not my strongest point, but I have some skill with the blade,” Virion said as he noticed Robin eying the sword. “If my fears are correct, then now is not the time to be holding anything back.”

“Obviously you know something I don’t,” Robin said, setting down the plate of food he was carrying. “I don’t even know where Valm is, let alone why everyone’s so worried.”

Virion sat, resting his arms on his knees as he hunched over, staring into space. His normal, flowery speech was almost entirely absent, Robin noted with some unease. Whatever the people of Valm had done in the past had obviously scarred Virion greatly.

“Valm is a country to the west, across the sea,” Virion explained, forgoing his usual speech pattern. “Once the continent was split up into numerous different nations, each with their own varied customs and beliefs, trading freely amongst each other. It was a good time, when bandits were scarce and work was abundant. About ten years ago a man named Walhart came to power in the nation of Valm, on the far-west of the continent; he now goes by the name Walhart the Conqueror. In ten short years he swept aside all opposition and has claimed lordship over the entirety of the continent; now it appears he has set his sights on this fine land. I had thought to escape his tyranny here…”

“So you’re from Valm?” Robin prompted when Virion went silent.

“No!” Virion said sharply, before continuing a little softer. “No, I am from… Nay, no more lies. I am the last of the House of Virion, lords and rulers of the kingdom of Rosanne. Walhart stole my land and butchered my family. I was forced to flee for my very life, and hide here in an attempt to gather my strength.”

“So wait… you’re royalty too?” Robin asked, shocked at the revelation. “Does Chrom know?”

_And more importantly who else is secretly royalty? Is Gregor going to tell me tomorrow that he’s secretly the lost king of Regna Ferox?_ he thought, not without some mild irritation.

“Indeed,” Virion said, beginning to recover and return to his usual speech patterns. “The Lord Chrom and his dearly departed sister were kind enough to offer me sanctuary in return for my services. Apart from perhaps the new Knight Commander and his predecessor, none of the others are aware of my most noble lineage.”

Robin nodded, staring into Virion’s eyes, seeing his opportunity to fill in the gaps in his knowledge.

“Thank you for telling me, Virion. But right now, I need you to tell me everything you know about Valm; their forces, their favoured strategies, their troop dispositions, everything. Then eat something. You’re already skinny enough as it is.”

“Robin, I… I’m sorry. I will do my best, but it is difficult for me.”

The tactician grinned, reaching for his ace in the hole.

“Perhaps this might help?” he asked, holding the bottle of wine he had hidden in his deep coat pocket.

Virion eyed the bottle blankly for a minute before breaking out into a tired smile.

“You really do have an answer for everything, my friend.”

*

Chrom found Robin in the library late that night, pouring over tactical manuals.

The man looked like he was possessed, flying through pages and tearing through books, reading at a speed Chrom could never dream to attain, all the while scratching notes onto loose parchment or into the tactical manual he had left in his room when he went on his trip. Miriel would have a fit if she saw the way he was treating the books.

“It’s a little late, Robin,” he said gently, approaching the table.

“One word,” Robin said without looking up. “Cavalry. I have a lot of catching up to do before we leave tomorrow; we’ve never faced a foe that relies so heavily on their cavalry and I’ve never had cause to have to defend against them on this level.”

“So you’ve decided to come?”

“Wasn’t much of a decision. Unless, of course, you’ve given my job away?”

Chrom chuckled. “No. The position is yours. I wouldn’t trust my life, or the lives of my loved ones to anyone else.”

That made Robin stop and look up.

“Sumia’s coming.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. We’ve already discussed it, and she feels that this is the best course of action for everyone.”

“Dammit,” Robin groaned, resting his forehead in one hand.

“Don’t worry, Robin,” Chrom soothed, placing a comforting hand on Robin’s shoulder. “I know you’ll keep her safe.”

“What?” Robin asked looking up. “No, that’s not it! I assumed she was staying here! You’ve just undone the last hour of my planning!”

Chrom blinked a few times before bursting into laughter.

“Oh, I missed you my friend. I haven’t laughed like that since before you left.”

“Yeah, good for you,” Robin muttered, scratching out lines of planning and adding extra to others with lightning speed. “I’m just glad it continues to come so naturally to me. But are there any other surprises I need to know about?”

“No,” Chrom laughed. “I’m pretty sure you have everything else covered. But please try to get some sleep tonight. It does us no good for our tactician to be exhausted during the battle.”

“I’ll sleep on the way there,” Robin muttered as Chrom left him to his work. “It’s a five day journey, anyway.”

*

Robin started as he realised someone was shaking him and repeating his name.

“Robin, you should be in bed,” Tharja said softly.

He looked around with groggy eyes. He had fallen asleep at his desk in the library; face down on the books he was working through. The candle he had been using had long since burned out, the only illumination in the room at present being the small fire dancing above Tharja’s finger tips.

“Can’t sleep,” Robin mumbled, reaching for his tactical manual and yawning. “Too much to do. Cavalry… gonna kill us…”

“I can hex you into bed if I have to,” Tharja pointed out.

Robin froze for a moment before heaving a great sigh and standing, his aching back protesting from the long hours he had been hunched over the table.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Why aren’t you asleep, anyway?”

Tharja seemed to shuffle her feet nervously.

“Tharja…?” Robin warned.

“I can’t sleep if I don’t watch you sleep,” she said in a small voice, looking away and continuing to shuffle her feet.

“Weird and creepy,” Robin commented, brushing by her. “But like so many of the other weird little habits you have, I suppose I’ve gotten used to this one. Come on if you’re coming; you won’t have to wait long tonight, that’s for sure.”

He was sure he heard Tharja squeak with delight at the invitation as she hurried to catch up to him. Normal circumstances might dictate he be thoroughly disturbed by her admission, but after two years of wandering around the wilderness with the eccentric Dark Mage Robin really couldn’t find any reason to turn her odd request down.

“Just…” he added as an afterthought. “No touching.”

*

The steady beat of wings too big to belong to any pegasus snapped Robin out of his worried imaginings; they could see the smoke rising in the distance from the western port town from where they had opted to stop for the evening after a long five days of marching and riding like the fires of hell was at their heels. The Shepherds were almost upon the battle.

Virion had continued to be quieter than usual, but after the first night he had confessed his origin to the rest of the Shepherds, and now he was slowly returning to his normal self.

He also had first-hand experience leading troops against the Valmese; something Robin was keen to make use of for his own strategy.

Robin had spent the better part of the trip either frantically trying to keep up with Chrom’s incredible pace, or nose-deep in some book or another. He had forgone training, resting and without Tharja’s nightly intervention he would have foregone food and sleep, too.

Robin gripped his sword tight as a wyvern swooped low, but not so low that the rider would be mistaken as a threat.

“Peace!” the woman on the creature’s back called, holding up her empty hands. “I mean no ill will! It is I, Cherche!”

Virion, ashen faced, pushed through the crowd of Shepherds to where Robin and Chrom were approaching her.

“I can scarcely believe my eyes,” he muttered.

She dismounted and stood before Chrom, before dropping to one knee.

“Sire, please accept my axe and my service; this may not be my war, but it is my cause.”

“Uh… okay,” Chrom said, coming up short. “Welcome aboard… I guess.”

Chrom questioningly turned to Robin.

“It would do you well to trust this woman,” Virion said from behind them. “She is known to me as a warrior unmatched.”

Cherche’s head shot up as she heard Virion’s voice, but she held her tongue as Chrom nodded.

“Good enough, I suppose. Fall in with the rest of the soldiers, Cherche; we’re marching for the port come morning.”

The Shepherds went about their business of setting up the camp, eying the stranger warily but in most cases disinterestedly.

_How often does a heavily armed wyvern-riding woman land in the middle of a procession of soldiers and ask to join them, anyway? For anyone else this would almost be weird…_ Robin thought as he watched the woman.

“So you obviously know…” Robin began, looking over his shoulder to where Virion had been mere moments ago; the archer had disappeared though, leaving Robin standing alone talking to himself. “…Her. Huh.”

With a shrug at the archer’s strange behaviour, Robin went to introduce himself to the new woman who was still standing by her mount, looking a little perplexed.

“Hello again, Cherche!” he said with a grin and a happy wave. “Remember me?”

Cherche looked at Robin for a moment before comprehension dawned.

“Sir Robin, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” she said with a formal bow.

“It’s just Robin, milady,” Robin said with a chuckle as he waved off her formalities. “I’m hardly one for formal behaviour; just ask anyone in the camp. Why don’t you follow me and we’ll get you set up with some proper lodgings?”

“That sounds excellent, Robin,” Cherche said with another of her disarming smiles.

*

“Alright you snake, what’s the big idea? Running off like Lon’qu from the women’s bathing tent?”

Virion jumped a foot in the air as Robin slipped into his tent.

“Egad, Robin!” Virion shouted. “Do not do that to a man!”

Robin stood silently, arms crossed and tapping one foot on the ground impatiently.

“I suppose you would like me to explain my association with the lady Cherche?” Virion sighed.

“I only said as much two seconds ago.”

Virion nodded grimly.

“She was… I suppose she still is… one of my old vassals from Rosanne. It was she that spirited me away from the battlefield that almost claimed my life and saw me safely to Ylisse.”

“I seem to recall more dragging your bleeding carcass than spiriting,” Cherche said as she stepped into the tent behind Robin, this time making him jump.

There was a tense moment where Virion and Cherche stared at each other. Robin found himself entirely unable to read the mood; in his mind they were either about to kill each other or jump into each-other’s arms. Neither thought seemed appealing to witness…

“Is this one of those things I want to make myself scarce for?” he asked warily as the two continued eying each other across the tent silently.

“Whatever you are planning, my dear, you may as well get it over with,” Virion sighed, giving Cherche a sad smile. “If we are to fight this war together, we will have to talk again.”

Cherche nodded and stepped in front of Virion, and surprised them both by pulling the taller man into a warm embrace. Virion had just enough time to look shocked over her shoulder before she stepped back.

“It is so good to see you doing well, sir,” she said with a charming smile. “When I came to see you in Ylisstol six months ago and you were absent, we feared the worst for you.”

“We?” Robin asked, before he noticed the draconian head of a wyvern peeking in through the tent flaps, making the tactician jump again as it screeched at its mistress’ words.

“It is good to see you, too, Minerva,” Virion added. “And I apologize; Robin and I were on a quest of epic, continent spanning proportions to restore that which he had lost.”

“I hope it was successful, then,” Cherche said, casting a glance at the confused tactician.

“I take that as my cue to exit,” Robin said, deftly sidestepping the wyvern and beating a hasty retreat, ignoring Virion’s pained look as he did.

The last thing he needed to see or hear was _another_ couple… coupling. He’d gotten more than his fair share of that during the last war; and it was obvious that the two had some issues to work out, not something Robin needed to get in the middle of.

_Maybe I can just go and assist with dinner instead? That’s a little safer, even for me._

*

“I can’t believe they would just execute helpless civilians,” Cherche growled from atop her wyvern, knuckles white as she gripped the haft of her axe.

Her mount, the wyvern Minerva, let out a mournful cry before Cherche leaned forward and patted its neck reassuringly.

“They are beasts,” Virion spat from Robin’s side. “Nay, they are less than beasts; an animal does not kill indiscriminately that which may be of use to it. These men are no better than the Risen.”

The tactician found himself nodding in silent agreement with his friend’s sentiments.

The battle had gone smoothly and without a hitch, though; they had simply rolled into town, demanded the Valmese General surrender and when he had refused they had faced the mounted Valm soldiers in battle.

Robin had proposed using their superior manoeuvrability among the buildings to their advantage, attacking with magic and archers from around corners and luring the cavalry into confined spaces where their reach counted for little. Sully and Stahl were unimpressed about being held in rearguard, but Robin had counted on the superior speed and agility of the Shepherds on foot. Sumia, Cordelia and Cherche had proven invaluable too, darting in and decimating the Valmese troops unused to being attacked from above or behind and proving to be perfect bait in most cases.

He looked back to where Virion and Cherche were talking and smiled lightly. Apparently the two were a little closer than the standard lord-vassal relationship. Not that either would admit it.

He was distracted from his thoughts when Sumia swooped in, looking a little out of breath atop her own mount.

“Robin,” she called. “Chrom wants to see you on the docks; hop on and I’ll give you a ride.”

The tactician nodded, waving at Virion and Cherche as he hopped up behind Sumia and she kicked her pegasus off the ground. There was a brief moment when Robin wished he had walked instead; from above the town he could see all of the considerable damage that had been done, but before long Sumia landed next to the small field tent that had been set up by the Valmese, now co-opted by the victorious Ylisseans as Chrom’s command post.

“Ride out, inform Commander Frederick and Khan Flavia that the town has been taken,” the Prince was ordering a runner, who saluted smartly and leapt onto a horse and rode off like the wind.

“You were able to finish the last of them?” Chrom asked Robin as he approached.

Robin nodded. “We’ve claimed victory today.”

The Prince and Khan Basilio had been leading the fighting near the docks while Robin led the guerrilla teams in the town that had taken the majority of the Valmese troops down. It had felt strange, yet still familiar, to be in command of soldiers again. Unlike the Palace in Ylisstol, though, warfare was not something Robin had missed.

The big Khan huffed a massive sigh. “At what cost though? My army is in shambles and the town has been all but destroyed.”

“The people of Regna Ferox are a hardy bunch,” Robin pointed out. “They will recover.”

Basilio nodded gratefully, looking out over the destruction again.

“It doesn’t speak well of our odds, though,” Chrom said pessimistically. “Feroxi warriors are some of the best this side of the Long Sea.”

Sumia huffed and pinched Chrom’s side.

“I know, I know,” he said with a weak smile. “Appearances and all that…”

“The important thing is that we have the docks again,” Robin said, looking at the map of the city Chrom had lain out. “Now we just have to keep them.”

“Easier said than done, though…” Basilio pointed out grimly.

“The Valmese forces’ greatest advantage are their cavalry,” Robin pointed out, holding his chin in one hand. “We need to take that advantage away.”

“I know that stance,” Chrom said, excitement beginning to build. “You have a plan, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Robin said, pushing himself up from the table. “But we’re going to need boats. Lots of boats. Sooner, rather than later.”

“All of my boats were destroyed during the raid,” Basilio said flatly.

“Ylisse has a few light corvettes for costal patrols,” Chrom said. “We may be able to incur the services of a merchant company, but still they wouldn’t be outfitted for war like the Valmese fleet.”

Robin eyed the Valm warships, looking at the thick panelling and wicked cannons yawning like gaping maws from shutters on the sides.

“At least we still have some here we can make use of…” he muttered thoughtfully.

“Do you have an idea, Robin?” Sumia asked tentatively as the three men lapsed into silence.

“This isn’t enough. We need to talk to a nation that has a fleet,” Robin said simply. “And I can think of only one other nation on this continent.”

“No,” Chrom said instantly. “Not a chance. No way in hell. Not happening.”

“Dear,” Sumia admonished.

“Think about it, boy,” Basilio murmured, mimicking Robin’s pose. “They have gold and a sizeable fleet; and more importantly we have a fart’s chance in the wind without them.”

“Crude, but right,” Robin agreed, looking at Chrom expectantly. “It’s really the only option.”

The Prince growled for a moment, looking like he was going to continue arguing before sagging and nodding, wordlessly signalling a messenger with a wave of his hand.

“Go to Plegia,” Chrom ordered the startled man. “Organize an immediate summit with its King.”

Robin sagged with relief as Chrom sent off the messenger with a frown.

“Let’s just hope the current King is a little more stable than the last,” he muttered.

Basilio laughed his deep, rumbling bellow of a laugh.

“Aye, lad,” he chuckled. “It would be a nice change, wouldn’t it?”

*

“Really?” Robin asked incredulously. “Carrion Isle? Really? How the hell do they think we’ll react to that? Having a summit on ‘Carrion Isle’? Just the name, for gods’ sake!”

“I know,” Chrom said, leaning with his elbows on his table.

The messenger had returned two days later with Plegia’s new King’s reply, which had stated they would meet with Chrom on Carrion Isle, just off of the Plegian coast.

Robin hadn’t been idle in those two days; along with the majority of the Shepherds he had assisted the town in its post battle clean-up and then further with making repairs to some of the less affected buildings. He had been somewhat surprised to see Khan Basilio assisting alongside them, grunting and straining under heavy loads that would have taken three men to normally lift.

Frederick had arrived the first day with the Ylissean army who would be garrisoning the town while the Shepherds organized the ships. Flavia was waiting in a war-camp not far away; close enough that the Feroxi warriors could assist them in the case of another invasion, but not so close as to strain the town’s already brutalized ecosystem.

Robin sighed and leaned with his back against the edge of Chrom’s table.

“Gonna say it now in case I don’t get the chance later. Trap.”

“Well that much is obvious,” Chrom said with a tired laugh. “But we need their ships, like you said. If there’s even a chance this is on the up and up, we have to take it.”

“Well let’s just spring the trap, then,” Robin said. “We’ll go with a small group and if things go pear-shaped you can scream ‘I told you so’ while we fight our way out.”

“I’m inclined to agree with the small group idea, at least,” Chrom said, rolling his eyes. “We’ll move faster in a small group. But I’ve already said ‘I told you so’.”

Robin rolled his eyes.

“I’m going to make you a sign that says ‘I told you so’ on it and you can just save time by holding it up.”

*

Virion took a deep breath, looking at the assembled Shepherds and smiling happily.

“Ah, the smell of the open road,” he said cheerily. “Brings back fond memories, does it not?”

“Yeah,” Robin said over his shoulder. “Of being rained on; of being snowed on; of killing more bandits than there were men in the Plegian army. I could go on. Do you want me to go on?”

The archer chuckled. “You really are a ‘glass half empty man’, aren’t you?”

“I’m just sick of travelling,” Robin moaned, draping himself over his horse’s neck. “I want some stability for a change. A nice house. With a big library and a comfy reading chair in front of the fireplace. Is that too much to ask?”

They, along with Chrom and several of the other Shepherds, had been riding for a day and were already at the Plegian border; another few hours and they would reach the small town that hosted the ferry that would take them to Carrion Isle.

Along with Virion, Cherche, Sumia, Tharja, Gregor, Frederick, Cordelia, Anna and her wagon and Panne were with Robin and Chrom.

The mood was muted; nobody wanted to be seen grovelling to the Plegians after the disastrous war.

“You never did tell any travelling stories,” Chrom pointed out.

“What’s there to tell?” Robin asked. “I wasted a year seeing increasingly strange healers, getting my butt whomped by Virion at chess and having my personal space invaded by Tharja. The end.”

“Oy, is grouchy today,” Gregor laughed, tossing Robin a vial. “You needing Gregor’s magic tonic!”

Robin groaned, downing the little vial in one gulp.

“Blech!” he exclaimed afterwards. “I can’t believe I missed this crap!”

“How you can keep drinking that stuff,” Chrom said with a chuckle and a shake of his head.

“Is addictive, yes?” Robin said in his best imitation of the older mercenary’s accent, perking up as he began already feeling the tonic’s effects.

All of the assembled Shepherds laughed, including Gregor.

“Is good impression!” he laughed loudly. “They say ‘impersonation sincerest form of flattery’, no?!”

Robin grinned as morale lifted, the other Shepherds chuckling along to his antics.

_If nothing else court jester remains an open career option for me_ he thought as they continued down the dusty road through Plegia.

The tactician looked around, feeling his spirits drop again as he did.

“I hate Plegia,” he muttered sullenly when he was sure no one was listening.

*

The channel crossing had gone smoothly, although the Shepherds had been forced to leave their mounts with Anna at the wharf; the merchant wouldn’t abandon her wagon, and the ferry was too small to move it safely along with all of the horses. Sumia, Cordelia and Cherche had simply flown over the channel while the others all crowded onto the small raft, waving as Anna set up her little stall to hopefully make some money while she killed time.

Robin looked around the desolate landscape warily, trying to see any sign of impending ambush. He wasn’t the only one; Frederick and Gregor were looking around like they were expecting trouble, too.

Satisfied that they were in no immediate danger Robin let himself relax a little.

It was strange to be around so many people again after travelling with no one but Tharja and Virion for so long. He had grown used to Tharja’s quiet, sardonic wit and Virion’s seemingly unshakable optimism to counter his own paranoid scepticism. But now he had Chrom’s blind optimism, Libra’s faith, Lissa’s cheerfulness, Lon’qu’s dour nature… the list went on, while necessity had forced a wedge between himself and his two travelling companions. It was strange in a good way, though. Robin hadn’t realized how much he missed his friends until he actually returned to Ylisstol; he missed it enough that he could even put up with the feeling of being the only single man at a couple’s retreat, which was how the camp had been feeling lately.

The fort they were to meet with the new king of Plegia in loomed above them; wind howling through empty windows and across the dead and abandoned lawns giving the whole area a foreboding feel as the sun began to descend in the west.

“Not too stereotypical looking,” Robin muttered sarcastically to Chrom, who had a difficult time attempting to remain regal looking on their approach as he stifled his laughter.

They were met by a stern-faced vassal wearing black livery with a strange purple six-eyed symbol on it, a symbol that instantly put Robin on edge.

Chrom, Robin and Frederick were led deeper into the fort while the other Shepherds were offered food and drink in the entry hall, the vassal apologizing for not having the space to accommodate all of the warriors. Robin silently followed a step behind Chrom, next to Frederick. He had been reading up on proper court etiquette as a matter of interest, and felt like he should at least allow Chrom to get off to a proper start without seeming to put himself on the same level of standing as a commoner.

“Robin, get your butt up here,” Chrom hissed, discretely dragging Robin forward.

_So much for that brilliant plan_ Robin thought with an internal sigh.

The vassal brought them to an empty receiving room before bowing deeply and exiting; empty in the literal sense as well as the figurative one. The entire fort gave off a disused, abandoned air; like it had only recently been hastily brought back into service, perhaps even specifically for this meeting.

“Have you noticed the new crest that the vassal was wearing?” Frederick asked Chrom in a hushed tone. “It is the symbol of the Grimleal, milord.”

The prince nodded, his mouth a thin frown.

The word sent Robin’s head into a spin; no memories surfaced, but the word gave him the feeling of having once been very important in his life. He strained his mental muscles trying to pluck something, anything, out of the void that was his life before the Shepherds, but nothing was forthcoming.

His musing was interrupted as a familiar black-clad figure swept gracefully into the room.

“Greetings, Prince Chrom,” Aversa said in a pleasant voice. “Plegia welcomes you.”

“Hello Aversa,” Chrom ground out, obviously trying to maintain some level of decorum. “I knew it was too much to hope Gangrel’s madness had caused your death, too.”

_Or maybe not so much_ Robin corrected with another internal sigh.

Aversa chuckled a little, sinking back to a hip.

“What can I say? It appears fate has designs for me yet. I now serve faithfully under Plegia’s new King as his advisor and vassal; King Validar is a great man, but unexperienced with the Court. My services were necessary.”

Robin reeled as another burst of nostalgia assaulted his mind.

“Your King uses the symbol of the Grimleal as his crest,” Frederick pointed out.

“Of course,” Aversa said, her tone conversational. “Many Plegians worship Lord Grima. I, too, am Grimleal. My liege often says that it was his faith that got him through the grief of Gangrel’s passing. Does this information upset you, Sir Frederick?”

“That’s ‘Knight-Commander’ Frederick, milady,” the man ground out through clenched teeth.

“It was a difficult time,” Aversa went on, showing no signs of having heard Frederick’s correction. “But he kept order where there might have been chaos. We had meant to organize an official visit to Ylisstol after the coronation, but you know how these things go… Ah, here my lord is now.”

The three Shepherds straightened and turned slightly to witness the entry of Plegia’s King.

“Presenting his lordship, King Regnant of Plegia, King Validar.”

The man strode in, robes swishing and head held high; there was no honour guard, no pomp or ceremony aside from Aversa’s introduction; he just entered the room, much the same way Chrom or Robin would have. Robin found himself thinking he would almost have been warming to the man if he hadn’t given off such a fierce aura of Dark Magic.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Prince Chrom,” the King said in a finely cultured accent, bowing formally. “My name is Validar, King Regnant of Plegia.”

“The honour is mine, good king,” Chrom said stiffly, returning the bow but hesitating as he rose. “Is it… possible we’ve met before, King Validar?”

Validar chuckled a little. “No, I’m sure I would remember meeting with Ylissean royalty.”

Chrom nodded slowly, unconvinced.

Recognition hit Robin like a ton of bricks; the King looked almost identical to the assassin that had come after Emmeryn.

The assassin Gaius had killed right before Robin’s eyes.

“And you must be the master tactician, Sir Robin,” Validar said with another, lighter bow in his direction. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“You know of me, sire?” Robin asked defensively.

“Of course!” Validar tutted. “The whole world has heard the stories of the masterful tactician that led Ylisse to victory; they say that it was almost entirely your doing. And indeed, I see the spark of wisdom in your eyes.”

Robin nodded automatically, glancing to see if Chrom recognized the man yet, too; from the frown creasing the Prince’s brow it was obvious that he did.

“Come now,” Validar said, breaking the awkward silence. “Negotiations haven’t even begun yet, and already so much frowning!”

“My apologies, King Validar,” Chrom said quickly. “We meant no disrespect.”

Robin made a conscious effort to relax.

“Then let us get right down to why you are here,” Validar said with a clap of his hands.

Aversa stepped forward, unrolling a piece of parchment and handing it to Chrom. The Prince’s eyes widened as he read the paper, his jaw twitching as his eyes scanned the neat, flowing writing.

“Plegia can offer you no soldiers,” she said. “But we can provide warships, and transports; all of Plegia’s navy. With crews, of course. In addition, we would be pleased to fully fund the campaign against Valm.”

“That is… surprisingly generous of you, milord,” Frederick said as he read over Chrom’s shoulder. “We could literally not ask for any more; you offer us most all of Plegia’s assets.”

“I would give troops as well, Knight-Commander, but our army remains in a state of disarray after the war,” Validar said regretfully. “I trust that gold and ships is a suitable sign of commitment to the cause?”

“Of course it will,” Chrom said, rolling up the parchment and handing it behind him to Frederick. “Thank you, King Validar.”

“The honour is ours, my Prince,” Validar said with another deep bow. “After all, this war does not only affect Ylisse and Regna Ferox. I look forward to this being the first step to building a strong bond between our two nations.”

“As do I,” Chrom said, returning the bow. “But if there is nothing else, my men and I must return to the port in Regna Ferox and begin preparing for the journey to Valm.”

“Oh, so soon?” Aversa said with convincing disappointment in her voice. “But we have one more introduction to make yet.”

“And who would that be?” Chrom asked in the spirit of cooperation after the incredible boon Plegia had promised them.

“A Hierophant of the Grimleal church, the highest of all his order in Plegia. He wished to offer his blessings for your coming campaign, as is our religion’s custom,” Validar explained as a man in dark robes approached the group, his face veiled in darkness.

“So you lead the people in worship?” Robin asked in the silence that followed. “We were just discussing religion earlier.”

The Hierophant remained silent, staring at the assembled group from beneath his cowl.

“I… I’m sorry, sir,” Robin said hesitantly. “Have I said something to offend you?”

The Hierophant took a step towards Robin, bringing them face to face.

“The heart still sleeps, but the blood flows through it,” the Hierophant rasped. “And the blood is strong.”

Robin stepped back reflexively.

The dark energy he had felt from the Hierophant in that brief moment dwarfed that of even Validar; it dwarfed anything he had ever felt before. Robin felt as if he were drowning in it, as if the energy were eclipsing the sun itself and drawing Robin deeper into its inky black depths.

“What was that?” he asked worriedly, breaking out in a cold sweat.

“Good Hierophant, I would ask you lower your cowl in the presence of royalty,” Frederick said with a disapproving noise. “It is a common courtesy in Ylisse.”

The Hierophant’s head snapped to look at Frederick, a deep frown appearing on his face.

Robin’s heart began to beat quicker, an irrational fear taking hold.

“You are a long way from Ylisse, Knight Commander Frederick,” the Hierophant said in his strange, raspy voice. “But very well.”

Robin’s blood ran cold as the man drew the hood back from his face.

_No_ Robin thought desperately. _No, this is some foul, dark magic. This isn’t possible… There’s absolutely no way!_

“After all, I wouldn’t wish to offend our new allies,” the Hierophant said from a perfect copy of Robin’s face. “Would I?”


	20. Chapter 20

Robin stared back at himself with a cruel smirk on his face, eyes glinting with malice.

“By the Gods! What dark sorcery is this!?” Chrom shouted in shock.

“This… this is a joke,” Robin said weakly. “This is some kind of joke…”

The Hierophant laughed mirthlessly at their shock, his laughter like dead leaves sliding across a stone courtyard.

“My name is Robin,” the Hierophant laughed, bowing with a courtly flourish. “Oh, and wasn’t that your name as well? What a small world we live in.”

“My, what are the odds?” Validar said with an evil smile. “In any case, I believe we are finished here. We will allow you to be on your w-”

“Hold on just one moment,” Chrom said quickly.

“Milord?” Aversa asked innocently. “Is there something else?”

Chrom levelled a finger at the Robin-doppelganger.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked in a low voice. “Why do your Hierophant and Robin look-”

“I’m afraid we have little time for such trivialities right now, milord,” Aversa cut Chrom off, quickly sinking into a sickly-sweet mocking tone as she spoke. “We have preparations to attend to and you have such a long, hard journey to attend to.”

The Plegian trio all bowed low and began retreating.

“Oh, and do be careful on your return to Regna Ferox,” Aversa said cheerily over her shoulder. “This time of year the highroads of Plegia can be quite… treacherous.”

Robin was still reeling; the combination of that sinister aura and his exact double was making his head spin. Chrom had to shake his shoulder and practically shout his name to get his attention.

“Robin! Let’s get out of here.”

The tactician nodded numbly and the trio returned the way they had come. Robin stumbled a little when they re-joined the rest of the Shepherds, his mind still focused on the spectacle of his dark twin.

“Robin, is everything alright?” Cordelia asked with concern, steadying him with a hand on his elbow.

Robin looked up, his face still stricken.

“No,” he said in a quiet voice. “Everything is not alright. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

*

Robin lay awake that night staring at the roof of his tent. Try as he might, he couldn’t get the image of the Hierophant’s sadistic smile out of his head. It had taken him some time, but he finally realised that the thing that had really bothered him were the man’s eyes; soulless, black orbs staring out from his face, replacing his normally regular blue eyes.

Robin shuddered again as the image popped unbidden back into his mind.

“I need some air,” he muttered, sitting up and running a hand through his hair.

They had returned across the channel in silence, everyone taking notice of the aura of fear that Robin was giving off. It had been uncomfortable and awkward around his friends, something that had never happened before.

They were all acutely aware of his discomfort, but unable to do anything to help him.

Once they had set up camp Robin had simply retired to his tent, burying himself in tactical manuals in an attempt to try and distract himself… for all the good it did.

Nothing had worked, so he had finally given up and attempted to get some sleep, and had wound up staring at the roof of his tent ever since.

_The question I should be asking isn’t why, but how_ Robin repeated in his head for the hundredth time. _Obviously they were trying to get under our skin. It worked. So we already know the why; more important is how the hell they managed to do it. Some form of Dark Magic maybe? The Grimleal are all over that kind of stuff, and the man was their Hierophant, so it’s possible… Maybe I have an identical twin? It’s a possibility; gods know I can’t remember my childhood. But I didn’t get any sense of nostalgia from him like the other things… Urgh. This is all making my head hurt. I really do need some air._

Robin rose and stretched a little before walking out of his tent. He considered putting his coat on over his bare torso, but the night air was warm and he wanted to cool down; not something he would accomplish by covering up.

The camp was silent this late at night, the Shepherds having long since retired. The occasional snort could be heard from where the various mounts were tied to Anna’s wagon, along with all the other snores and sighs that Robin had come to associate with the Shepherd’s camp at night.

It was a small comfort to know that his friends were near, but Robin craved solitude at the moment, so he began to silently head away from the camp.

“Robin?” a light voice whispered as he passed the perimeter.

Cordelia, obviously on night-watch duty, had spotted him.

“Hey, Cordelia,” Robin said with a tired wave. “Just going to get some air, do some thinking.”

“Well… be careful,” she said with evident concern. “We’re still in Plegia. I’d hardly call this safe territory.”

Robin nodded, smiling a little. “Thanks. I won’t go far.”

The wilderness so close to Regna Ferox wasn’t the usual sandy terrain of Plegia, but rather hard packed dirt, and small shrubs and even some hardy trees actually grew. Robin could make out the massive shape of the Longfort in the distance, lights from torches dotting its top from the constant patrols on it looking like tiny stars much lower to the earth from his viewpoint casually strolling through the scrub.

_At least the moon is bright tonight_ Robin thought absently. _The last thing I need is to break my ankle on uneven ground now of all times._

Robin’s head snapped around as he heard shuffling in the shadows of the bushes near him, but before he could investigate it the pain of a thousand needles piercing his head brought him to his knees with a strangled scream.

_“Heed me, Robin.”_

“What in… Naga’s name?” Robin ground out, desperately clutching his head as his vision swam.

Mocking laughter greeted his question.

_“Naga has nothing to do with this, boy.”_

Robin looked up as Validar stepped towards him out of a circle of purple fel-energy.

_“Why do you resist? Why do you close your heart to him?”_ Validar asked in Robin’s head, the King of Plegia’s mouth unmoving.

With each word further pain coursed through Robin’s head. Blood dripped freely from his nose as he doubled over, groaning and squeezing his eyes shut.

_“Have you truly forgotten?”_ Validar asked, kneeling in the dirt inches away from Robin.

“Get out… of my… head!” Robin gasped, blood starting to pool in his mouth and run down his chin.

Validar tsked and stood, motioning for Robin to do the same. His body moving out of his control, Robin stumbled unsteadily to his feet as Validar exerted some form of magical force against him.

Robin gasped, choking as blood ran down his face and bare chest.

_“Are you truly so arrogant to think that you can-”_

“I said get out of my mind!” Robin shouted, throwing his fist towards Validar’s arrogant face the way Chrom had taught him.

Validar smiled as he held up a hand, fingertips brushing Robin’s fist as it hung in mid-air a long way from its intended target.

_“You would strike your own father?”_ Validar asked, his tone turning mocking as a cruel smile split his face.

Robin went pale as he tore his arm free of whatever force was holding it, stumbling back a few steps as his vision blurred again.

“What… what are you talking about!?”

Validar’s cruel laughter echoed in Robin’s mind.

_“You are of my flesh, but of sacred blood,”_ Validar declared proudly as if he were delivering a church sermon. _“Yours is a glorious, blood stained destiny my child! Search in your heart! You know this to be truth…”_

“I said GET! OUT!” Robin roared, lashing out with whatever magic came instinctively.

Dark purple symbols seared across Robin’s bare, blood soaked chest as a wave of dark magic flew towards Validar who simply laughed as he erected a barrier.

_“You cannot resist destiny,”_ Validar taunted. _“You must see that. Stop wasting your time with these doomed servants of Naga and-”_

“SHUT UP!” Robin roared, his entire body taught and still flaring with dark energy as lines of fel magic danced beneath his skin and purple flames danced around his hands.

With a wordless roar Robin let all of the energy flow through him and out his hand, wincing as the darkness burned his fingers.

Validar fell backwards, hastily returning his barrier with a shocked look on his face.

_“Impudence!”_ the King roared in Robin’s mind. _“I will tear your very soul asunder!”_

Validar raised a hand and hesitated, glancing over the tactician’s shoulder.

“Robin!” Cordelia called as she came running, lance held at the ready. “Robin where are you!?”

_“It does not matter,”_ Validar purred in Robin’s head, his tone changing completely. _“It is only a matter of time…”_

Robin sunk to his knees again, smoke still rising from his hand as he fell forwards in pain. When he looked up he was alone, the only evidence of his struggle with Validar were the small dark flames licking at the dry shrubbery.

“Gods, Robin! What happened to you!?” Cordelia almost shrieked, sliding to her knees next to him.

“I’m fine,” Robin moaned, wiping at the blood on his face with the back of his hand. “I’m also… really… glad I didn’t wear my coat… would’ve been a huge pain to clean.”

The pain was beginning to dissipate, allowing Robin to see clearly again. Cordelia’s pale, worried face looked down at him as she supported him with one armoured arm around his shoulders.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, climbing unsteadily to his feet again.

He could hear commotion coming from the camp and guiltily realized he must have woken them all.

_And how exactly do I explain to them what just happened?_ He thought bitterly, swaying and catching himself on Cordelia’s shoulder. _Gods, I don’t even know what just happened!_

Cordelia stepped back from him suddenly, fear evident on her face as Robin quickly caught himself from falling face first.

He looked down, realizing that the fel energy patterns were still pulsating beneath his skin; not as brightly and they were starting to fade. Cordelia must not have been able to see them while he was hunched over.

“Robin, what…” Cordelia asked, fear and confusion warring in her voice. “What happened to you?”

Robin made a distasteful face as he looked at his bare arms. The lines had faded almost completely now, slowly running down to the six eyed symbol of the Grimleal on the back of his hand.

_I guess I know what the symbol means now_ Robin thought bitterly as the symbol faded, too.

“Robin, you’re scaring me,” Cordelia said, raising her lance a little. “Answer me!”

“Will you point that somewhere else?” Robin asked, a little annoyed that she would be levelling a weapon at him as he slapped the point of the lance away.

_I thought we were friends…_

“I was attacked, and the weird patterns are a form of dark magic I used to… defend myself,” Robin explained, beginning to feel slightly normal again.

“You’re covered in blood!” Cordelia pointed out. “What the hell were you attacked by? And since when were you a dark mage?”

“King Validar…” Robin said hazily. “Validar attacked me… in my mind, he spoke to me. He called me… his son.”

Cordelia’s face went an even lighter shade of pale.

“Are you… is that true?”

Robin shrugged. “Who knows? He got in my head; he could have planted whatever he wanted in there. I don’t know that it’s a lie, though.”

“Prince Chrom needs to hear of this,” Cordelia said, taking Robin’s arm and draping it across her shoulder. “Can you walk?”

“I welcome the assistance,” Robin said weakly, letting Cordelia hold him up.

“Just like old times, right?” she said with a weak laugh before adding in a small voice, “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Robin snapped back to alertness, forcing his exhausted muscles to move as the rustling from the bushes returned behind them, accompanied by footsteps running towards them. With a monumental effort Robin spun and threw Cordelia to the side as the Risen swung its axe in a downward arc where she had been just a few seconds ago. Robin reached out, grasping the haft of the weapon and focusing like he had before, sending a shockwave of dark energy through the weapon and back into the Risen, sending it flying before it hit the ground, disappearing into a cloud of black mist as it struck the hard Plegian soil.

Robin swung the axe around the right way in his grip, pointedly ignoring the purple lines that had reappeared on his arm.

“Risen!” Robin shouted as loud as his tired voice would let him. “Risen attack! To arms, Shepherds!”

Robin glanced around as Cordelia pressed he armoured back to his, lance held at the ready.

Robin gave the axe still in his hand a few experimental swings as they faced the Risen circling around them appearing out of the night. The axe felt a little strange in his hand, but not completely alien, like he had trained with the weapon before.

Any further thought on the matter was cut off as the Risen advanced, growling and hissing black smoke from their terrifying leather masks.

Robin and Cordelia were quick to define the zone of combat, slashing out horizontally with their weapons and knocking back any Risen that came close.

Robin absently noted Cordelia’s new lance flashing through the air like lightning, its head a blue blur as it struck again and again, dancing through the Risen that encroached in Cordelia’s masterful grip.

“We need to get back to the camp!” Robin shouted over the roars of attacking Risen.

Cordelia nodded, parrying a blow meant for her head before pirouetting and sweeping the feet out from underneath her assailant.

Robin spun as he saw a glint out of the corner of his eye, a heavy sword-blade thrusting for his face before the Risen wielding it reeled back, dropping the weapon and swatting at the random crows flapping about its head, tearing at the leather mask on its face.

“What in the…” Robin muttered under his breath as he and Cordelia experienced a brief respite while a flock of the black birds descended on the Risen.

A cackling laugh, more happy than evil, sounded behind them, and the two Shepherds spun to see a smiling silver-haired man in Dark Mage robes holding his stomach and giggling as the birds tore into the risen.

“CAW! CAW!” he called out to the birds before laughing some more and seeming to notice Robin and Cordelia.

“You folks lost?” he asked cheerily. “Or perhaps a lost… CAWse? Get it? Oh, I slay me!”

Robin blinked a few times, holding his axe low in front of himself warily. But he couldn’t resist the man’s bait.

“Not if the Risen get to you first,” he said.

The silver-haired man stopped and looked at Robin, a huge smile breaking out on his face.

“Hey, that’s a good one!” he said happily, seemingly blissfully ignorant of the carnage going on around him. “I’d wish you luck killing these things… but they’re already dead!”

Robin groaned as the silver haired stranger burst into hysterics at his own horrible joke.

“Are you going to help us or not?” Robin asked in exasperation, noticing the birds beginning to retreat to safety.

“Oh sure,” the silver haired man said, slapping his knees. “I’ll join your… CAWs! Heh, you know what they say; birds of a feather and all that. I’m Henry, a mage with a thing for killing; I do so love the killing.”

Robin watched as he pulled a spellbook and a wicked looking dagger out of his robe, one in each hand.

“Yeah, sure, fine,” Robin said, readying his axe as the Risen began to break through the birds surrounding the three humans. “Just stay close and try not to die.”

“Cordelia?” Robin asked, being rewarded by a nod from the saffron-tressed knight.

“Fighting retreat!” Robin called, bludgeoning his way through several Risen with his appropriated axe as they broke through the cover of birds.

They leapfrogged, Henry staying close to Robin, fighting through Risen before emerging into the torch-lit pandemonium of the Shepherds camp.

The young mage was a terror to behold as he lashed out with both elemental and dark magics, using the dagger in his off hand to great effect when Risen got to close. He almost looked disappointed he wasn’t being splattered in blood when the third Risen he stabbed evaporated in a cloud of mist.

Robin looked around as they hit the camp, desperately trying to find Chrom in the melee, striking out at any Risen that came too close.

“There!” Cordelia called, pointing to the higher ground above the camp where Chrom and Frederick were fighting off a horde of Risen, their backs pressed together as they did in much the same way Cordelia and Robin had been fighting.

“Stay here, clear the camp,” Robin ordered; not waiting for an answer and launching himself towards the hill Chrom and Frederick were on, swinging his axe in wild and angry motions.

He ducked and weaved, holding the axe in both hands as he dodged; aware of just how unprotected he was without his magically altered coat. The knowledge didn’t slow Robin down as he ripped through the Risen like a man possessed, pouring his confusion and anger from the day’s events into fighting the creatures threatening his friend.

Robin rolled, emerging through the press and coming up near an astonished looking Frederick and Chrom.

“Trying to copy Vaike’s look now?” Chrom asked playfully.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I just forgot my coat,” Robin said, grunting with effort as he jammed the axe into the chest of one of the Risen.

“It’s a good look for you,” Chrom said, kicking high at another and knocking it off balance before Frederick ran it through. “Where did you find the axe, though?”

“Talk later!” the Knight barked, spinning and cutting a Risen in half one handed.

Robin and Chrom both laughed as they gave in to the mindless melee, felling Risen left and right, clouds of smoke from their deaths swirling about their feet.

Breathing heavily and leaning on the axe he had ‘borrowed’, Robin looked around. Once again the Risen were defeated, leaving nothing but clouds of dark mist and discarded weapons.

“That was not fun,” Robin gasped, still exhausted from his mental duel with Validar.

“Frederick, go make sure the others are safe; I’ll be fine here with Robin,” Chrom ordered.

“Yes, milord,” Frederick said with a slight bow before taking off down the hill.

Robin glared at the Knight’s back; he was barely breathing hard at all and his armour, once again, still looked pristine.

Chrom sighed, drooping a little. “Gods I thought that horde would never end.”

The witty response Robin had prepared died in his throat as something hit him square in the back from behind, propelling him forward a good three meters.

As he flew through the air he instinctively shifted his weight, rolling and landing on his back to stare up at another gargantuan Risen like the one that had stomped on him during their first encounter in the forest. As the creature lifted its tree-trunk sized leg Robin realized with a sinking feeling he was about to experience a repeat of that night.

“Kill prince!” the Risen growled, lifting its leg above the prone tactician, its chilling voice muffled by the thick, glowering mask covering its face. “Kill! Kill prince!”

Before the limb could fall, though, Chrom was on it, burying his sword in its massive shoulder as he flew through the air, shouting Robin’s name and driving the Risen back a few steps.

“You want me, here I am!” Chrom snarled in its face, holding tight to the sword buried to the hilt in its chest.

With a massive roar and a vicious jerk Chrom sliced diagonally through its chest, the two pieces of the Risen splattering to the ground wetly before evaporating into the black smoke that they had become so familiar with.

As Chrom rose victoriously he failed to notice the smaller Risen looming above him, poised to strike.

“Chrom! Behind you!” Robin called, trying in vain to reach the Prince in time, scrambling onto his hands and knees and reaching for his axe.

Chrom spun, bringing up his sword.

Robin watched in slow motion as the Risen’s axe descended, cringing and looking away when he realized they were both too slow.

“Father, no!” a feminine voice shouted as a blue blur barrelled into Chrom, knocking him aside.

Not wasting the opportunity of already being in a runner’s start position Robin threw himself forward and brought his axe up, slicing deep into the Risen’s chest before spinning and taking its head off, watching as the two pieces evaporated to be sure.

Marth rolled off of Chrom quickly, getting back to her feet and looking at the Prince in horror, eyes the size of dinner plates as her mouth worked wordlessly.

“Did… did you just call me ‘father’?” Chrom asked, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Did I?” Marth asked, obviously stalling before sagging as she realized she’d been caught. “I… perhaps we might speak privately?”

“Perhaps we should, yes,” Chrom agreed.

Chrom nodded, getting to his feet with Robin’s aid and motioning for Marth to walk down to the river ahead of him. Chrom gave Robin a pleading look before he turned to follow her, and Robin knew he would be running interference until they were done talking. As the tactician watched they moved a small distance away to the bank of the river.

Robin sagged as Sumia came bustling up the hill, a space healing staff in her hands.

“Robin! I heard you were wounded!” she said worriedly before adding, “Where’s Chrom?”

Robin motioned over his shoulder with a jerk of his thumb, wincing as he did so. Without realizing it he had become covered in small nicks and cuts, the blood from earlier in the evening mingling and becoming unrecognizable with the blood oozing from the multitude of wounds.

“Well hold still then,” Sumia said, setting to work.

“I wasn’t aware you could use healing arts,” Robin said as she began channelling.

“Shhhh!” Sumia said, looking crossly at Robin. “I’m nowhere near as good as the other girls, so I need to concentrate!”

Robin apologized, trying with all of his mental faculties not to point out that Libra was a man and letting the woman work. She healed much slower than Lissa or Maribelle, and as her face contorted in concentration Robin found a new respect for how difficult it must be to be a healer.

Sumia gasped and sagged, letting the staff fall forward as she practically doubled over.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “But that’s the best I can do.”

Robin experimentally flexed. Many of the wounds still remained and stung when he moved, but movement came easier and he was able to lift his axe again, plus he wasn’t bleeding anymore.

“It’s fine, Sumia,” Robin said, subtly positioning himself so that Sumia couldn’t see Marth and Chrom talking and…

_Oh gods,_ Robin thought with confused terror as he shifted to block the view. _Why are they hugging when Chrom knows Sumia’s RIGHT HERE? He really, really must hate me._

“Robin, what are you-” Sumia began, leaning around Robin and gasping as she dropped the staff she was holding.

“Sumia, don’t jump to conclusions now,” Robin said in his best calming voice. “I’m sure there’s a rational explanation for… hugging. You and I hug all the time, right?”

“Right,” Sumia agreed numbly, looking around on the ground. “You’re absolutely right.”

Spotting some flowers Sumia went straight for them, plucking a couple and beginning to tear petals off of them.

“Uh… what are you doing?” Robin asked concernedly.

“Flower fortunes,” Sumia said simply, eyes shining as she plucked petals.

“He loves me… he loves me not… he loves me… he loves me not…”

Robin shuffled over, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder and hefting his axe to his own shoulder with the other hand.

“Don’t worry,” Robin said with his best rougish grin. “No one messes with my friends. I’m getting pretty good with this axe, and I’ve got no problem smacking some home-wrecking harlot with it!”

Sumia sniffled and nodded, not making eye contact and going back to plucking at her flowers.

_Chrom, you’d better have a damn good explanation for this_ Robin silently urged. _Or I swear you’ll be getting a taste of this axe, too._

*

Chrom’s mind was racing as he followed Marth down to the river bed.

_She called me father_ he repeated in his head. _I’ll hear her out. I promise to hear her out. Gods, she’s the same age as me! She must be touched in the head or something. But she has Falchion. No, she has_ a _Falchion, it can’t be the real one! Only I can wield Falchion._

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Marth mumbled, kicking nervously at the river rocks on the sandy shore as she came to a stop.

Chrom wasn’t sure either; this was way, way out of his league.

_How would Emmeryn handle this?_ He thought desperately. _She’d definitely be calm and kind, collect all the facts… yeah, I’ll start there._

“Well I already know you’re not ‘Marth’, though I’ve got nothing better to call you…” Chrom said, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. “I won’t ask anything you do not wish to reveal, though; whoever you are, Ylisse still owes you a great debt; as do I.”

It was true; the mysterious woman had saved first Lissa’s life, then Robin’s life, then she had defended Emmeryn during the assassination attempt, followed them into a war-zone and fought on the periphery with no back up, carried Robin halfway to Regna Ferox and then even joined them in the final battle against Gangrel. Now she had added saving Chrom’s own life to the list. Her debt was one beyond repaying, in Chrom’s mind.

“Thank you, but…” Marth said nervously, grasping at one arm with the other, still not meeting Chrom’s gaze. “I think after all this time I would prefer you know the truth of matters.”

Chrom nodded, waiting patiently as she gathered her thoughts. “As you wish.”

Marth took a deep breath and moved to stand in front of Chrom.

“Here. Look closely and all will… be made clear,” she said, drawing the hair from her face and looking into Chrom’s eyes for the first time.

Chrom looked, confused before stepping back and gasping.

In Marth’s left eye was the Mark of the Exalt, the same as the brand on his bare shoulder.

“You… you have the Mark…”

_Okay, so she’s related to me somehow. But the only other person with the Mark in her eye like that is…_

“Lucina?” Chrom asked, his confusion getting worse.

His daughter was still just a newborn; she was safe in Ylisstol with Cullen and the Royal Guard watching over her. He had purposely left without the proper retinue of Honour Guard so that the baby, his daughter, would be protected! This made no sense! But she had the Mark. She had his sword. How could those facts be explained away?

“You deserved better from me than a sword and a world of troubles…” Chrom said sadly, looking down at the perfect replica of Falchion on her hip and realizing that there was no other explanation. “I… I’m sorry.”

The woman in front of him was his daughter.

He looked up again as the woman’s stone façade crumbled and tears began to well in her eyes. She sniffled, looking away from Chrom and trying to wipe the tears away, but they fell unbidden down her cheeks as sobs began wracking her body.

Chrom acted, letting his fatherly instincts take over as he reached up and wiped the tears gently from her face.

Lucina, his daughter, full grown and so strong, looked up at Chrom, and he couldn’t help but smile with pride at the woman she would become.

“F-father,” she sobbed, throwing herself into Chrom’s arms and crying feely into his chest as he held her and gently stroked her hair. “Father!”

Chrom looked up as he held his daughter, no longer caring about the circumstances surrounding her arrival as he watched the sun begin to rise over the mountains in the distance.

After a few minutes like this she stepped back, sniffling and wiping at her face again as she began to compose herself.

“Better now, Lucina?” Chrom asked kindly.

“Yes. Father, I…” Lucina said awkwardly. “I’m sorry. It all just came rushing back at once. I didn’t mean to break down like that.”

“Father, huh?” Chrom repeated, rolling the word over his tongue and deciding he liked the way it sounded from Lucina.

“I’m… I’m sorry!” Lucina said quickly. “Should I call you something else? I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable…”

“Oh no,” Chrom said with a dry chuckle. “No. It’s just strange to my ear, is all. I like it, though.”

Lucina laughed sheepishly. “Heh. Father.”

Chrom shook his head.

“Yeah. Definitely going to take some getting used to.”

_Not that I mind at all, though_ Chrom mentally added.

*

Robin watched as Sumia demolished her fourth handful of flowers and made an executive decision.

“Come on,” he said, grabbing her by the elbow and beginning to walk in the direction of the river. “I’m as sick of waiting as you are.”

He was cold, he was sore, and damned if he was running interference for Chrom anymore, so with a sputtering Sumia in one hand and his axe in the other, pondering which hand was currently holding the more dangerous weapon, he began to stride purposefully towards the Prince and the stranger.

“I’m sorry – Chrom?” Robin called as they neared.

Both of the blue-haired heads snapped up to look at him, and Chrom wilted guiltily under Sumia’s silently crying face.

“Ah… yes Robin?” Chrom said awkwardly. “What is it?”

“Well,” Robin began, releasing his hold on the former Pegasus Knight at his side. “You’re out here alone with Marth. Marth is crying, and you two were hugging. I want you to think about how this might look to the casual observer.”

Sumia nodded in agreement, doing her best to look threatening as she began to pluck more petals from the flowers still in her hands.

“Er… Sumia? Dearest? Why in Naga’s name are you shredding those poor flowers?” Chrom asked tentatively.

“I wasn’t spying on you!” she said with a waver in her voice. “You… you can’t prove that I was!”

Sniffling she looked up, making eye contact briefly with Marth as the other woman tentatively stepped forward before looking back down at the shredded flowers in her hands and letting out an involuntary sob and turning her back on them.

“Oh gods… you brought HER!”

Chrom looked awkwardly between the two women.

“Perhaps we’d best tell her, Lucina,” Chrom said hopefully.

_Oh you sonnuvabitch,_ Robin thought dangerously as his hand tightened on the axe’s haft. _I cannot BELIEVE you would sink this… wait. What did he just call Marth?_

“Of course,” Marth, or rather Lucina, said with a shy smile.

Sumia spun, obviously thinking along the same lines as Robin was.

“Lucina?” she repeated, confusion evident on her face. “But that’s…”

“Dear, this is going to be somewhat of a… shock, but, ah…” Chrom stammered, rubbing the back of his head. “Well I’ll just say it. This is our daughter. This is Lucina.”

Robin wasn’t ashamed to admit that his jaw hit the shore. Sumia had a similar reaction.

“Are you daft?” she screamed, losing her composure and dropping the flowers in her hands. “Our daughter is still a baby!”

Chrom visibly flinched back from his wife’s wrath and Robin had to resist the urge to join in her yelling.

“Did you take a blow to the head or something while I wasn’t watching?” Robin asked, standing next to Sumia to present a united front.

“It’s true, Sumia!” the other woman, whatever her name was now, persisted. “I am your daughter!”

Robin rolled his eyes as Sumia seethed next to him.

“Look closely and see for yourself,” Marth-Lucina said as she stepped closer, drawing the hair away from her face.

_She does have the same hair colour as Chrom_ Robin thought idly as he looked at her…

“Holy crap,” Robin breathed, looking into without a doubt the same set of eyes that had stared up at him less than a month ago as he held her in his arms, Mark of Naga and all.

“You have the Mark…” Sumia gasped as she looked into Lucina’s (it had to be her with those eyes) open face.

“It is the same brand carried by all of House Ylisse’s bloodline,” Chrom said reassuringly, drawing closer to his wife again.

Sumia stepped back, shaking her head as Robin just stood dumbfounded.

“None of this makes any sense!” she said, her face ashen before she started to hyperventilate.

“Wait, where’s my daughter? What have you done with my baby!?”

Chrom stepped forward quickly, grabbing the panicking woman by the shoulders.

“Sumia, please calm down!”

“Your child is right where you left her,” the apparently-older-Lucina added helpfully. “She is perfectly safe. I am here from another time; from a time that has yet to come to pass.”

“Yes,” future-Lucina said as Chrom stepped away from the somewhat calmer Sumia. “More than ten years from now, after history takes a dark and destructive turn.”

Future-Lucina’s eyes glazed over as if she were remembering something terrible, leaving the group in silence. Robin shivered in the early dawn light, vowing never to go anywhere without his coat again, no matter how dirty it might get or how hot he was.

“Okay…” Robin led after a few moments of silence. “So what happens in this dark and destructive future that makes it so… uh, dark and… destructive?”

“Eloquent,” Chrom teased, earning a glare from a still confused Sumia.

“Hey, I haven’t slept at all,” Robin said defensively, his good humour failing him for the first time in his memory. “And now I have all this crap dumped on me _on top_ of learning about my supposed family lineage? How freaking eloquent am I supposed to be, Chrom?”

Chrom looked shocked by Robin’s outburst as the tactician sighed and pinched the brow of his nose.

“It… uh…” Lucina said, clearing her throat. “The Dark Dragon Grima is resurrected. His roar is a death knell for man, a scream that silences all hope. Death… everywhere.”

“Well that’s just perfect!” Robin shouted, throwing his hands up in the air and losing his grip on the axe, watching it fly into the nearby river. “All of us dead? Our whole company? Chrom and Sumia and Frederick and… me?”

“Yes,” Lucina confirmed hesitantly.

Robin heaved a sigh before sinking to sit on a log near the river bank. “Brilliant.”

Chrom was silent in thought for a moment, kneading Falchion’s grip as he pondered his future-daughter’s words.

“A tale that beggars belief,” he admitted. “And yet the truth stands before us. She would not be able to carry Falchion or wield it were she not my daughter. Not to mention the brand in her eye.”

Lucina nodded. “The sword… it was all I had left of you.”

“There’s only one Falchion,” Chrom said with conviction. “I believe her, Robin.”

Robin groaned, massaging his temples.

“I’ve had enough for one night,” he muttered, devising a plan to get Anna to let him sleep in the back of her wagon on the return trip.

“Naga, the Divine Dragon, feared mankind would face Grima again one day,” Lucina went on. “So she devised a ritual of sorts to send a willing person back in time, allowing them to rewrite past events. I made the journey together with others, but we… became separated.”

“So there are more time-travellers out there?” Robin asked tiredly. “I suppose I’ll add finding them to the to-do list.”

Another silence descended as Robin ruffled his hair in frustration. _How could this evening get any worse?_

Sumia tentatively stepped forward, looking directly at Lucina.

“Are you… are you really my daughter?”

Lucina seemed shocked by the question for a moment before smiling at the other woman reassuringly.

“I swear it on my life.”

Sumia looked to be at a loss for words. “You grow up… er, grew up so strong, and… and so beautiful.”

Lucina looked unsure as to how to respond to her mother’s praise.

“Thank you… ah, Sumia.”

“You don’t want to call me mother?” she asked.

“I thought that you might mind,” Lucina admitted, looking away.

“Of course I don’t mind!” Sumia said, her confidence returning even as tears began to run down her face again. “I love you so much! More than anything in the world!”

Lucina looked like she was trying not to burst into tears as she frantically wiped at her eyes.

“Mother,” Lucina said with a sob, before taking a few steps and then practically throwing herself at Sumia.

They simply stood there, crying and holding each other while the two men awkwardly waited for them to finish.

“I’m so proud of you,” Sumia said once she had calmed down.

Lucina nodded and sniffed, gripping her mother tighter.

“I missed you more than you could ever know,” she muttered into Sumia’s shoulder.

Robin smiled and stood, unobtrusively beginning to trudge back up the hill that the camp was on the other side of. Things were moving into a familial situation Robin didn’t belong in; besides, he was starting to fall asleep where he sat, exhaustion finally beginning to overtake him.

_Breakfast then sleep_ he thought simply. _Everything else can wait until I feel human again._

*

“That is very disquieting,” Chrom said, leaning forward in his seat.

Robin stopped eating, looking over at the Prince apologetically.

“Sorry,” Robin said, swallowing a mouthful of oats before he did. “Was I chewing with my mouth open again?”

“Not you, you dunce,” Chrom said good naturedly, smiling before sobering again quickly. “That Validar would attack you so brazenly. And he’s your father, too?”

Robin shrugged, setting down his empty bowl.

“Dunno,” Robin said honestly. “He got inside my head; he probably knows more about me than I do. I wouldn’t put it past the snake to have said it just to mess with us.”

“You mean mess with you,” Frederick pointed out coldly.

“Well it worked,” Robin said with a tired sigh.

Robin, Frederick, Chrom, Cordelia, Sumia and future-Lucina were sitting in the mess tent going over the events from the previous evening while the others broke camp and prepared to travel.

“So the big question is what do we do now?” Robin asked, pointedly looking at Lucina. “We’re on the cusp of a war with Valm; we can hardly afford another front against Plegia, too.”

“As far as we can tell they’ve been true to their word about preparing the ships,” Cordelia added. “Reports came in from my Knights flying reconnaissance along the shoreline, and they are indeed moving the vessels.”

Chrom sighed.

“One war at a time,” he said, looking at the troop rosters Frederick had provided him. “We go to Valm, deal with them first, and then come back and play whatever games Validar has in store for us.”

“And Ylisse?” Sumia asked tentatively, still unused to sitting in on war meetings.

“Cullen and the Royal Guard will have no problem defending the realm if Plegia begins acting up,” Frederick explained helpfully. “The Plegian army is still in shambles.”

“So the plan remains unchanged,” Robin said definitely. “We wait for the boats at Port Ferox, and then away we go to Valm.”

“Yes,” Chrom said, looking up at the tactician and chuckling a little. “Now will you please go and put on a shirt, Prince Robin?”

“Don’t you dare start calling me a Prince,” Robin said, shooting to his feet. “Or I swear to whatever gods you hold dear I will tactically lead you off a cliff.”

“How would that even work?” Chrom laughed.

“I’ll think of something!” Robin shouted, clenching his fists in the air. “With Naga as my witness, I’ll think of something!”

Frederick rolled his eyes as the rest of the assembled Shepherds began to laugh at Robin’s antics. At least the fight with Validar hadn’t harmed his awful sense of humour.

Robin looked over and was relieved to see future-Lucina laughing along with the others.

The meeting wrapped up pretty quickly after that, Robin groaning loudly as he headed straight for Anna’s wagon.

Cordelia caught up with him, jogging to reach him before matching his pace as he practically crawled to his destination.

“Robin,” Cordelia said, stopping him with a hand on his elbow. “I wanted to apologize for last night.”

Robin turned, looking at the Pegasus Knight in confusion.

“Why? What did you do?”

“You seemed to be really upset when panicked and levelled my weapon at you,” she said embarrassedly. “So I want you to know I’m sorry, and that I still trust you.”

Robin nodded graciously. “Don’t worry, Cordelia; no stab-wounds no foul. We’re good.”

Cordelia sighed and sagged with relief.

“Here,” she said, taking Robin’s arm. “At least let me help you to the wagon.”

“If you really want to help, then help me find my bloody coat before I lose my mind!” Robin said, exasperatedly looking around for wherever Virion and the others had packed up his tent and belongings.

Cordelia chuckled as they began their search, holding Robin up the entire time.

*

Robin bolted upright, the momentary sensation of having no idea where he was passing as the gentle rocking of the wagon reminded him he had fallen asleep in Anna’s wagon a few hours ago.

Robin groaned and stretched, relishing in the feel of his coat against his shoulders and back.

“So you’re finally awake?”

Robin turned his head to see Marth – or rather Lucina – perched on a crate near the driver’s seat of the wagon.

_That’s right_ Robin thought, his groggy mind desperately playing catch up, _the Risen attacked our horses last night. We were short of mounts and she’s riding in here with me._

Robin thought about saying something eloquent and meaningful, but instead settled for falling backwards onto his bedroll, making a strange garbled mumble.

Lucina chuckled. “I can empathize with your exhaustion, Sir Robin. Last night was truly a hard-fought victory, especially for you of all people.”

“Robin,” the tactician mumbled, dragging himself back up.

Lucina looked questioningly at him.

“It’s just Robin,” he explained. “No ‘sir’. I renounced my military commission after the war with Plegia. I’m only a Shepherd now.”

“Ah,” she said, nodding her understanding. “I apologize; when I am from the Shepherds were all great heroes, masters of war and combat leading the Ylissean army against any that would oppose them. You were all a sir or a lady to us.”

Robin groaned. “You’re telling me I was supposed to lead a life in the military instead of wandering around the wilderness for two years?”

Lucina’s face froze as she took in what Robin was asking.

“I… I do not know,” she admitted. “I have tried to limit my interference in this timeline by not meddling too much, but…”

“Yeah, I guess that went out the window the moment you screamed ‘daddy’!”

Lucina blushed heavily and glared daggers at the grinning tactician.

“I most certainly did not ‘scream daddy’,” she protested.

Robin couldn’t help but laugh at her embarrassment.

“Relax, Princess,” he said between chuckles as she continued to glare. “Obviously you never spent a lot of time around me in the future. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

“I see,” Lucina said, calming a little. “I’m sorry. There is not much cause for humour in the future. I am rather unfamiliar with the concept.”

“That… that sounds horrible,” Robin admitted, sobering slightly.

They sat in silence for a time, Robin imagining a world where the Shepherds were gone and society had crumbled, a world without laughter; Lucina no doubt remembering such a world.

“There’s something important I want to say to you,” Lucina said after a time. “And only to you.”

Robin looked up, quirking a brow. “That sounds… ominous.”

“In the future, almost no corner of our world is safe for humans,” she explained. “Risen prowl the land as masters of all; the people cower in terror, helpless.”

“So you’ve said,” Robin said. “It sounds horrible, though… like a waking nightmare. I can see why you’ve been vague on the details so far.”

“It is a hell on earth.” Lucina added. “That is why, we cannot—we must not—lose this war. Do you see that? You must ensure that Chrom and this brave army avert catastrophe.”

Robin nodded, giving Lucina his best reassuring smile.

“That’s what a good tactician does, Lucina,” he said. “I make sure we win. There’s no challenge to great or too small that will stop me from claiming victory for you and your father. Nothing will stand in our way, this I promise you here, today.”

Lucina nodded, relief evident in her relaxing posture.

“Thank you, Robin. That is what I wanted to hear.”

The tactician shrugged, leaning back against a crate as he grinned mischievously.

“Hey, I’ve been dragging your father’s sorry butt to victory for three years now; what made you think I was about to stop?”

“But I thought you said you wandered around the wilderness for two years,” Lucina pointed out, grinning a little and putting the tactician on the wrong foot as he realized what he had said.

Robin’s brow twitched. “I thought you said you were unfamiliar with the concept of humour.”

“I am a fast learner.”

Robin shook his head, breaking out into laughter, followed quickly by the Princess. She was most definitely related to Chrom; he could see it in the way she laughed, the way she tilted her head back and closed her eyes when she laughed really, really hard, just like Chrom did.

Robin couldn’t help but admire the fact that the effect was much, much cuter on her than her father, though.

He shook his head quickly. _I’ve spent way too much time around Virion lately._


	21. Chapter 21

Robin let his face fall forward, impacting on the wooden table beneath him with a hollow thud.

The Shepherds had returned to Port Ferox nearly a week ago now to find it under heavy fortification; apparently Basilio wasn’t about to lose his port town again. One thing that the tactician hadn’t taken into consideration, though, was the massive logistical nightmare of moving thousands of troops from one continent to another, or even just getting the boats into place. It would be an entire month, maybe even longer, before they could start boarding the first of the ships with the advance party; all the while Valmese forces drew ever closer to Regna Ferox and disrupting the process even more by assaulting the port.

He regretted volunteering to take some of the pressure off of the military strategists and quartermasters; regretted it dearly. Unfortunately Robin was exceedingly gifted at any sort of organizational endeavour, despite his chronic laziness.

He and the other tacticians that had been brought in from Ylisse were working in a low building that might once have been a seamstress’ shop, thick tables stretched its length, allowing plenty of space for the tacticians and quartermasters to sprawl out and do their work.

Stretching and groaning, glad to be done with the last of the papers he was working on depicting the boarding process for the support regiments, he stood and stuck his head out the window, flagging down the first runner he could see and ordering the man to bring the completed forms to the Knight Commander.

Then, before Frederick could dump more work on him, Robin snatched up his coat and beat a hasty retreat, almost walking directly into Cordelia as he exited the room.

“Robin!” she said with an enthusiastic smile. “I was just coming to find you.”

Robin leapt back, holding his hands out in a warding gesture.

“Stay back!” he shouted. “I just finished that massive pile Frederick gave me yesterday and my poor aching wrist needs a break!”

Cordelia laughed. “Don’t be silly. I’m trying to hide from that maniac right now, too.”

Robin sighed, pulling his coat’s collar up around his neck as they began to walk, trying to remain inconspicuous so that none of the runners and assistants and whatever else was hiding in the city wouldn’t recognize him.

“So what’s up then?” he asked, casting Cordelia a sidelong glance.

“The Prince has called a meeting,” she explained, matching his pace. “We’re all supposed to meet at the command tent near the harbour.”

Robin groaned. “So much for avoiding Frederick of the insane-amounts-of-work.”

Cordelia hesitated a second before giggling quietly.

Robin cast another glance at the woman. She was still wearing her breastplate and armoured greaves, but the majority of the ornate armour she usually wore was absent. It was a nice change, seeing her relax a little; even if it was still by military standards and in the middle of a war-zone.

“You go on ahead,” Robin said, veering off to where the Shepherds were camping near the town square. “I have to grab some stuff first.”

_Like my sword in case Frederick wants me to work on more troop dispositions._

“Of course,” Cordelia said with a nod. “I’ll stall them until you get there.”

Robin waved thanks as he jogged towards their camp, dodging and weaving through the crowd of townspeople and soldiers going about their preparations for the campaign.

The people of Port Ferox had been unbelievably generous with their space and indeed their entire town for the visiting Ylisseans. A lot had vacated, though, traveling away from the frontlines of the war and seeking refuge in the Coliseum and other smaller towns with friends and family.

Robin passed quickly through the camp, exchanging rushed greetings with many of the Shepherds that were simply going about their regular business of training and the like.

He bustled into his tent, angling straight for the table supporting his pile of strategy manuals as he searched for the empty book he wrote the majority of the work he did in.

“Have you been ignoring me, my love?”

Not expecting anyone to be in his tent, Robin jumped, knocking most of the books to the floor. At least in doing so he unearthed the prize he was seeking…

“Dammit Tharja,” Robin gasped, turning with the book he was seeking in his hands. “You promised to stop doing that!”

The pale Dark Mage pouted petulantly from the corner of Robin’s tent, arms crossed.

“We haven’t spent any time together lately,” she went on, her tone one of hurt. “After we spent all day, every day, together for so long I’m feeling a little neglected.”

“Tharja,” Robin explained slowly. “We are not in a relationship. We’re just friends, and friends can get busy, especially as they prepare for war. Why don’t you go and play with that new guy Henry? He’s a Dark Mage too, and I’m sure he’d love to have hexing contests or whatever else it is you people do.”

Tharja was across the tent instantly, leaning bodily against Robin and stroking his face as she spoke in low, seductive tones and ground against him, completely ignoring the first half of what he had said.

“The only man I want to ‘play’ with is you…”

“Okay, I really don’t have time for this,” Robin said, brushing her off gently but firmly. “I’m late for a meeting. I’m sorry. Just… try to make some other friends or something. Go boss Donnel around; make good on Gregor’s soul or something.”

_I am going to regret that later_ he thought as he exited the tent; he could practically feel the rage and frustration at his dismissal emanating from the tent as he departed. _I can already tell that there’s going to be a bunch of new frogs hopping around tonight…_

*

Robin stepped into Chrom’s command tent as nine sets of eyes looked up at him.

“Sorry I’m late,” Robin said sheepishly as he entered.

“It’s no problem,” Chrom said with a smile, indicating the chair next to him, asking the tactician to join the group at the large table in the middle of the tent.

The glare Frederick levelled his way said otherwise, though.

“Now that we’re all finally here,” the Knight said, still glaring steely at the tardy tactician, “We can begin.”

Frederick, Chrom and Cordelia were in attendance, with Sumia sitting close next to her husband. The one-eyed Duke Roark was there too, having arrived not long ago with the reinforcements from Themis, a legion of men in shining white mail; where he had found a full legion Robin had no idea, but they were there. Virion chuckled softly as Robin wilted under Frederick’s visual assault; the two Feroxi Khans were there as well, with Raimi. Lucina, the newest addition to Chrom’s war council, offered Robin a quick nod as he sat across from her, thumping his book softly onto the table top.

“I’ll get right to the point,” Frederick said brusquely. “Now that so many men-at-arms have been moved north and west, respectively, the rest of Ylisse and Regna Ferox are reporting a serious crisis in the form of bandit raids.”

Robin heard cursing around the table.

“So what’s the problem?” Robin asked confusedly. “We just ride out in small groups and deal with it.”

“It’s not that simple, lad,” Basilio grunted. “Not when we’re expecting an attack from the sea any minute now.”

“Hey,” Robin said, indicating to himself with a thumb. “Tactician. I’m sure I can come up with a solution to this… problem. Uh. Some... how.”

He trailed off, realizing with wide eyes and a sinking feeling that he was volunteering for more work.

“Well, that issue was resolved rather quickly,” Chrom said, clapping his hands together happily. “I look forward to your preliminary report, Robin.”

Robin nodded, smiling on the outside while on the inside he was crying.

_Dammit! I just finished that gigantic stack of work! Me and my big stupid mouth…_

“Now, on to other matters…” Frederick began, his monotonous voice quickly fading to background noise as Robin zoned out, trying as hard as he could to come up with some reason he couldn’t do the planning.

*

“Robin!” Sumia called. “Oh Roooooobiiiiiin!”

Robin’s head popped up from behind a mountain of papers; all of them spoke of, in gratuitous, painstaking detail and of course in Frederick’s meticulous handwriting, bandit sightings, incident reports, and bandit troop dispositions on maps, known associates of bandit leaders…

Robin was close to tears by this point, but he had finally, finally finished the work he had volunteered for.

“There you are!” Sumia said cheerily. “We missed you at dinner; have you eaten?”

Robin whimpered and collapsed back into his chair.

“I’ll take that as a no then,” Sumia said, coming around the other side of the table and dragging the tactician to his feet.

“Release me!” Robin protested half-heartedly. “Release me and let me die in peace!”

“Oh don’t be so melodramatic,” Sumia admonished. “Come on, you’re going to leave on another big adventure and leave us behind again, I’m taking you out for drinks first!”

“No!” Robin moaned, drawing out the word as he offered token resistance. “I’m only going to be gone for like a month this time!”

“Don’t make me turn it into an order! I can do that; I’m the Queen!” Sumia said. “Besides, Lucina needs to get to know her new tactician.”

“Noooooooooooooooooo!” Robin screamed melodramatically as Sumia dragged him from the building.

*

Robin sat swirling the watery brine that passed as beer in Port Ferox as the other Shepherds chatted around him. Usually Robin would be chatting just as happily or drunkenly as his friends, but the sheer amount of work that had been pressed onto him lately was exhausting the tactician; all he wanted to do was lay his head down on the table and sleep.

Sumia had sat him down next to Lucina, the only other person in the tavern swirling her drink around silently like Robin was.

Lissa and Lon’qu were happily talking away with Chrom and Sumia at the next table while Miriel and Vaike had a spirited discussion over the qualities and failings of the weak Feroxi beer that Robin was sure was mostly going straight over the man’s head another table over; Sully was once again having arm wrestling contests with everything that moved while Stahl held her beer, although this time it was Gregor refereeing the mini tournament as a crowd began to form, taking bets and shouting out odds; Olivia was busy preparing a stage that she was going to perform on later; the other Shepherds were milling about, making small talk and simply enjoying themselves before they were all split up again.

Robin supressed a yawn, trying to figure out just how long he had to stay before he could sneak off without hurting Sumia’s feelings.

Robin watched as Kellam went around dolling out drinks before his wife Maribelle grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to sit down and relax a little. He saw Nowi arguing with the barkeeper over her age, and Ricken trying desperately to convince her that no, turning into a dragon to prove her point was not a good idea. He watched Cherche drag, literally grab and drag, Virion away from a gaggle of swooning town girls, threatening to feed first them and then him to her wyvern. Gaius explained to Panne the finer points of ‘working the room’, which Robin assumed was code for pickpocketing as the Taguel woman listened intently. Cordelia was happily talking to a gaggle of her off-duty Knights, laughing as one of them told a story from basic training. Henry, being either brave or stupid, was trying to talk to Tharja, completely ignoring her not-so-subtle threats; occasionally the woman would cast a dirty look in Robin’s direction, and he really didn’t have the energy to even look apologetic. Anna was arguing with the other barkeeper over the price of wholesale goods, trying to assure the man that her associates could bring in much better ingredients for their drinks for only a little extra cost. Frederick floated from group to group, ensuring the safety of the Shepherds and nursing his drink, Donny sticking to his side like glue in his shining, brand new armour.

“Is it always like this?” Lucina asked quietly from next to Robin.

Robin looked up. “You mean this loud? Yeah. Wait until the firewine starts flowing.”

Lucina smiled a little as she shook her head.

“No, not that,” she explained. “I’ve never been to a celebration like this. Even things like birthdays had to be small, quick affairs because we were always moving, or always fighting.”

“Celebration?” Robin laughed, forcing himself to wake up a little. “This isn’t a celebration; we’re just drinking. If it were a celebration there would be a lot more food, much higher quality beer, and things would be getting broken.”

As if to punctuate his statement the table Sully was currently arm-wrestling the biggest sailor Robin had ever seen toppled and splintered; the two of them simply got up, moved to another table, and started again, much to the crowd’s delight.

“Okay, more things would be getting broken,” Robin amended, sipping from his cup as he leaned back casually.

“You mean this is an average part of daily life?” Lucina asked astonished.

“Well, it doesn’t happen every day,” Robin shrugged. “But yeah, this kind of thing is pretty normal.”

Lucina was speechless as she watched the hustle and bustle around her with renewed interest.

“We are on the cusp of war, and yet everyone seems so…” Lucina struggled, looking for the right word.

“Unprofessional?” Robin prompted.

Lucina shook her head. “They all seem so happy.”

“It’s the booze,” Robin said dismissively, taking a deep swig from his mug to try and hide his yawn.

“If you say so,” Lucina said with a light chuckle.

“Well why don’t you go and talk with some of them?” Robin suggested. “They’d all love to get to know you better. Okay, maybe not Tharja or Lon’qu, but I’m sure the others would.”

Lucina shook her head sadly.

“I have already meddled with the timeline more than I should have…”

“So what’s a little more going to hurt?” Robin pointed out. “Believe me, you’re not going to get away again now that Chrom and Sumia know who you are; you may as well make the most of this; go have fun with your family.”

_And more importantly give me the opportunity I need to escape…_

Lucina seemed to think for a moment before she took a big swig from her mug, draining it.

“You’re right,” she said, standing up and thumping the empty mug on the rough wooden tabletop. “I’m going to go and socialize like a normal person does.”

“Not that I’m implying you’re abnormal,” she added quickly, seeing the look Robin was giving her.

“Oh no, I’m quite abnormal,” he said with a cheeky grin. “Now go! Go and socialize! Seize the day and all that other junk!”

Lucina nodded, heading over to where her parents and aunt and uncle were talking, seamlessly joining the conversation. Robin watched with a happy grin on his face for a few moments before he realized that if he disappeared now, no one would miss him.

Content in this knowledge Robin slipped out into the night through the tavern’s back door, making his way back to the Shepherds’ camp and his bedroll, hands in his coat pockets as he walked, replaying the image of Lucina’s smiling face as she laughed with her family over in his head as he did.

Then his head hit the pillow on his cot, and all was blissful darkness.

*

“I don’t see why I can’t go with you,” Chrom complained for the hundredth time.

Robin sighed exasperatedly.

“Because,” Robin repeated for the hundredth time, “You need to be here in case the Valmese return; we need our leader on the front lines, and these bandit raids are a minor nuisance at best. Now stop hovering and go do something important and Prince-like!”

Chrom hadn’t taken well to the part of the plan calling for himself and the majority of the Shepherds to remain at the docks. He’d actually seemed rather offended, but Robin’s reasoning was sound. So as he packed up the things he would need during day-to-day life on the road for another month while his team hit the bandits and slavers along the north of Regna Ferox Chrom had hovered around him like an annoying fly, pestering him about his choices.

The worst of the bandit activity was around southern Ylisse, from bandits, actual bandits this time, based out of Plegia. Frederick and Cordelia would be leading a squad of Knights and Pegasus Knights against them, with the King of Plegia’s blessing; the plan was to use overwhelming force to simply snuff the bandits out before they caused any more damage. Stahl would be riding with them, leading the new recruits as an officer for the first time. Needless to say, the man was nervous. As much as Robin hated moving the Knights away from the front he was assured that Captain Seth and the troops from Jagen would be arriving soon to bolster their numbers further.

The second group, led by Gregor who apparently had experience leading troops, and consisting of Nowi, Ricken, Miriel, Vaike and Cherche along with a squad of some of Basilio’s best trackers would be heading east to where smaller bandit groups were hounding villages near the mountains and a desert region south of Jagen. Robin had thought of sending Virion with them, but he wanted the archer with him where he couldn’t get into trouble with village girls. Again.

Leaving Robin’s group, who would be taking care of a small group of slavers that had been terrorizing northern Regna Ferox; himself, Virion, Tharja (who had actually threatened to hex his eyeballs out if he tried to leave her behind), Sully, who’s horse was still recovering from the ordeal in Plegia a week ago and would be on foot until it did, and the new mage Henry, so that Robin could get a better idea of the man’s strengths and weaknesses. Robin had opted not to deplete the front any further by brining soldiers with his team; one little group of slavers shouldn’t be too much of a problem for the veterans in his team.

Chrom shook his head.

“I know all that,” he said defeated. “But, well, if I’m being entirely honest we’re worried about you.”

Robin stopped going through his tactical manuals and looked up.

“What?” he asked, a little annoyed at the constant interruptions. “Why? Who?”

“You’ve been pushing yourself so hard since this war began, too hard, and we haven’t even left the continent yet,” Chrom explained, leaning back against Robin’s desk. “You’ve been snarkier than usual lately, and colder, more distant; not to mention the fact that you’ve been doing the work of ten other strategists entirely on your own, and we all know that you’re barely sleeping. We’re worried you’re burning out, and the blame lies squarely at my feet for letting you take on so much responsibility.”

Robin ran a hand through his hair.

_Have I really been that bad?_ He thought. _I mean I know I’ve been a little crabby lately because I’m not getting as much sleep, that much is true, but… wait, did he say ten other strategists!? No wonder I’m so tired… I’ve just been doing what I normally do but on a bigger scale… right?_

“Maybe you’re right,” Robin admitted, rubbing his eyes a little. “I promise to take it easy when I get back.”

“Not good enough,” Chrom said. “Sumia will be beside herself with worry if we don’t send someone to keep an eye on you.”

“Okay, one; do you really thing Tharja’s going to let anything happen to me? And two; going from the superior smirk on your face I assume you already have someone in mind?”

Chrom grinned. “You could say that.”

*

Lucina hitched the light pack on her back on top of her red cape up a little higher, skipping a little to keep pace with Robin.

“Lucina, you don’t have to watch me all the time; one stalker is enough.”

The woman tilted her head a little as she cast a glance at Robin.

“I am under orders from my father to keep a close watch on you,” she explained.

Chrom had actually sent her with him; it was an astounding thought, one that beggared belief if he were to use the man’s own words against him.

He couldn’t be there in person, so he had sent the only other person that he could trust implicitly besides his wife; the only other person apparently as stubborn and single minded as he was. Lucina had shown up at the meeting point outside of Port Ferox, pack in hand and ready to march. The others were a little unsure what to make of the woman, but Henry was still a stranger too, so Robin guessed things would balance out a little once they all started to talk. At least he knew Lucina was a capable fighter, and Henry had seemed skilled enough in Plegia.

“Gah! This walking everywhere sucks!” Sully complained loudly from the back of the group, breaking Robin’s train of thought.

“All you do all day is train, and a little walking bothers you?” Robin said over his shoulder with a grin. “I’d say you need to do a little more endurance training.”

“I will stab you,” Sully warned. “I will stab you, and no one will find the body.”

Robin laughed, turning to face ahead again as Lucina cast worried glances back at the darkly muttering Knight.

“She will not really stab anyone, right?” Lucina asked in a low voice, leaning in close to the tactician once Robin had stopped laughing, prompting him to break out in a new fit of laughter.

They made a light camp that evening in a clearing just off the road. Sully offered to take the first watch, heading out into the forest to find a good vantage point. Robin assumed she just wanted some alone time to secretly pine for her husband.

It was late in spring, so the Shepherds decided to eschew tents and sleep under the stars around the fire in the warm night air, something Robin was actually looking forward to. For some reason he really loved camping. Virion was busy preparing some form of stew, and the others were all settling in for the night.

Robin let out a satisfied sigh as he stretched out and fell backwards onto his bedroll.

“This is the life,” he said to whoever was listening. “No stress, no worries, just me, the open road and a roaring campfire.”

_Chrom was right,_ Robin thought as he let his tired body relax. _I was working too hard. I just needed this break. I belong in the field, not behind a desk. I’m a battlefield tactician! That’s what I’ll continue to be; I’ll let the gaggle of planners do their own clerical work from now on._

Robin looked up as he heard rustling next to him, expecting to see Tharja laying out her bedroll next to his again, something he had tried really hard to put a stop to and failed miserably during their travels. Instead, Lucina was shaking out her bedroll, preparing to lay it down a short distance from Robin’s.

“You’re taking this watching me thing a little far, aren’t you?”

“I am following my father’s orders,” Lucina repeated, straight faced.

Robin sighed and shrugged, pointedly not looking over to where he knew Tharja would be glaring at him.

“Sure! You want me to cast a death curse on someone?”

Robin’s head snapped up the words ‘death’ and ‘curse’ being used so close together. Henry and Tharja were talking across the fire from Robin, a welcome change from her sulking every time Robin rebuffed her constant advances. But death curses?

“Someone in camp?” Tharja asked, making Robin think he might have to intervene. “No, that could be problematic.”

Robin sighed and relaxed; it wasn’t quite the answer he was hoping for, but seeing Tharja turn down a death curse was surprising personal growth for the woman.

Robin let their conversation tune into background noise, content with the knowledge no one would be dying that evening at the hands of the two Dark Mages. Well… No Shepherds, anyway. Robin looked up, chuckling at Lucina’s worried expression.

“You can relax,” he said with a loud yawn. “I won’t let them curse anyone to death.”

“It is the simple knowledge that they were considering such actions that disturbs me,” Lucina said under her breath, still eyeing the two mages who had moved on to discussing the various tenants of their creed.

Robin shook his head, letting himself drift further into sleep.

_I can eat later_ , he thought drowsily, letting his first untroubled sleep in weeks overtake him.

*

Robin woke in the early pre-dawn light, yawning and sitting up.

_Ah crap,_ he thought absently. _I slept right through dinner, and my turn for the night-watch… Why’d they let me sleep? This was Chrom’s doing, I just know it._

Robin stretched, his back popping lightly as he raised his arms above his head. Once he was finished, he spotted the covered pot sitting next to the pile of packs and supplies sitting to one side of the fire. He tentatively got up, doing his best not to wake the others as he snuck over and lifted the lid.

_I knew they’d save me some!_ He thought excitedly, spooning the last of the stew into a bowl and beginning to eat it cold. _Damn, Virion’s getting really good at cooking._

Robin sat watching the crackling embers in the fire, simply enjoying the peace and serenity of the morning in the forest as he ate his breakfast. He looked across the various others; Tharja curled up on her side under her coat and blanket, Henry much the same; Virion sprawled on his back in a very undignified manner, blanket practically hanging off of him; Sully lying straight, sleeping in her armour with her hands resting on her stomach.

Robin started as he realized someone was missing.

_Lucina’s probably just taking the early watch_ , he rationalized, finishing his impromptu meal with gusto as the others began to stir.

*

They spent another day on the road, passing farms where the Feroxi farmers were frantically trying to harvest their spring crops before they needed the space for the summer crops; they passed through small towns and hamlets where life was simply going on like usual, and where Robin could see evidence of villagers warily keeping watch for bandits.

“So where are we supposed to find these slavers, anyway?” Sully asked as they passed through their third town that afternoon.

“Dunno,” Robin admitted with a shrug. “The last reports of their whereabouts put them in some ruins up north from where I went traipsing around looking for those healers last year. Kinda hoped I’d never have to go back there, to be honest.”

Sully nodded disinterestedly before a commotion near one of the buildings in the town caught her attention.

“Whaddaya make of that?” she asked, stopping to watch the confrontation.

Robin glanced over disinterestedly. A young woman in heavy armour was shouting down a weasel of a man over some slight or another; not really something that demanded their attention if Robin were honest. As the Shepherds watched the two arguers settled on a duel in the ruined fortress up ahead on the road, and headed off.

“Problem solved,” Robin said with a shrug, making to continue on.

“Milord?” a small voice from behind him asked, making him hesitate and turn.

“Oh my,” Virion said, his ‘there is a woman’ mindset instantly kicking in. “Please, milady, a frown on such a beauteous face is truly a sin against all that men such as myself and my companion stand for. What must I do to put a smile on your radiant countenance again?”

Robin had to resist the laughter growing in his belly as Sully wrapped one massive arm around Virion’s neck, hauling him away from the flustered woman a few steps.

“Sorry about that; he gets excited easy,” Robin apologized, some laughter finally slipping out. “Now what can I do for you, miss?”

The woman hesitated a little, looking off in the direction the other woman had gone off in for her duel.

“It is alright, madam,” Lucina urged, giving a perfect imitation of Chrom’s reassuring smile. “We’re here to help.”

Robin rolled his eyes as he heard Henry mutter “we are?” and Tharja snickered a little.

“Yes,” Robin said, pointedly glaring at the two mages, “we are.”

*

“I thought we had a mission,” Tharja complained as they walked to the fort. “An important mission that we couldn’t waste time on.”

“Our mission is to take down bandits and slavers,” Robin pointed out. “These guys sound pretty skeevy; I’d say they fit the bill.”

Robin heard a crash from the fort and drew his sword reflexively as the others all did the same with their own weapons.

“Besides,” Robin added, “It sounds like you’re about to get to kill things again.”

Henry started jumping up and down a little in excitement, actually repeating “Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy,” under his breath.

“What’s the plan?” Sully asked, coming up alongside Robin in the front.

He liked working with the Knight; she wasn’t as imaginative as some of the others, but she was a ferocious fighter, and followed orders to the letter. Robin could honestly say he had missed working with her after the war.

“No plan,” Robin said. “We go in, act as official adjudicators as witnessed by the Royal Family of Ylisse, and make sure the duel is fought fairly.”

“And when people start trying to kill us?” Virion asked drolly. “As they are so oft do?”

“We kill them first,” Lucina said, outpacing Robin and Sully and getting to the fort first.

The others jogged to keep up, Robin shaking his head.

_Just like her father_ , he thought wryly.

“I think I’m starting to like her,” Henry chuckled, grinning from ear to ear with anticipation.

They entered the main floor of the fort, coming in to a long hallway with a couple of rooms off the sides and a great space in the back. It was dilapidated, and Robin honestly worried about its structural integrity, but hopefully they wouldn’t have to linger. He was already picking out men that obviously thought they were hidden, while more of them crowded around the woman in armour, blades drawn as the weasel-faced man from the village laughed at her from safely behind them.

“You bastard! You soulless blackheart!” the armoured woman roared. “You promised me an honourable duel!”

Weasel-face laughed. “It is honourable! These men are all just acting as my seconds! Still, if you get down on your knees and beg, I might ask them to spare your life.”

Robin shook his head; he could already tell where this was going.

The woman answered by roaring again, thrusting with her lance and skewering the nearest bandit, lashing out with the great shield in her other hand and swiping at the others, making them jump back.

“Shepherds!” Robin called. “Get them off of that woman!”

“What about the leader?” Sully asked as Virion began firing into the press assaulting the armoured woman.

Robin smiled cruelly. “He wants a duel, right? Let’s cut the distractions for him.”

Robin turned and charged, Sully and Lucina close behind him. Virion and the two mages brought up the rear, lashing out with magic and arrows at the hidden bandits.

Some of the bandits toward the back of the group pressing the young woman turned, paling when they saw she had reinforcements tearing through their sentries and moving to group around their leader.

Then Robin and the two women were among the distracted bandits, felling them with ease.

“Hey!” the armoured woman shouted indignantly. “I didn’t ask you for help!”

“No, but you got it all the same,” Robin said with a shrug. “Now don’t you have a duel to fight? We’ll handle the rabble; you fight your duel.”

Sully grinned ferally as she stared down the bandits, many of whom were eying the hallway, no doubt thinking of making a hasty retreat. Their plans were dashed, though, when Virion, Tharja and Henry appeared in the doorway, magic crackling around the two mages while Virion lined up a shot, kneeling in the front.

“Shepherds!” Robin called, watching the faces of the bandits fall as they realized who they were fighting. “Leave the leader to our duellist!”

Sully charged as Lucina followed, moving much more gracefully than the Knight as Robin held back, casting a few quick lightning spells to get the bandits’ attention. Virion began to take carefully aimed shots, taking his time and firing for maximum effect. Henry and Tharja did the same while watching the hallway, making sure there were no more surprises waiting to sneak up on them.

The woman in armour strode forward confidently, throwing her shield to the side and gripping her lance with both hands as she advanced on the weasel-faced bandit leader, who was quaking and trying to hide behind his thin sword as his men moved to engage the Shepherds.

Robin lost sight of her as two of the bandits crowded him, before falling to his lightning spells.

Henry was dancing, actually ballroom dancing with himself, as he cast spell after spell into the bandits. As strange as the man appeared to be, he had real skill with magic and his dagger and Robin began to form a high opinion of the mage. Tharja just glowered next to him, casting away as Virion continued to shoot from beneath her.

Lucina and Sully finished off the last of the bandits, the princess wiping her version of Falchion’s blade clean on the coat of the last bandit she had felled.

The Shepherds all watched as the armoured woman squared off with weasel-face, striking with lightning speed despite her heavy armour and weapon. Robin winced a little in sympathy as she struck his blade to the side with an armoured backhand before driving the lance through his midsection and pinning him against the wall she had backed him up to. With a yank she freed her lance and let the bandit drop to the ground where he sat gasping in a widening pool of blood.

“Let that be your final lesson,” she said coldly as she stared down at the man. “Never screw with a Knight.”

She turned her back and the man sighed, the light leaving his eyes as he slumped forward.

“Kjelle!?” Lucina exclaimed as the scowling woman approached. “I don’t believe it! Thank the gods you’re unharmed!”

The woman, Kjelle, stopped and looked at Lucina for a moment before comprehension dawned in her eyes.

“Princess!” she exclaimed, hurrying across the remaining space and stopping just before Lucina. “I don’t believe it! When did you… How…?”

“Well at least you can cross one off of the list,” Virion said slyly to Robin as he came up beside him.

Robin looked to where Tharja and Henry were leaning over one of the corpses, doing lord only knew what as they poked at it, muttering quietly to each other.

_Well I’ll be damned. She found a friend._

Sully came up beside the archer and the tactician, huffing as she leaned her lance over her shoulder.

“See?” she said victoriously. “Toldja I didn’t need to work on my endurance!”

Kjelle looked up at the woman’s exclamation, going pale when she spotted Sully. She said a few more hushed words to Lucina, who snuck a quick look at the Knight before turning back and nodding and heading over to where the three Shepherds were watching.

“Ah, perhaps we might assist Sir Henry and Lady Tharja,” she said, grabbing Robing and Virion by the arms and dragging them away from Sully.

Robin struggled, craning his neck to see what was going on.

“Awww, nooo,” he moaned childishly. “I wanna watch!”

Lucina rolled her eyes as Virion finally caught on.

“Wait, you mean to tell me… oh. Oh!”

The Princess shook her head as she continued dragging the two Shepherds.

“Severa was right; men really can be dense.”

*

Robin leaned against a tree near the outside of the fort as the five other Shepherds waited for Sully to finish talking to her daughter from the future.

“They do share a certain aesthetic similarity,” Virion said thoughtfully from his position resting on a root near Robin’s feet.

“She has her father’s hair,” Robin said, thinking back. “And his nose.”

Lucina giggled from the other side of Robin.

“This is a very strange scene,” she admitted when the two men turned to look at her.

“How do you think we feel?” Robin asked with a grin. “I literally held you in my arms not two months ago, and you were much smaller. I personally think Chrom and Sumia took the whole situation very, very well; Sully hasn’t even had Kjelle yet, though.”

“What of us?” Virion asked, looking up at the Princess. “Do we have children lurking out in the wilderness somewhere, too?”

“Well, your son was among our number,” Lucina said to the archer with a light chuckle when his eyes lit up.

“Wait, wait!” Virion said desperately. “Say nothing of his mother! I would not wish for you to spoil the surprise for me!”

The three of them laughed at Virion’s plea, and Robin looked expectantly at Lucina.

Her face fell as she met Robin’s gaze and she looked away quickly. “You… ah…”

“I never get married?” Robin asked.

“No,” Lucina said. “Your daughter, she… she went missing just after you died. I had not seen her for years before we travelled through time. We all feared her lost…”

“Oh,” Robin said simply, unsure how to take the information.

So he did have a child? His own little girl, just like Chrom and Sumia? His heart swelled at the prospect, but then sunk again when he remembered what Lucina had said.

_She goes missing… She probably dies, just like I do; all because I wasn’t there to protect her…_

Virion and Lucina went quiet, seeing that Robin was upset.

_Well now I have another reason to survive,_ he thought with conviction.

“Eh,” Robin said with a shrug, trying to dispel the awkward atmosphere that had settled in. “I’ll get over it.”

Virion grinned. “Excellent! That just means you can put in more effort to helping me locate my son.”

Robin grinned as Sully and Kjelle came out of the fort, the Knight with one arm around her daughter’s shoulders and big smiles on both of their faces.

“Well someone sure looks happy,” Robin said as they approached, before moving away from the tree and looking into the forest.

“Tharja! Henry!” he called into the trees. “We’re leaving!”

The two mages jogged out of the trees, both holding handfuls of what looked like…

“Newts!” Henry said excitedly, holding up the bundle of little squirming amphibians in his hands. “Look at these guys! Do you know how hard it is to find newts of this quality?”

Robin laughed as Lucina blanched and Virion inadvertently took a step back.

*

Robin lounged on his bedroll, watching as Virion cooked another stew, Tharja and Henry went about drying out their newts for easier transport, and Kjelle and Sully tested each other’s martial prowess.

The mother and daughter had been going for at least an hour now, dancing around each other and striking with their lances. It was truly an impressive spectacle; both women were obviously extremely skilled warriors, and Kjelle had obviously been trained by her mother their styles were so similar.

Robin let himself fall backwards onto his bedroll, vowing to remain awake at least until dinner this time.

He yawned, arching his back as he did so and catching a glimpse of Lucina sitting on her roll close to his again out of the corner of his eye.

“So,” Robin asked, rolling onto his side and propping himself up on an elbow. “Getting sick of watching me all the time yet?”

Lucina looked at him sideways, shaking her head.

“No. I find watching the people of this time period to be very interesting.”

Robin glanced up as one of the newts Henry was frying over the fire fell into the flames and the man instinctively reached to catch it, lighting his sleeve on fire.

“Okay, so maybe we’re not the most normal bunch to be watching,” Robin admitted, watching the mage frantically wave his arm around while Tharja burst into hysterics next to him. “We should find you a nice boring village to sit you in where you can watch normal people for a while.”

Lucina looked over at Robin and smiled.

“I did not have much to do with you in my own timeline,” she admitted. “I was very young when you died, but one thing I remember is you saying quite often that ‘normal is overrated’. It was something of your catchphrase in a way.”

Robin leaned back. “That does sound like something I would say.”

Henry had finally managed to put his sleeve out, but his shouting had distracted Kjelle and given Sully the advantage she needed to finally win their duel. They laughed as Sully helped Kjelle to her feet, clapping each other on the shoulders and moving to sit by the fire.

_Oh they are so related,_ Robin thought with a smirk. _They even stink the same after training. Phew! Maybe we should try and find a stream or something…_

*

A week passed as the Shepherds and their newest member travelled further east, making great time by taking the major roads and coming into the area Robin had spent so much of his time after the war with Plegia much quicker than last time. Virion, Lucina and Sully took the chance to gather information at every town they passed through on the slavers; most of the villagers said the same thing: that the slavers were horrible, came through periodically and were based somewhere in the far east.

“I’m beginning to get flashbacks,” Robin admitted as they passed through another town.

“Indeed,” Virion agreed. “Those were truly simpler times, were they not? Just you, me and the lovely Tharja on the open road; ah how my heart longs for those days again.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t accomplish anything during that year,” Robin pointed out.

He, Virion and Lucina were walking in the front, Sully and Kjelle following them with Tharja and Henry bringing up the rear.

Since the two mages had started talking they had become inseparable. At one point Robin thought he might even be experiencing jealousy, but then he remembered that she watched him sleep. It was good for her to expand her social circle a little, anyway; plus it integrated Henry even further into the Shepherds, so everything was coming up win-win for Robin.

When he thought about it Robin decided he was really happy that Tharja had found someone to make her happy; she still never smiled, but Robin could tell she was happier.

“That’s not entirely true,” Virion corrected him, drawing the tactician’s mind back to the present. “We in fact accomplished much; we dealt with a great number of bandits preying on villages, we brought two new Shepherds into the fold, and yes, we even discovered great things about the ancient past.”

“But no Robin memories,” the tactician added.

Virion sighed.

“Glass half empty,” he muttered, just loud enough that Robin knew he was meant to hear it.

Laughing he grabbed the archer around his shoulders.

“Hark, noble Virion, oh Archest of Archers!” Robin said in a clear voice, waving a hand through the air. “We embark upon another great quest, this time with the noblest goal of protecting the lambs of Regna Ferox from evil! For what else do Shepherds do but tend the flock?”

“You jest,” the archer chuckled, slipping out of Robin’s hold, “But you did enjoy our journey.”

“Of course I did,” Robin laughed. “I made good memories to replace those I lost. That alone made the whole trip worth it.”

They walked on in silence for some time before Lucina broke it, all business.

“When will we be coming up on the slavers’ camp?”

“We should hit the ruins they’re holed up in… sometime today…” he answered, digging around his pack and pulling out the map he had been working from. “Yeah, sometime this afternoon if we keep up this pace.”

“It astounds me that people can hold the lives of others in such low regard,” Lucina said distastefully. “A life was a precious thing in the future; we needed every able-bodied person to continue the fight.”

“There’s a lot more people in the past,” Robin explained. “Some think they can profit off the suffering of others. It is true that blood money spends like any other…”

“But then the Shepherds track you down and it curtains for the evil bastards!” Sully said confidently from behind them.

“What she said,” Robin said with a grin as they all burst into laughter.

Virion hung back to strike up a conversation with Sully and Kjelle, leaving Robin and Lucina walking alone.

“Life is still precious,” Robin said to Lucina after a little thought as they continued to march. “All life. It’s your father’s favourite philosophy. During the last war the man behind it all, King Gangrel, did unspeakable evils. He tortured our friends before he executed them and strung them from the gates of his castle like meat.”

“That’s awful!” Lucina said with shock writ on her face.

“It is,” Robin agreed. “But despite that, despite all the evil he had done, your Father still gave him every chance to lay down his arms and surrender. He gave him the chance to survive, when every other Shepherd would have struck him down without a second thought. Even I would have put his head on a pike and paraded it through Ylisstol. But your Father fought him in single combat and gave him an honourable end, before giving him a proper burial; the man responsible for murdering his sister, your Aunt.”

“Exalt Emmeryn,” Lucina nodded with a frown, remembering her failed attempts to preserve her Aunt’s life.

“Do you know why he went through so much effort? Why he gave Gangrel so many chances?” Robin asked.

Lucina shook her head.

“He once told me a story,” Robin began. “Oh don’t look at me like that, I swear there’s a point at the end of this. This takes place about the time when Emmeryn had just become the Exalt. Your Grandfather had just died in the first war with Plegia, leaving her to care for the people and rebuild Ylisse’s shattered economy. The people hated her for her father’s actions; they were starving after the war; they needed someone to bear their hate so that they didn’t tear each other apart, and Emmeryn took all of their anger willingly. One day, as she travelled through the capital an angry crowd formed, and one of the people in the crowd threw a rock, striking her in the head and knocking her down.”

Lucina gasped, shocked at the story she had obviously never heard before.

“The Knights escorting her acted immediately, charging into the crowd and apprehending the man. The Guard Captain was all set to execute the man on the spot, but Emmeryn stopped him. She came forward to the man, and knelt before him, blood still running from her wound. She forgave him and allowed him to return to his family. Chrom told me that that was the kind of ruler he aspired to be, that that was why he gave Gangrel so many chances. He doesn’t want to take any lives unnecessarily, and he wants to live up to his sister’s example.”

“I never knew my Aunt,” Lucian admitted sadly after a moment of contemplation.

“I only knew her a short time,” Robin said, looking up to the sky as he did. “But she was truly an amazing woman. You never felt like you were talking to royalty around her.”

Lucina smiled at Robin.

“Thank you, Robin,” she said brightly. “I think I have a better idea about the kind of man my Father is now.”

Robin smiled back. “Happy to oblige.”

*

All Robin could think as he tromped through the forest was that Lon’qu was such a better tracker than he was, and that he should have brought the cold Feroxi man along with them.

They had found the ruins that the slavers were operating out of no problem; locating said slavers was another matter entirely.

“Why aren’t they here?” Robin muttered as he watched the ruins.

“Perhaps we just missed them as they rode off?” Virion offered.

Robin ‘hrm’ed thoughtfully, stroking his chin as he considered the scene.

The ruins were huge; easily two buildings spread out over a huge area, with a small creek running through the centre of the compound. They had staked out the more intact of the buildings, Robin reasoning that the slavers would use it as their base and quarters, but he had still sent the two mages Tharja and Henry to check on the other building, just to be sure.

Robin spotted something in the distance; it looked like a person, wandering around with no idea where they were.

“Possible victim?” Robin asked.

“I don’t know,” Lucina muttered, squinting to try and get a better look.

“If she is not, she’s about to be,” Virion warned, pointing to the plume of dust on the road they had come off of.

Riders wearing quality armour and wielding heavy spears, some carrying nets and ropes rather than weapons, came quickly up the road. There was no time for any of the Shepherds to warn the person wandering around the ruins, but that didn’t stop Lucina from trying; Robin had to grab her and force her back down.

“No!” he hissed. “You’ll just get caught, too! We’ll help them, but we need to be smart about this!”

Lucina quieted and Robin released her, glancing back into the forest where Sully and Kjelle were waiting for orders.

Robin gave them the hand signal for ‘hold position’ before sneaking through the forest to try and get a better view. Virion remained with the Knights, while Lucina doggedly stuck to Robin’s side as he moved almost silently through the thick undergrowth.

_I really hope that Tharja and Henry don’t blunder into this mess,_ he silently hoped.

As they got closer Robin watched as the slavers’ leader dismounted and approached the… girl? She was a pale young woman, short raven hair held out of her face by a thin circlet, no older than Lucina, staring and trembling as the slaver approached her. More words were traded, and just as Robin and Lucina got into the perfect ambush position the girl bolted, scattering the bandits and ruining Robin’s plan.

Cursing, Robin signalled for the two Knights and Virion to attack and get the slavers’ attention.

Out of the group about half took off after the girl as she leapt into the shallow creek, wading across and taking refuge in the ruins on the other side, moving a lot faster than Robin would have given her credit for.

Before the other half of the slavers could follow one was thrown from his horse by a perfectly placed arrow between the joins in his armour, Virion’s shout of success ringing out clearly in the quiet afternoon air.

The others all spun in their saddles, looking back to where Sully and Kjelle were crashing out of the forest, whooping challenges and generally providing the distraction that Robin knew they would.

Robin used the Shepherd hand signals to tell Lucina quickly that they would wait for the slavers to go after the Knights and then come from behind. The girl watched uncomprehendingly and Robin sighed.

“Just follow my lead,” he hissed as the slavers started to move.

Robin ducked out of the forest and onto the road, casting as he went and conjuring a wall of flame in front of the slavers, causing their mounts to rear up and halting their charge before they could hit the two Knights. Another fell from his horse, an arrow sticking out of the gap between his helmet and gorget.

The leader spun, eying Robin and readying his bow. He shot an arrow, which Robin rolled to avoid, coming up closer to the forest and ducking back into the relative safety of the trees as arrows began to fly around him.

“Shoulda thought this through a little better…” Robin lamented, peeking out from around the side of a tree and cursing.

Lucina was charging the slavers, sword held ready and completely ignoring the hail of arrows flying past her.

Robin cursed again, throwing himself out from behind the tree and dispelling the flames enough for Sully and Kjelle to pass through them, before knocking a volley of arrows from the air with a well-timed wind spell.

Lucina faltered as an arrow nicked her leg, but regained her momentum and hit the slavers at the same time as Sully and Kjelle, executing a classic pincer attack.

Virion crashed through the forest near Robin, taking up position near the tactician as he began firing again.

“Did you put any thought into this plan!?” the archer shouted, ducking back behind a tree as more arrows began zipping through the forest.

Robin leaned out, casting three fireballs in quick succession before ducking back.

“I may have dropped the ball here,” he admitted as an arrow whizzed by his nose.

At least they were keeping the four archers busy while the others dealt with the slavers with swords. Kjelle and Sully were having no trouble, the reach of their lances more than making up for their lack of manoeuvrability now that the slavers had been trapped by the magical flames. Lucina was having a little more trouble though, and had taken several small wounds as she felled the first three men that had tried to encircle her.

Robin ducked back again, reaching for his spellbook.

“Nuts to this. Cover me,” he grumbled, looking for…

He stepped back out, eyes shining with power as he raised his free arm and began casting, reading from the spellbook.

“Oh mighty Earth, open up in rage and hoist up your flames!” Robin called, grinning when the ground began to shake and his spell took effect.

The leader and the other bow-wielding slavers looked around in a panic before the ground beneath them opened up and magma and flames began to surround them. Not one of them managed to escape as the spell ran its course and the earth closed, swallowing them all.

“Did… did you do that?” Virion asked with wide eyes.

Robin nodded, keeling over and gasping for breath. “Big spell…” Robin panted. “Too much… mana… Need a second here…”

He looked up at Virion, taking a deep breath to steady himself before speaking. “Cross the river! Find Tharja and Henry and back them up!”

Virion nodded, taking off like a shot and crossing the distance to the creek in a few heartbeats; he didn’t hesitate as he plunged into the water, wading across and disappearing into the ruins where he had seen the slavers go.

Robin turned back to where the others were fighting.

Lucina was limping a little, but still held one of the last two slavers at bay, while Sully and Kjelle doubled up, striking again and again and knocking the man they were attacking to the ground before Sully pounced on him, driving her lance through his chest.

Robin breathed and focused, casting a small thunder spell.

The spell hit the last slaver square between his shoulders, distracting him long enough for Lucina the dart in and slide Falchion under the man’s guard. The slaver jerked once before sliding off of his mount’s saddle.

“Sully, Kjelle! Go help Virion!” Robin shouted, hurrying over.

Sully nodded, grabbing one of the startled horses milling around the battlefield by the reigns and swinging herself into the saddle. Kjelle looked uncertain, but the other woman simply grabbed her and dragged her up onto the saddle behind her, before taking off to the ruins.

Lucina made to follow them on foot before Robin reached her and stopped her.

“Hold on, you!” he said, pointing down to her blood-soaked pant leg. “You’re not going anywhere yet!”

“Release me!” she said, pulling away. “The others need my help!”

“They need our help,” Robin corrected, reaching into the pouch at his hip. “And you’ll be useless if you drop dead from blood loss halfway there. Now hold still; this will only take a second.”

Lucina fidgeted, looking worriedly at the other set of ruins as Robin prepared the first aid equipment. The wound was on the outside of her leg, midway up her thigh. Her pants would need mending, but that could wait. Robin clucked his tongue, inspecting the deep wound gently to make sure that there were no splinters of arrow shaft or anything like that in it before he cleaned it. He dabbed away the excess blood and opened the tin in his other hand.

“Okay, this is going to hurt like hell,” Robin warned as he scooped some antiseptic salve onto his fingers from the small tin Cordelia regularly restocked without him knowing and quickly slathered it onto Lucina’s wound.

Lucina ground her teeth, hissing and gripping her sword’s hilt tightly as she glowered at the tactician.

Robin proceeded to tightly bind the wound with the bandages he carried everywhere, doing so over the pants. They were in a hurry, after all.

“Alright, you think you can keep going?” Robin asked, putting the tin of antiseptic back into his pouch.

“I’ll be fine,” Lucina assured him, limping away towards the bridge crossing the creek.

“Just as pig-headed as her father,” Robin said with a wry grin as he followed after her.

They found the others on the opposite side of the ruins, Tharja and Henry crackling with magic energy as they shot spells into the slavers that had followed the girl; the girl in question cackling maniacally as she shot arrows into the slavers riding circles around her. Robin watched, silently questioning where she had gotten a bow and arrows, as she landed a good shot and the slaved fell from the saddle. Kjelle, Sully and Virion had the other four slavers occupied, and Robin shrugged as he saw things were well in hand.

“Stick close,” he said to Lucina before heading in the direction of the two mages.

Robin could tell Lucina didn’t like being sidelined, but as much as she didn’t like it she knew that she was just a liability while she was wounded.

“Sit rep?” Robin asked as Henry and Tharja paused in their casting.

“The girl just picked up a bow and started going nuts,” Henry said excitedly as Tharja kept casting. “She’s a really good shot, too! Her body count’s almost as high as mine!”

Robin nodded as the last slaver harrying the girl in question dropped from Tharja’s spell, giving her a chance to sag and fall to the ground with equal parts relief and exhaustion.

“Right,” Robin said, thinking fast and handing his pouch to Lucina. “You two stay here and continue overwatch; Lucina, there’s first aid gear in here, go and see if the girl needs any help; I’ll engage with the others and hopefully this won’t take much longer.”

The trio all acknowledged their orders, leaving Robin to go and help the other three fighting with the slavers closer to the ruins.

As Robin approached, though, he saw Sully and Kjelle both skewer their respective opponents as Virion shot the other. The last slaver decided that discretion was the better part of valour and wheeled his horse about, making to flee. Sully snorted with derision and hurled her lance like a javelin, knocking the man from his horse.

_Okay, so much for engaging,_ Robin thought with a wry grin. _I should have known that they wouldn’t need my help._

Robin offered the others a wave before he turned back to where Lucina was helping the girl over to Henry and Tharja.

“Thank you!” the girl was saying in a timid voice. “Thank you so much! If you hadn’t saved me then I… I fear to think what could have happened.”

“I know what would have happened,” Henry said cheerfully before Robin silenced him with a light elbow to his ribs.

“It’s alright,” Robin said with a reassuring smile. “We were hunting these slavers anyway, so we figured we may as well help you out.”

The girl nodded, going silent as she stared at Tharja.

“What?” Tharja asked brusquely after a few moments of being stared at.

The girl shied away as if she had been struck, and Lucina wrapped an arm about her shoulders comfortingly.

“It’s okay, Noire,” she assured the girl. “Go ahead.”

The girl, apparently named Noire, nodded and looked back up at Tharja again.

“H-here…” she stammered, holding something out to the Dark Mage. “Please… please look at this.”

Tharja took the small ring she was being offered, studying it as she turned it over in her hands.

“Nice ring,” she said after a moment. “It bears a very familiar magical resonance, too. Are you related to me somehow? Did mom and dad have another kid while I was away?”

“N-no…” Noire stuttered. “It’s… it’s just… I… I’m sorry, I… I need a moment…”

“Out with it, girl,” Tharja said impatiently, unaware or uncaring that the others were crowding around now.

Robin watched with a morbid curiosity as Noire fished a strange little medallion out of her pocket and held it tight to her chest, taking a deep breath.

“I am blood and thunder!” the timid girl exploded, her whole personality shifting. “I am righteous fury! I AM YOUR FUTURE DAUGHTER!”

“You are trying my patience,” Tharja deadpanned.

“Insolence!” Noire thundered. “I speak the truth! The ring I bear also hails from the future! A memento of you, my departed mother!” 

Tharja’s face lit up like a Christmas tree as she spun on Robin, throwing herself at him.

“I knew we were meant to be!” she squealed, doing a personality shift of her own as she almost knocked Robin to the dirt. “Our future daughter proves it, my love!”

“Fool!” Noire thundered. “He is not my father! HE is!”

Robin and Tharja followed Noire’s pointing finger to a very uncomfortable looking Henry.

“Oh thank Naga,” Robin gasped as Tharja stepped away from him, her eyes wide.

“HIM!?” she shrieked, her hands clawing at the air in Henry’s direction.

“Nya ha ha ha!” Henry burst out after a moment of indecision, doubling over as he laughed. “Isn’t this just deliciously awkward!? I suppose I should make a ring now, right?”


	22. Chapter 22

To say that the atmosphere in the camp that night was awkward would have been an understatement.

Tharja hadn’t spoken a word since Noire’s parentage had been revealed; she had simply clammed-up, becoming non-responsive to anyone’s gentle prodding; once they had chosen a campsite the woman had simply moved a little further away and sat with her back to her friends. None of them had the guts to go and ask if she was okay, not with her well-documented love of cursing people that annoyed her.

Noire, her daughter from the future, had spent the evening quietly talking with her father Henry, who was taking the news much, much better than Tharja had. After all, what did he have to be upset about? Noire had gone back to what Robin assumed was her usual timid self after Tharja had gone silent, occasionally casting glances at her mother as she answered all of her father’s seemingly endless questions about the future.

Sully and Kjelle had opted to steer clear of the whole hornet’s nest, talking quietly together and mending their armour after the day’s battle with the slavers they had been hunting.

Virion had begun silently preparing dinner, giving Robin a pointed look before he did and refusing to be drawn into a conversation with the man, answering all of Robin’s questions with prompt, monosyllabic sentences; which in itself was strange enough, considering how much Virion loved to talk.

Lucina, for her part, seemed content to sit silently, ignoring the awkward atmosphere as she massaged her wounded leg, waiting patiently for Virion to finish with dinner.

Leaving Robin in an awkward situation.

He stood leaning against one of the trees ringing their campsite, watching Tharja to make sure she didn’t do anything she would regret in her emotional state.

For the first time since she had started stalking him Robin felt genuinely bad for Tharja. She had dedicated herself wholly to Robin for three years, following him everywhere and doing everything for him, despite his continued requests that she not. She had accompanied him on a journey basically around the world, crossing three countries to try and find a remedy for Robin’s amnesia without a word of complaint. As irritating as she had been, she had been a loyal and faithful friend.

And now her world had been shattered by her daughter from the future; a daughter that wasn’t Robin’s.

Robin realized he felt wretchedly guilty for the way he had been treating her lately. She had continued to stay by his side, making sure he ate properly, making sure he slept at least six hours a night, chasing off others when he declared he didn’t wish to be disturbed; and he had snapped at her repeatedly, treated her with more irritation than she deserved and taken her for granted for the entirety of their association, treating her as little more than a nuisance most of the time.

_Some friend I am,_ he thought bitterly, running a hand through his hair. _I don’t even know how to fix this. I’ve ignored her for too long; I have to be the one to fix this._

Robin bounced off the tree, rolling out his neck as he turned and approached Henry and Noire.

“Hey-o Robin!” Henry greeted enthusiastically. “Can you believe Noire’s mine? She’s so great!”

The young archer looked down and blushed at her father’s praise.

“Do you mind if I talk to her for a little while, Henry?” Robin asked seriously.

“Be my guest,” Henry said, all smiles. “But try anything with my little girl and I’ll have you hexed up to your eyeballs.”

Robin chuckled at Henry’s half-joking threat as he held out a hand to help Noire up, which she hesitantly took before Robin led her away from the camp in the opposite direction that Tharja was brooding in.

“I want to ask you about your mother,” Robin said once he was sure they were far enough away that the others wouldn’t hear them. “Specifically, what she was like in the future with Henry.”

Noire shuffled a little, looking down and not answering.

“If you’re worried about messing with the time flow you can stop,” Robin said as he sunk down to an upturned tree. “I said this to Lucina already; I need every advantage I can get in this war. I will not take ‘I can’t tell you’ for an answer. But in this instance I just want to help your mother. So please, Noire. I do actually care about her, despite the way I act.”

Noire looked up tentatively.

“You don’t change at all,” she said with a slight smile. “You were always saying things… things like that to encourage me to be strong in the future when I was young.”

Robin nodded, indicating for her to continue when she stopped talking.

“I was… young when you and Father died; it’s not really something I like to think a lot about,” she said quietly at length. “But I remember you being a big part of my life, and a big part of mother’s. She was always happiest when we were all together, you and Morgan and our family. When you and Father died Mother was shattered; it happened at the same time.”

_Morgan?_ Robin thought absently, cursing himself for becoming distracted as Noire looked at him expectantly.

“But she was happy being with Henry?” Robin asked, getting to the point he was chasing. “He was a good man? A good husband and father?”

Noire nodded, eyes glazing over as she lost herself in memory.

“You were never as close to Father as you were to Mother,” Noire said quietly. “But he never questioned her devotion to you; he never held it against you. It was just a part of our lives. He loved us both, though; enough to die for us.”

Robin nodded, lost in thought.

_That’s what really matters then,_ Robin thought.

“Thanks, Noire,” Robin said, patting the girl on the shoulder. “I’m sorry I made you dredge up painful memories.”

Noire smiled at Robin, looking every bit like Henry in that moment.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m just glad to have everyone back again.”

*

Tharja looked up at Robin as she heard his approach through the forest, and his heart broke for her.

Lines from tears streaked down her face, although she hadn’t let out a single sob; one thing Robin had learned about her early was that she was emotionally strong, stronger perhaps than any of the other women in the Shepherds. Seeing her like this was a shock he wasn’t soon going to recover from. Her eyes were so pleading as Robin sat down next to her that he almost became lost in the dark orbs.

Instead he did something he had never done before and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her gently as she shuddered at his touch.

“You’ve never held me before,” she muttered, her voice thick but not breaking. “I’ve seen you hug the other women in the camp, but you’ve never…”

“I’m sorry,” Robin said quietly, holding her a little tighter as she trailed off.

“It was never going to happen, was it?” Tharja asked quietly after they sat in silence for a few minutes. “You and I? Gods I must look quite the fool right now.”

“No. You don’t look foolish at all,” Robin assured her. “But I do owe you an apology. For everything. You’ve been so devoted to me all this time, and I’ve been a pretty crappy friend in return.”

“No you haven’t,” Tharja disagreed, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’ve been… obsessed. You tried to tell me it wasn’t healthy, but I… I wouldn’t listen to you. You were all I wanted, and I was too trapped in my own little fantasy world where you and I were so happy together to see reality.”

“You’re still all I want,” Tharja muttered sadly, gripping Robin’s coat over his chest tightly.

“You have a chance here,” Robin said seriously as he looked down at the mage. “A chance for real happiness. Just because it’s not with me doesn’t mean I’m going to abandon you completely. You’re my friend, Tharja; in fact you’re more than that. You’re my family.”

“For what it’s worth, I was always happy to be your friend,” Robin added comfortingly after a few more moments of silence. “And that hasn’t changed. I care about you deeply, Tharja. Just… just not in the way you wanted me to.”

“I know,” Tharja whispered. “And I think… I think I’m ready to finally move on. But just for now, just this once… just hold me.”

Robin nodded and shifted, wrapping his arms around Tharja’s shoulders. The two continued to sit there, Robin wrapped around Tharja as she silently said goodbye to the fantasy she had cultivated in her head for nearly three years. By the time she finally rose again the sun had set completely, and they were sitting in darkness.

*

Robin watched Tharja and Noire speak quietly as Henry looked on, a huge smile plastered on his face. For some reason though it didn’t look like his usual smile; it seemed so much more genuine than normal. The man was practically glowing as Tharja cast her usual glares at him.

After the previous night the woman had opened up a little more to her daughter, although she was still acting coldly to Henry. The jovial mage just grinned and bore it the way he had been for the last two weeks, smiling every time she threatened to hex him. Robin could tell she was giving him a chance, though; none of her threats had their usual venom to them.

“Twas a beautiful thing you did for Tharja last night,” Virion commented as they walked. “I’m glad that everyone was unharmed and unhexed, too.”

“That mess was mostly my fault,” Robin said with a shrug. “I needed to fix it.”

“And you did so ever so smoothly, you heart-breaker you,” Virion said with a cheeky wink.

“We’re still out in the wilderness,” Robin warned the man playfully. “I can still find someplace to stash your body.”

They laughed a little before continuing to walk in amicable silence.

Sully had ‘liberated’ two of the horses from the slavers the day before, and had ridden ahead with Kjelle attempting to teach the younger woman to ride properly. Judging from the large, armour-shaped divots along the side of the road, her lessons weren’t going so well. Every so often they heard a scream from up ahead, marking another divot in the road. They were beginning to happen less frequently, though.

“You can ride, can’t you?” Robin asked idly.

“Of course,” Virion answered with flair. “I was quite the polo player in my younger days, but I am hardly the combat rider our companions are.”

“Really?” Robin asked with a derisive chuckle. “Polo? You played polo? Let me guess, you played croquet too? On a big, sprawling grass lawn in the shade of your manor while the servants watched?”

“But of course,” Virion said, failing to see the humour in his statements. “Why is that so funny?”

Robin snickered. “No reason.”

Virion huffed. “Now you simply must tell me, or it will be your body hidden in the woods.”

“Is it normal for friends to threaten each other so much?” Lucina asked curiously from behind them. “I find many things in the past strange, but the threats I find to be very confusing.”

Robin shrugged as Virion chuckled.

“You’re not friends with someone unless you’ve threatened to kill them,” the tactician said with a laugh. “It’s… ah, complicated.”

Lucina nodded, unconvinced and still confused.

*

Things had returned to some semblance of normality as they stopped that evening to make camp. Virion set about making dinner and Tharja and Noire began to practice some small curses while Henry played guinea pig for them. Apparently Noire hadn’t been properly taught to curse or hex in the future; she had a passing skill with dark magic and was a little better with the easier elemental magic, but had opted to train with a bow once her parents had both passed and there was no one left to instruct her properly. Henry giggled as Tharja demonstrated a curse to make his nose run constantly.

“Clears out the sinuses,” Henry said happily, snot beginning to run down his face.

Noire gagged, making Henry laugh and Tharja scowl at her daughter’s apparent weakness.

Robin noticed Lucina stumble and hiss with pain as she set up her bedroll, her leg wound from the previous day obviously still bothering her and refusing to take her full weight.

_No wonder,_ Robin thought to himself, spying the dirty bandages he had put on the other day still wrapped around her leg.

“You should let me take a look at that,” Robin said, pointing to her leg as she sat on her bedroll. “You know, dress and clean it properly. I probably should have done it yesterday, but with all the drama it kind of slipped my mind.”

“I will endure,” she said stoically, staring into the fire as she sat atop the bedroll.

Robin sighed and squatted down next to her.

“Remember how I said it would be bad if you dropped dead from blood-loss?” he asked. “Well getting gangrene and dying a slow and painful death from infection would be worse. I promise to be a little gentler this time, if that helps.”

Lucina blushed as she glared at Robin.

“It is not the pain that bothers me,” she said stubbornly. “But I would prefer not to remove my pants in front of a man until he and I are wed.”

Robin shot to his feet, blushing heavily and remembering exactly where her wound was and how it would need to be treated; he wouldn’t be able to bind it properly unless Lucina removed her pants.

_How exactly did that slip my mind?_ He thought embarrassedly.

“I, uh, I’ll get… Sully and she can… ah, bind the wound… properly,” Robin stammered, purposely avoiding eye contact.

“That would be acceptable,” Lucina said stiffly, blushing as much as Robin was.

The tactician stumbled over to where Sully was watching Kjelle clean the dirt out of her armour and explained the situation.

“Sure, no problem,” Sully said, standing and accepting Robin’s little first-aid kit with a knowing grin. “I’m not quite the field medic Stahl is, but I can clean and bind a simple wound no problem.”

Robin nodded awkwardly and walked around the fire, face still beet red as he sat next to Virion, pointedly trying not to look at Lucina as Sully helped her up and they walked a little way into the woods for privacy.

Apparently the archer’s keen hearing had allowed him to overhear Robin and Lucina’s entire conversation and the man lost control as the tactician sunk down next to him, howling with laughter as Robin buried his face in his hands.

“Okay,” Virion said as his laughter subsided. “I take back what I said about you being a lady-killer. That was so pathetic it hurt.”

“I swear I will kill you,” Robin moaned, robbing his hands on his face to try and ease the blood from his flushing cheeks. “Naga help me if Chrom finds out about this.”

*

Robin awoke that morning to find two empty bedrolls around the fire.

Kjelle sat with her back to the embers, staring out into the forest on the early morning watch, nodding a greeting to Robin as he stumbled into his boots.

“Where’s Lucina?” he asked with a quiet yawn, running a hand through his hair and noting absently that it was beginning to get quite long.

_I’ll have to ask Olivia to cut it when we get back to Port Ferox,_ he thought, pushing a few loose strands away from his face.

“The Princess wanted to be alone,” Kjelle answered, pointing a seemingly random direction. “She went off that way if you need her for anything.”

Robin nodded and began walking the direction Kjelle had indicated, his curiosity getting the better of him while his brain was too tired to resist.

He found her just out of earshot of the camp, leaning up against a great oak tree, resting her weight off of her wounded leg as she stared blankly into the distance.

“Morning Princess,” Robin greeted casually, hoping to put the awkwardness from last night behind them. “What’re you doing out here all alone?”

“Ah, Robin,” she said, turning to face him.

She looked at him for a moment before seemingly coming to an internal decision.

“I was just thinking about the future again. My future, I mean. I wonder how everyone is managing now. Do they still live, or...?”

Robin shuddered in the warm dawn sun as Lucina went back to staring into the distance.

“I can barely even begin to imagine what it must have been like growing up in a world like that,” Robin said. “A future that was lost... That we couldn’t save... I don’t think I even want to. But you said that there were people that still fought against the Risen, right?”

“Indeed,” Lucina said, her voice as distant as her gaze. “Remnants of the old dynasts survived here and there. We had to move often, though. Nowhere was safe from the roaming bands of Risen for long. It was… difficult to constantly be on the move and defend the civilians that travelled with us at the same time. Although in the end there were hardly any left that could claim to be civilians.”

“So the future of humanity hinges on our actions in the near future?” Robin asked. “In this war and then the next one with Plegia?”

“Yes, and my father is the key. Without him, that future will come to pass. Our struggle there can only postpone the inevitable, not alter it. When I fight for my father or follow his orders, no matter how terrible the foe, or how powerful... I know that I have no choice. I simply cannot lose.”

Robin sighed tiredly, sinking to sit on an exposed root near Lucina, indicating for her to do the same. She hesitated a moment before sitting next to Robin, careful not to put too much weight on her wounded leg.

“You have to beat fate itself,” Robin said, understanding her burden for the first time. “That’s a terrible burden to bear on your own. But you need to remember something.”

“And what is that?” Lucina asked curiously.

“You’re not alone anymore,” Robin told her. “You have friends ready to aid you against whatever you face. And your father has an entire army ready to fight and die for him; ready to march to the very gates of hell and back behind him.”

Robin hesitated a moment before adding, “And you also have me, for whatever that may be worth.”

“It is worth a great deal, Robin,” Lucina said with a small smile.

“Perhaps I can never truly understand where you come from and the world you lived in. But I do know that we can help you in this one; and I intend to do just that for you, and your father and everyone else.”

Lucina smiled and laughed happily.

“What?” Robin asked confused. “Why is that funny? I know I’m lazy, but I can be dangerous when I’m motivated!”

“No, it’s not that it’s funny,” Lucina said, still smiling. “It’s just that it makes me so happy to hear the passion in your words. It means a great deal to me.”

Robin shrugged, grinning a little as the conversation took a lighter turn.

“Your father took me in three years ago and has treated me like a brother ever since. I kinda owe it to him to be completely loyal.”

Robin stood, dusting off the seat of his pants.

“Come on,” Robin said tiredly, offering his hand to help Lucina stand. “We should wake up the others before Virion sleeps the day away.”

Still smiling Lucina took Robin’s offered hand, pulling herself up and walking with him back to the camp site.

“You need to loosen up a bit, though,” Robin said mischievously. “All work and no play makes Lucina a dull girl, after all.”

Lucina dubiously stared at Robin for a moment.

“I cannot rest until my future has been averted,” she reminded him.

“Sure you can!” Robin said, going out on a limb and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “And I’m just the man to teach you about slacking off. I can guarantee you that your father will agree with me.”

*

“Cheers!” Sully and Kjelle shouted, loudly clinking their thick ceramic mugs together before downing the ale inside in one go.

“I shall go and get another round,” Virion said with a sigh as the two women smiled and held their empty cups above their heads, upside down.

“Thanks, Ruffles,” Sully snickered as the archer took the mugs and headed for the bar.

They had been making such good time that Robin had decided they could stand to stop in the closest town for a proper lunch that day as a reward for their hard work with the slavers, giving everyone a chance to relax a little.

Sully was intently showing her daughter the finer points of ale, explaining the various drinking games that could be played with the amber liquid; Tharja and Noire were sitting in the corner, watching as Henry procured them lunch from the barman, trying to haggle him down by offering to curse the establishment to be easier to clean; Virion was sitting with the two Knights, or had been until the call for the next round had come; leaving Lucina and Robin to sit at a small table in the corner on their own.

The tavern was admittedly small, and the small group of Shepherds took up at least half of it. However, it passed the all-important ‘is it clean?’ test, so Robin hadn’t complained as they sat down at their respective tables.

Robin poked idly at the meat pie in front of him, sighing as he fondly remembered the one that Tharja had cooked for him back in Plegia.

“Are you not hungry?” Lucina asked curiously as Robin picked at his pie, eating small mouthfuls of her own in a very dignified manner.

“Once you have looked upon the face of pie god, none can ever compare again,” Robin said cryptically.

Lucina’s response was interrupted when Virion sat down quickly at the table, obviously very excited about something.

“Friend Robin, we have another stop to make,” he said excitedly.

Robin raised an eyebrow, indicating for him to continue.

“You recall the purpose of the start of our travels two years ago?” Virion asked, smiling brightly as if he were about to let Robin in on the biggest secret of his life. “Well I have news, courtesy of the fine barman over there, of an ancient artefact that may be able to help you, located not far from this village.”

“No,” Robin said flatly, placing his fork down on the table. “Oh no. No more wild goose chases. Remember what Nagi said? I haven’t got any memories to recover; they are gone. Zip. Nada. None. We’re just going to go back to Port Ferox and focus on the war at hand.”

“I knew you might react thusly,” Virion said, giving Robin the impression he had played directly into the archer’s hands. “Therefore I suggest we go to these ruins and slay the Risen that are gathering there before they spread out and attack the village; if we by chance find the artefact, then so much the sweeter.”

Robin looked at Lucina.

“It is your decision,” she pointed out unhelpfully.

Robin groaned. “Fine. We go and kill the Risen, but I’m not wandering around ruins looking for Naga-only-knows what.”

Virion winked. “We already know what the artefact is called, though. We seek the ‘Tear of Naga’.”

“Did somebody say ‘kill Risen’?” Henry asked excitedly, all of a sudden beside Robin. “Because I am very on board for that plan.”

“Where’s our drinks, Ruffles!?” Sully called angrily from her table, making Virion jump and look back to the bar where two mugs of ale were still sitting guiltily.

*

“I can’t believe I let him talk me into this,” Robin muttered as he and Lucina followed the mountain path.

“If there really are Risen gathering there then we should destroy them before they become a problem,” Lucina pointed out.

Robin silently agreed with her, but refused to get his hopes up about any artefact.

The tactician watched Lucina as she navigated her way over the treacherous mountain road that they were following; she was obviously healing quickly, but still favoured her wounded leg as they travelled further into the mountains.

Sully and Kjelle led the way with Virion, both on foot again as the mountains were hardly the place to bring strange horses; they had chosen to leave them in the care of the barman at the tavern, who promised to keep them safe. For a nominal fee, of course.

Robin silently wished he had taken Anna with them in that moment; she would have had the barman paying them for the privilege of watching their horses.

Noire marched silently with Robin and Lucina, Robin noticing her panting and struggling to keep up. Obviously she was out of shape; she was pale and skinny to a fault, making Robin worry that she might collapse at any moment. She had insisted that she had endured worse though, and had pressed on with them.

Leaving Tharja and Henry to bring up the rear as they conversed quietly between each other. Occasionally Henry would let out his loud trademark laugh, reminding Robin that they were still following the group.

Robin had kept a close eye on Tharja since they had spoken a few nights ago; she had been quiet at first, but had returned to as normal as she usually was as she spent more time with Noire. She was still giving Henry the cold shoulder, but at least she was giving the man a chance. She did warm incredibly slowly to people.

Noire gasped from next to Robin, struggling to keep up with the pace the Shepherds had set.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. “Do you want to lean on me for a little while or something? You’re no good to us dead.”

Noire glanced at her mother and shook her head.

“I can… I can keep up,” she managed, doing her best to look strong.

Robin shrugged, stopping behind Virion as they reached the top of the pass.

“Whoa,” Robin breathed, looking down at the valley below them.

Built into one side of the valley’s wall was a giant fortress, carved into the side of the mountain itself. Its walls and parapets melded seamlessly with the stone around it, making the fortress seem almost like a natural construct rather than something man-made.

“Whoa is right,” Sully breathed, looking down at the fortress obviously impressed.

“Why is something like this abandoned?” Lucina asked curiously.

Robin watched as Risen milled about the fortress’ entrance.

“Could have something to do with them,” he said, pointing to the creatures.

Robin looked down at the fortress, eyeing the terrain and coming up with plans to deal with the Risen crowding the entrance to the fortress.

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Robin said, making the others stop and listen as he explained his plans.

*

It was amazing to watch Noire go from being timid and practically collapsing as she gasped for breath to the all-business commando-esque hunter that was crouched behind a rock a little bit ahead of Robin with her bow drawn and held at the ready.

Robin’s plan had been simple, as they so often were when it concerned the mindless Risen.

Virion would lead the other Shepherds in a diversionary strike around the flank of the Risen, luring them away from the high ground at the base of the mysterious fortress and back to the bottleneck at the base of the pass they had arrived from. That would allow Robin, arguably the most potent mage, and Noire, who had proven her skills with a bow during the battle with the slavers, to get into position on the high ground and strike from the Risen’s rear, catching the Risen between them.

The terrain was rough, with lots of cracks and crevices off of the main road to the fortress for Robin and Noire to hide in as Sully and Kjelle charged ahead, shouting obscenities at the Risen and throwing random rocks from the edge of the road.

Robin grinned as the two Knights started running back the way they had come, being chased by a horde of Risen, laughing and whooping like they were having the time of their lives.

“Now’s our chance,” Robin whispered, ducking out from behind his cover and jogging past Noire up the gentle slope to the gaping entrance to the fortress.

She followed him, and the moment she was in place next to the tactician she began to let loose, firing deadly accurate arrows into the milling Risen and cackling in a manner that left no doubt to who her mother was, her personality shifting again.

The Risen at the back turned, confused as arrows began peppering their ranks from both directions. Fireballs from Henry and Tharja began erupting in their midst, throwing twisted and corrupt Risen bodies into the air.

“Blood and thunder!” Noire shouted, firing more and more arrows into the Risen.

Robin wasn’t in the mood to waste time, and flipped through his spellbook, looking for the most potent spell he could find that would eradicate the Risen entirely.

“Flame of Death! Exhaust this foe with your inferno!” Robin chanted, focusing all of his mana into points beneath the Risen horde, centring around where they were thickest.

Pillars of flame began to shoot into the air, conjured by Robin’s spell beneath the feet of the Risen. With a quick twist of his focus Robin turned the pillars into a conflagration, engulfing the majority of the Risen and turning them to ash, most not even getting the chance to evaporate into mist the way they usually did.

Noire stopped shooting, staring back at Robin with awe.

When the spell was done Sully, Kjelle and Lucina rushed forward to finish off the last few Risen that had escaped Robin’s wrath, Virion and the two mages not far behind them.

Robin sagged as spots danced in front of his vision and he gasped for breath.

“I’ve gotta stop doing that,” he moaned, sinking back against the massive archway and letting himself slide down into a sitting position.

Once again in his haste he had expended too much mana in his casting, leaving him weak and drained. However this time he had prepared for this contingency, and blindly dug around in his hip pouch, looking for the thin vial he had packed.

Grimacing as he downed Gregor’s secret concoction, he looked up at a very worried looking Noire.

“Relax,” Robin said, the concoction beginning to take effect. “I’m okay. I just need a second to catch my breath.”

Noire nodded silently, watching him closely. She really didn’t talk much, but then again neither did her mother. At least she didn’t seem to be as obsessive about things as Tharja was; Robin couldn’t help but wonder idly if maybe it skipped a generation?

Virion came jogging up the hill, looking down at Robin worriedly.

“Come on,” he said, offering the tactician a hand. “I’m not particularly fond of the idea of searching this entire fortress alone.”

“It was your idea,” Robin reminded him, allowing himself to be pulled up.

Robin still felt a little shaky, but at least the Risen had been dealt with.

Henry came running up to him, bouncing up and down as he did.

“You have got to teach me that one!” he said excitedly. “Can you imagine how much death and destruction I could cause with something like that!? Come on! C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!”

Tharja silently slid by them, casting an annoyed glance at Henry. Robin rubbed the back of his head, looking at the other mage.

“Sure. I’ll copy out the spell for you if you really want.”

Henry looked so excited Robin thought he was going to start frothing at the mouth as he gratuitously thanked the tactician before running off after Tharja.

“What was that about?” Sully asked as she came up next to Robin.

Robin shrugged. “With him? I honestly don’t know.”

Sully chuckled a little before turning and glowering at Kjelle, who was still at the foot of the hill.

“Move your ass!” she shouted.

Kjelle perked up instantly, running up the hill and apologizing to her mother as she passed, entering the fortress after the others.

“Yeesh, drill-sergeant Sully,” Robin said as she turned to follow her daughter. “Kinda harsh, don’t you think?”

Sully grinned viciously over her shoulder as she walked into the fortress. “No daughter of mine’s going to be a weakling.”

Robin ran a hand through his hair as he blew out a breath.

“She’s a very military lady,” he muttered as Lucina crested the hill.

“How’s the leg?” Robin asked, turning to the princess.

Lucina shrugged. “I will endure.”

Looking around Robin realized that the others were all already inside.

“They could have at least waited for us…”

*

Sully let out a low whistle as she wandered through the cavernous hall.

“Big place,” she commented as Robin walked in behind the group.

“And you want to search this entire place, top to bottom?” Robin asked Virion incredulously.

Virion shrugged apologetically. “I wasn’t expecting it to be this big. A small shrine to Naga perhaps, not an entire abandoned fortress dug out of the very earth.”

Robin sighed and rolled his eyes theatrically, grinning at his friends.

“Well, while we’re here we may as well take a quick look. Let’s split up into three groups; one will go east, one west and the last group will head north, and we’ll meet back here in an hour. We’ll try to stick to the main level; I’d rather someone not fall through a ceiling or get trapped by falling masonry. Sound good?”

Virion was instantly standing between Sully and Kjelle, arms wrapped around their shoulders.

“Group one!” he said happily, ignoring the uncomfortable look from Kjelle and the murderous glare from Sully.

Robin chuckled. “Alright, you guys go east. Tharja, Henry, Noire, go west. Lucina and I will go north.”

Everybody split up, heading in their assigned directions. Robin could hear Virion’s flowery speech as he talked excitedly of their journey the year before with, or rather to, Kjelle. Sully just sort of groaned and tolerated the man, but Robin knew she counted him as a friend, just like all of the Shepherds did with each other.

Henry was excitedly hoping to find more Risen, eager to test out a new variant of death curse he had been playing with. Tharja seemed more interested in finding magical artefacts, though, and Noire simply followed the two mages looking pale and worried the way she always did.

Robin looked around as he passed through the hall with Lucina following him, heading for the back of the giant room where he could see a doorway that hopefully led to something deeper than a storage closet.

The entry hall was gigantic, Robin mused. There were great columns that put the ones in Ylisstol’s palace to shame they were so wide, stretching up into the darkness above them, hiding just how high the ceiling really was. The fortress would once have been a grand sight before the decay of time had set in; reducing the once grand fortress to the shadow it was now. Robin could see shadows on the walls where pictures had once hung, but now were stolen, looted or destroyed in whatever had seen the monolithic edifice abandoned. There was strangely no structural or cosmetic damage besides what one would expect from a stone fortress that had stood empty for hundreds of years, although wear from time and the elements had dulled edges and faded the colours that had once obviously been vibrant and beautiful.

Once again Robin wished his magical senses were more developed like Tharja’s; the woman was practically a magic-bloodhound her sixth sense was so advanced. He could feel something in the air, some ancient magic that still lingered. He also regretted not asking her about it when he had the chance, but wouldn’t dwell on the road not taken. He would simply investigate the ruins as much as he could in two hours and come back later once the war was over and the world safe to properly document the place. Who knew what kind of historical value was hidden in its depths? Miriel would have a field day with the fortress; she loved old ruins and the like.

“This fortress is amazing,” Lucina muttered as she followed Robin deeper, echoing his own thoughts. “If we had known a place such as this existed in my future we may have been able to set up a more permanent home.”

“It’s been abandoned for a reason,” Robin said, sticking his head through the doorway at the end of the hall. “Makes me wonder what we’re going to find.”

Sure enough it opened up into another smaller hallway, closed doorways lining the hall, with another, heavier door at the end.

“Shall we?” Robin said, flourishing his hand as he stepped through into the hallway, inviting Lucina to follow.

The rooms that Robin could get into were all empty; those that he couldn’t convince the doors to open remained a mystery, but not one that he was particularly bothered about as he approached the great wooden doors at the end of the hall.

“Look at these,” Lucina said, running one gloved hand down the surface of the door. “They’ve held up so well. It’s as if time itself has forgotten them.”

_Forgotten by time itself…_ Robin repeated in his head, shoving at the doors and thinking about a certain set of ruins in Plegia. _Sounds kinda familiar._

The door opened with little effort, simply swinging backwards and revealing another huge, high-ceilinged chamber. Dark, brackish water had pooled around much of the chamber, although it appeared there was still a way to get to the other end of the room, where an altar was sitting with a small idol atop it.

“I guess that’s the artefact?” Robin said, pointing to the altar.

“Perhaps,” Lucina said. “But this feels too…”

“Stop! Don’t jinx us, please!” Robin pleaded too late.

“Easy? Robin, what are you talking about?”

Robin groaned as he heard the moans of more Risen echoing from deeper in the cavernous chamber, coupled with violently sloshing water.

“No offense, Princess,” Robin deadpanned, drawing his sword. “But you really need to learn when not to tempt fate.”

“They would have ignored us had you not shouted like a fool!” Lucina argued, drawing her own blade.

Robin jumped, the retort on his tongue dying and being replaced by a yelp as a purple, clawed arm reached up out of the dark water, digging its blade-like talons into the stonework at Robin’s feet.

“Kill it! Kill it with fire!” Robin shrieked, recoiling and being caught off guard by the Risen’s sudden appearance.

Lucina darted forward, stabbing downward as the Risen pulled itself out of the water.

“Okay, I am officially creeped out,” Robin said, looking around the room as more of the creatures began pulling themselves out of the miniature lake around them.

“We can take them,” Lucina said confidently, holding Falchion at the ready.

“It’s not that,” Robin muttered as they advanced slowly, constantly eying the inky water and shuddering. “I don’t think I’ll ever go swimming again after this. I don’t think I can even bathe anymore!”

“Why Robin,” Lucina teased, grinning over her shoulder. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were afraid of water.”

Robin perked up, blushing slightly as he overtook Lucina, holding his sword out.

“Come on, we have Risen to slay!”

The Risen shuffled towards the duo, hooded heads twitching from side to side as they groaned and stumbled. Robin had only seen this variety of the creatures a few times before; almost naked and pale as corpses, with long, distended arms ending in large taloned claws. Rather than the shaped leather masks the ‘soldier’ Risen wore, these ones wore simple pointed hoods with eye holes cut into them. Some had slits where their mouths were, but all of these were inexplicably roughly stitched back up.

Robin shuddered again as they drew closer, their slow and ponderous movement belying their incredible strength.

They came closer to the first of the creatures, and Robin lashed out with his sword, felling them with much more ease than he was used to. The normal Risen were much tougher; these ones were almost like Risen-in-training or something else along those lines.

“See?” Lucina said as she came up next to Robin. “I told you that we could-”

The rest of her sentence was cut off as she fell face first, almost slicing Robin’s face open as her sword hand flailed. Robin leapt forward as Lucina began sliding along the stone walkway towards the water, taloned claws wrapped around her ankles.

Robin stabbed down with his sword one-handed, catching her cape near the shoulder and stopping her movement with a jerk as he cast a light wind spell, blowing the Risen off of her feet.

“Are you okay?” Robin gasped, yanking his sword free as Lucina pulled her feet from the edge of the water.

_That cannot be good for the blade,_ Robin thought, carefully eying the blade in case he had chipped it.

Lucina sat, gasping with wide eyes as she held her ankles, knees pressed to her chest.

“Lucina?” Robin tried again, laying a hand on her shoulder.

She looked up sharply, taking a deep and calming breath as she stood.

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “The creature just startled me.”

“Well let’s just get out of here,” Robin said, watching as more of the slow moving Risen pulled themselves out of the staircases periodically set into the walkways leading to what Robin assumed was a lower level beneath the pools.

“I think that might be prudent,” Lucina agreed. “We can return with the others when we-”

Lucina was cut off again when a blast of flame shot up from one of the staircases set into the walkway further into the room, making Robin dread the thought of a spell-casting Risen, before someone wearing a coat stumbled up onto the main level, before turning and shooting another blast of flame back down the stairs they had just emerged from.

“Is that one of the others?” Robin asked quickly, forgetting about their plan to retreat.

“I don’t know,” Lucina admitted, squinting at the distant figure as they instinctively began advancing into the room again.

Robin sighed and hung his head. “Then let’s go and save them before the Risen eat them.”

The two Shepherds crossed the walkways carefully, mindful of both the Risen congregating on the stranger and the fact that more could potentially pop out of the water at any moment. However they threw caution to the wind when the stranger, evidently a girl from the sound of her voice, let out a shriek as the Risen crowding her began to press her, forcing her to back up against the edge of the walkway.

“Hoy!” Robin shouted, his voice echoing around the chamber as he swung his sword in the air, trying to think the way Sully did. “Over here ya ash-faced freaks! Skip the entre, come get the main course!”

Lucina and Robin crashed into the Risen as a loud splash heralded the fact that the stranger had fallen into the pool; Robin could hear her coughing and spluttering as she tried to avoid the Risen and get back onto the walkway.

Grunting with effort Robin spun, twirling between three Risen with his sword out at neck height in a move Lon’qu had taught him and decapitating all of them, showering himself with their mist-formed remains. Lucina moved a little slower, still favouring her wounded leg, but doing much more damage to the tightly packed Risen with her heavier sword as she struck out in lateral lines and felling Risen with every sweep of her blessed blade.

Robin drove his sword through the last of the Risen, its back to him as it tried to reach the girl still struggling to get back onto the walkway. It exploded in a shower of ash and mist, making the girl look up as Robin bodily dragged her out of the water one-handed, dropping her on the stone walkway.

“We should be safe for a time,” Lucina reported, her back to Robin and the girl as she watched the other Risen shambling towards them. “They don’t seem to be in any hurry.”

Robin nodded, before turning to look down at the girl on all fours, coughing and spluttering as she took deep breaths, her wet coat obviously weighing down on her.

“You don’t look like a treasure hunter,” he said as her coughing quieted a little. “What are you doing out here alone?”

Robin’s own breath caught in his chest as his gaze travelled up and down her back, realizing that she was wearing an exact replica of his most beloved coat; the one he was currently wearing, right down to the faded bloodstains beneath the back of the collar.

_There’s no way…_ he thought with wide eyes as the girl’s head snapped up.

“Father!” she cried happily, wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight hug before pulling back. “What happened to your beard?”

Robin stared speechlessly at the girl, heart skipping a beat as Lucina spun, her own eyes wide.

“Morgan!?” she said incredulously. “Is… Is that really you!?”

“Well you look great!” the girl said, ignoring or not hearing Lucina. “No wonder you grew the thing; you’ve got a total baby-face going on without it! I mean you look at least twenty years younger without it! Maybe this mountain air is good for you? But when did you find the time to-”

“Hold on, back up,” Robin interrupted, heart beating out of control in his chest. “Specifically to the whole ‘father’ thing. Did you travel back in time with Lucina as well?”

“Huh? Who's Lucina?” the girl asked, quirking her head quizzically and laughing a little. “And did you seriously just ask me if I came from the future? Uh… Why are you looking at me like that? Hello? It's me! Morgan! Your daughter? Love of your life and Daddy's little girl and all that? Wow, you're really acting strange today. Let's go home and get you to bed. Wait a sec… which way is home? Is it— Ngh! M-my head!”

Robin sighed, caught between laughing and screaming with frustration as the girl doubled over holding her head, recognizing the very familiar signs of amnesia and deciding they could deal with the whole scenario when they were safely far away from the fortress.

Robin cast another glance at the artefact, making his decision.

“Easy there,” he said, laying a hand on her sodden shoulder. “It won’t come if you try to force it, believe me.”

Robin and Lucina both looked up as a Risen moaned loudly, having shambled halfway across the room to them, reaching out with grey, decayed talons and grasping at the air in their direction.

“Listen carefully,” Robin said quickly. “This is going to sound kinda nuts, but I think you’ve come from the future.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Morgan asked, looking up at Robin with tears of pain in her eyes. “That’s not even possible!”

Robin leaned back, indicating to his face.

“Do I look old enough to have a kid your age?” he asked impatiently, casting another glance at the Risen encroaching on them. “In this timeline you haven’t even been born yet; I don’t even know who your mother is.”

Morgan made a panicked face.

“Oh gods,” she moaned, eyes going wide as she stared into space. “I can’t remember mother! I can’t… I can’t remember anything at all!”

“It's hard, I know,” Robin said in what he hoped was a soothing tone, “And you don't have to believe me right this minute. But we’ve got to move and move now. It's dangerous alone, especially if your memory is gone; I was in the same position once, you know. If Chrom hadn't found me lying in that field, who knows what would've happened to me.”

Morgan looked up again, calming a little.

“Wait, you woke up in a field too?” she asked.

Robin grinned and nodded encouragingly.

Morgan laughed a little as she rose to stand with Robin, water still dripping off of her, strands of wet hair plastered to her face.

“Like father like daughter, right? Oh, that’s too funny!” she giggled.

Robin began to chuckle, too. “Let’s never tell Vaike about that; we’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Who?” Morgan asked, quirking her head again, still giggling.

“Never mind,” Robin said. “Just try to stay close.”

“Yessir!” Morgan said excitedly, stooping to pick up the sword she had dropped.

Lucina was still eying the encroaching Risen when Robin came up alongside her.

“You’re handling this awfully well,” she commented as he watched the Risen.

“It’s called compartmentalizing,” he said distractedly. “I’ll flip out later. We’re pushing for that artefact.”

Lucina looked over to him questioningly.

“But I thought…” she trailed off.

“I don’t care about my memories,” Robin explained as they started to move, casting a thumb over his shoulder to the girl following them. “But if I can get hers back…”

“Hello! I’m standing right here!” Morgan said irritatedly.

“Good, get your butt in the line,” Robin said, moving to the side to allow her to stand between him and Lucina, away from the edges of the walkway.

The girl did as she was directed wordlessly, stepping forward with her sword held perpendicularly near her face in a two-handed grip, much the same way Lon’qu had taught Robin to.

The Risen didn’t really stand much of a chance as the three warriors crossed the walkways; fortunately no more crawled out of the water, but Robin watched it attentively all the same.

Morgan fought in much the same way Robin did; analysing her opponents before striking fast and efficiently with her thin blade. Her fighting style was the same one Robin used, too; a bastardized combination of Chrom’s, Lon’qu’s and his own style, with a couple of little quirks of her own thrown in. Robin actually hung back a little, letting her handle the slow moving Risen as they moved towards the objective and studying her technique.

They cut through the Risen easily, making it to the altar against the opposite wall easily.

“So this is it?” Robin asked no one in particular, bending down to pick up a little carved marble statue of Naga, stylized tears falling from her eyes.

“We got what we came for,” Lucina said impatiently, watching as more Risen crawled up the numerous staircases. “Now let’s go!”

“There’s no end to them!” Morgan moaned as the three of them began to jog back the way they had come.

The horde began closing in, some of the Risen actually falling off of the walkways as others crowded around them. The water began to froth and bubble around the stone walkways again, countless taloned arms reaching out of the pools and dragging hooded forms out of the depths.

“Keep moving!” Robin called as they began sprinting, desperately trying to outpace the encroaching Risen.

They barrelled through the doorway, Robin pausing long enough to slam it closed behind them before taking off after the girls ahead of him. Not that it would hold them long.

Apparently they were the last ones to arrive at the hallway; the others sat or stood around near the entrance, looking bored. They all looked up as the three panicked people ran towards them, shouting and waving their arms.

“Run!” Robin shouted, looking over his shoulder as Risen started spilling out of the doorway behind him. “Tactical retreat! I don’t care, just move!”

Sully and Kjelle looked like they were going to stand and fight, while most of the others looked confusedly at Robin. Noire just looked like she was going to pass out.

The varied responses of the Shepherds all turned to shock as Robin barrelled by them, heading straight for the entryway and the safety of the mountain pass.

“Every Shepherd for themselves!” Robin screamed through cupped hands, grinning as he ran backwards. “C’mon people! We got what we came for!”

*

“What the hell did you do to piss off so many Risen?” Sully gasped, doubling over as the group finally stopped their flight.

Robin and Morgan were both laughing in between gasps. They shared a glance between each other and began to laugh even harder.

“And, perhaps more importantly, who is this charming young lady?” Virion asked, recovering a little and sidling up to Morgan.

“Back up, Ruffles,” Robin warned, straightening. “She’s apparently my future daughter.”

“There’s no ‘apparently’ about it!” Morgan huffed as Virion stepped away, eyes wide with shock as he laughed awkwardly.

“Ah, I understand completely,” Virion said with a small bow in Robin’s direction. “My hands shall remain on my own person at all times, good sir.”

Robin saw a vein in Tharja’s forehead twitch as she glared at Morgan and was instantly overwhelmed by a combination of intense guilt and protective annoyance.

“She’s an amnesiac,” Robin explained. “Just like me. So that, ah, complicates matters a little.”

“But I remember you,” Morgan pointed out chirpily. “Just, er, not the rest of you.”

“She does kind of look like you,” Henry pointed out, staring intently at the girl.

Kjelle, Noire and Lucina had been silent, staring suspiciously at Morgan.

“It does indeed look like her,” Kjelle said after a moment.

“We haven’t seen you in years, though!” Noire said. “What happened to you?”

Morgan shrugged, smiling brightly.

“No idea.”

“How did you travel back in time, though?” Lucina asked. “We were all present together when we travelled through Naga’s portal.”

Morgan shrugged again, still grinning.

Robin massaged the skin between his eyes, thinking.

“She’s got my coat,” he pointed out.

“Perhaps it is just a replica?” Virion offered.

Robin stepped forward, running the collar of Morgan’s coat between his fingers, as Morgan flinched a little from his sudden movement.

“It has the same resonance,” Robin said, shaking his head. “I can feel the same spells holding it together. This is definitely my coat. Now that I think about it, she actually has a similar resonance to me, too.”

Morgan nodded enthusiastically. “See! I am your daughter! But what’s with all this time-travel nonsense?”

Robin’s eyes locked with Lucina’s and he sighed when she nodded.

“Follow us. It’s a long, long story.”

*

“So that’s everything we know,” Robin said, spreading his hands wide.

“That’s…” Morgan said, holding a hand to her forehead. “That’s a lot to take in all at once.”

“Tell me about it,” Robin muttered.

They had set up camp in much the same way they usually did; the usual little groupings formed and Virion set right to making dinner.

Tharja had been much quieter than usual, though. Robin felt like he was rubbing salt in an open wound, parading Morgan around and talking with her constantly.

She, Henry and Noire had crowded around the idol Robin had snatched from the fortress though, trying to figure out a way to harness the power they all felt inside of it.

“So the… the ‘future’ I came from is in ruins? You’re sure about that?”

 “Uh-huh.” Robin nodded. “Unless you’re from a different future and just travelled back for another reason. Honestly, I’m still trying to wrap my head around all this time-travel stuff myself. We’re really not entirely sure how it all works yet.”

Morgan ran a hand through her hair, imitating the way Robin did it. Virion laughed as he watched her, shaking his head slightly as he stirred the stew.

“We’re fighting right now to ensure that the future of this world isn’t lost, too,” Robin went on.

“I think I understand,” Morgan said hesitantly, before adding guiltily “But I still don’t remember anything about you.”

Robin chuckled and shrugged. “Then you know about as much about me as I do. Don’t apologize. I’ve got no memories from more than a few years ago; I’d say that makes us about equal. I’ll make sure you get along okay.”

Morgan smiled and Robin felt his heart swell.

_I wonder if this is how Chrom feels when he looks at Lucina?_ He thought to himself, smiling back at his future daughter; there wasn’t a doubt in his mind anymore that she was telling the truth about that. He could feel it.

“I’m sure that as long as I stick with you everything will work out,” Morgan said excitedly. “I can’t believe we get to go on an adventure like this straight away! It’s so exciting!”

Robin stopped to think for a moment.

“I’d prefer not to get you involved in this war,” he said honestly after thinking about it. “I mean, we’ll be fighting pretty constantly once we get to Valm. Is that really… I mean, are you going to be okay with that?”

“Sure!” Morgan said flippantly. “I’m a tactician, too, remember? Just like you!”

Robin’s eyebrows rose as Morgan held a hand to her mouth, eyes wide.

“I remembered something!” she said excitedly, her voice going up a few octaves. “And now I even get to learn from you first-hand! I can’t believe how lucky I am!”

“She really does take after you,” Virion chuckled from the fire, making Robin roll his eyes.

“Aw, thanks mister Virion!” Morgan said happily.

Virion groaned. “Please, my dear; I am far too young for anyone to be calling me ‘mister’ anything.”

The three of them laughed as they sat in the forest near the fire. Robin laughed so hard he completely missed Tharja approaching them.

“Robin,” she said shortly. “We’ve figured it out.”

The tactician glanced up. “What? Already?”

Tharja nodded, her expression blank.

_She’s still pissed,_ Robin thought guiltily.

“Yep!” Henry said, bouncing next to Tharja with Noire right behind him, the idol in his hands. “Our little Noire here figured it out! She may not be one for hexing, but gee has she ever got an eye for magical theory!”

Noire blushed and fidgeted embarrassedly as Henry clapped a hand on her shoulder.

“We’re ready to go when you are,” Henry added, waving the idol around a little.

Robin nodded, glancing at Morgan.

“Do her first,” Robin said, pointing to his daughter.

Everyone watching besides Lucina looked a little shocked at Robin’s request; the vein in Tharja’s forehead twitched again as she looked down, the shadows from her hair hiding her eyes.

“Are you sure?” Henry asked. “We might not be able to go a second round with this bad-boy; I think it might break from the spell we have to use. Ooh! Maybe it’ll explode! That would be perfect!”

Robin nodded, choosing not to question how an explosion would be perfect.

“Dad, are you sure?” Morgan asked, looking over at Robin. “I mean, I don’t want to take this away from you…”

Robin shrugged. “The whole reason we went back for the stupid thing was so that we could use it on you; Lucina and I were ready to bail out before you showed up.”

“Really?” Morgan asked, eyes shining as she threw herself around Robin in another tight hug. “Aw, thanks so much, dad! I love you, too!”

Robin choked, pushing the girl off of him.

“Why does everyone have to hug me around the neck?” he lamented, rubbing his collar and straightening his coat.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Tharja snapped, snatching the idol from Henry and standing in front of Morgan with a scowl on her face.

Noire and Henry both flinched and stepped back. Robin looked up at Tharja concernedly, wondering what was going on in her head.

_She’s still really pissed. And why shouldn’t she be? I tell her ‘no, we’re never going to make a baby’ and the next day poof! Here’s my daughter from the future with another woman._

Robin scratched absently at his chin as Tharja began to cast her spell on a nervous looking Morgan.

_I wonder who her mother is, anyway… Maybe Virion had it right not wanting the surprise spoiled._

The others crowded around, watching from a safe distance; Sully and Kjelle looked mildly curious as they both leaned on their lances, and Lucina seemed rapt with curiosity, watching for any slight change in Morgan’s bearing. Virion stood and stepped back, too. It was never safe to be too close to an untested spell, but Robin stayed by Morgan’s side, watching as Tharja began casting.

Morgan shied away a little as a glowing magic circle formed in the air before Tharja’s hand, spinning around the idol as she finished her incantation.

There was a loud crack, and the idol crumbled to pieces in Tharja’s hand as the circle flew forward, spinning around Morgan’s head before shrinking and sinking into it.

Morgan swayed a little as the campsite held their collective breaths, watching for her reaction. Robin reached out to steady her with a hand on her shoulder, watching for any reaction she might have.

“I… I still don’t…” Morgan stammered, holding her head as her brow furrowed with concentration. “I still can’t remember anything…”

She looked up when Tharja snorted, dusting the remains of the idol off on her cloak.

The girl’s face lit up again as she threw herself at Tharja, wrapping her arms around the shocked mage’s neck in the same kind of hug she had given Robin.

“Auntie Tharja! I remember you now!”

Robin gasped, holding his breath to see how Tharja would react and waiting for the worst, expecting to be picking little pieces of Morgan off of his boots for a week.

Tharja’s eyes went wide as a gambit of emotions played across her face; confusion, anger, rage at being touched, before realization set in.

Tharja reached up, her face calm, and instead of hexing Morgan or even throwing her off she returned the girl’s hug.

Morgan realized what she was doing and stepped back sheepishly.

“Sorry, I know you don’t like to be hugged,” she said, head held low. “Or touched at all, for that matter. But I remember you now! Not much, but I can remember you looking down at me and smiling! You were older, but it was definitely you!”

Tharja nodded silently, smiling a little before she turned and strode back to her bedroll, looking much calmer than she had in the last two days.

“Is she always like that?” Henry asked with a little grin.

“Yeah,” Morgan said with a wink. “Yeah she is.”


	23. Chapter 23

Robin stretched and groaned, his cot creaking beneath him as he did. They had arrived back at Port Ferox first out of the other groups the day before, and he had pretty well taken the opportunity to sleep while Frederick the slave-driver was still away.

With a loud yawn Robin rolled over.

His yawn turned into a yelp as he fell out of his cot for the third time that morning. Not counting the amount of times he had fallen out of it the previous evening.

Getting to his feet and glaring venomously at the traitorous bedding, he knew exactly what he had to do to have his revenge.

*

Morgan skipped happily through the early morning Shepherd camp. It was a little surprising to see so many others up and around so early in the morning, but Morgan reminded herself that she was in a military camp, and in a military camp life started as soon as the sun’s first rays crested the forest around the town, even before then. The frontline never truly slept.

She stopped dead as she was walking by a row of tents, reeling back as a perfectly good cot came flying out of one of them, crashing to the ground noisily.

Morgan poked her head inside the tent it had flown out of, catching a glimpse of her father shaking out his camping bedroll and flopping down atop it, not even noticing her.

_I guess he kept falling out of his bed last night, too,_ she thought, rubbing at the bruises she knew were forming beneath her clothes.

Morgan smiled and shook her head; it was a comforting thought that they were so similar.

Deciding to help her father lest one of the other Shepherds get upset about it later, Morgan picked up the cot, folded it up and began to head in the direction of the supply wagons with the cot that had so offended her father under her arm.

She passed through the tents to the area behind the camp where the various wagons were kept and the food was prepared, silently thankful that Father had given her a tour the previous evening.

A pink-haired woman in dancer’s clothes glanced up from the breakfast she was making; a great pot of oats from the smell that was currently making Morgan’s mouth water.

“Good morning Robin,” the dancer, Morgan was sure her name was Olivia, sang. “Don’t go too far, breakfast will be ready soon, okay?

Morgan giggled a little as she placed the cot under her arm into one of the supply wagons.

“I’m not Robin, though,” she said, grinning as Olivia’s head snapped up with an embarrassed look on her face.

“Oh, Morgan!” she cried, going red. “I’m so sorry! It’s the coat, and, and, the hair and… Oh Naga this is mortifying.”

Morgan laughed. “It’s okay, I take it as a compliment. Is there anything I can help with?”

“You can be my taste-tester,” Olivia said with a shy grin, ladling out a bowl of oats and handing it to Morgan with a spoon.

Morgan groaned with delight, rolling her eyes back in her head after the first spoonful hit her tongue. It tasted just as good as it smelled.

“It’s perfect,” she said around another mouthful. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Olivia smiled and nodded, continuing to stir the pot.

“Thank you so much, Morgan. I can begin letting everyone know that it’s ready now.”

The girl smiled and waved farewell as she walked away, balancing the bowl in one hand as she continued to eat, savouring every bite.

The rest of the camp was starting to stir now; line soldiers were mingling with the Shepherds in the mess tent while quite possibly the prettiest man Morgan had ever seen delivered a morning sermon; Sully, Kjelle and a number of others began to head to the training field, Prince Chrom among them; she passed Virion’s tent and could smell the pungent tea he only drank in the mornings coming out of it.

Deciding she didn’t exactly have anything better to do just yet, she downed the rest of her oats on the way to her tent, traded her bowl for her sword, and started heading to the training area.

Her sword wasn’t like the swords of the others in the camp, or even Father’s; the sword was a curved, slender, single-edged blade with a circular guard and long grip to accommodate two hands; most of the Shepherds that wielded swords had larger, heavier ones with straight, double-edged blades, some even having short one handed grips. Her father’s rapier was similar, but it was straight, and again it had two razor sharp edges.

Morgan liked the uniqueness of her sword though; it was important to her, and not just because it was the only possession she had besides her coat. Her spellbook had been destroyed when she had fallen in the water in the mountain fortress, but Father had promised he was going to track down an empty book she could begin transcribing spells into that day.

Morgan drew her sword a little, admiring the way the early morning sun reflected off the polished steel.

She looked up as she entered the section of camp put aside for training, watching the others for a moment.

Sully and Kjelle were eagerly wailing on each other with their lances, Sully clearly winning; nothing new there…

Prince Chrom and a smaller man with the only other sword of similar make to Morgan’s were duelling, striking with blinding speed at each other and parrying blows that made Morgan’s head spin.

A few others were also training, but Morgan became lost in watching the two men duelling, seeing snippets of her own style in both of theirs. Father had explained his style was a combination of three different ones, and obviously she had learned from him; apparently he had learned from these two.

Morgan became excited at the prospect of learning from the men that had taught her father.

The smaller man used Chrom’s own momentum against him time and again, parrying and moving fluidly around the Prince, who obviously relied more on strength than speed.

Chrom noticed Morgan watching, and stepped back from the other man and saying a few words that she couldn’t hear, ending their training. The other man cast Morgan a sideways glance, huffing as he moved to begin running through solo drills with artistic precision.

“For a second there I thought that the sky was going to fall on our heads,” Chrom said jokingly as he approached. “There’s no other explanation for Robin to be on the training grounds this early in the morning. But then I realized it wasn’t him, and that his daughter may want a training partner.”

Morgan nodded enthusiastically as she drew her own sword. “If you wouldn’t mind, Prince Chrom.”

She had been introduced to the dashing Prince the previous evening when they had entered the town; he and Father had greeted each other like long-lost-brothers, hugging and shaking hands, all smiles and laughter. Chrom was apparently Lucina’s father, too; Lucina being the instigator of the time-travelling warriors from the future. Morgan liked the other girl and the two had instantly taken a shining to each other, but Morgan hadn’t really gotten to know her too well during the week long walk to Port Ferox. Admittedly, she had been busy talking to her father most of the time, but had also taken the time to talk to everyone else present.

Her distracted thoughts returned to the present as Chrom chuckled.

“Please, just call me Chrom,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “I hate formalities.”

Morgan nodded enthusiastically as Chrom sank back into a defensive posture.

“Whenever you’re ready, Morgan.”

Morgan took a moment to study Chrom’s stance and posture as she sunk into a more aggressive stance than his, holding her sword firmly with both hands. Dashing out and striking at the Prince’s exposed shoulder, she watched as he snapped his sword up, parrying with ease. Morgan retreated back a step, before driving forwards with the point of her blade, switching to a more general duelling style as she realized aggressiveness wouldn’t work on the experienced swordsman. She struck at Chrom’s upper section a few times before twirling and striking lower, watching as the Prince stopped her attacks cold every time. Without warning she found herself on the defensive as he began to strike back. It was like being hit by an angry bull he struck so hard. Her hands began to go numb as she desperately parried his blows, but she began to see a pattern to them.

_High, high, low, high, middle, high… Now!_

Darting forward under his guard Morgan flipped her grip and brought the blade up, holding it against the Prince’s neck.

“Not bad,” Chrom said with a smirk. “It’s a tie.”

Morgan looked down, realizing that he had purposely been leading her on with the pattern in his attacks as the blade of his sword pressed against her stomach.

“Damn,” she said, stepping back. “I thought I had you there…”

Chrom laughed a little, sweeping his sword back and forth through the air as he warmed down.

“Don’t worry, your father falls for that one every time.”

Morgan nodded, staring at her sword.

“Can you teach it to me?” she asked hopefully, spinning back to Chrom.

He looked confused for a moment before smiling and nodding.

“All right. Here, copy my stance…”

*

Morgan looked up from the book she was reading at the small table in her tent as she heard shouting.

“Coward! Craven! Yellow bellied dirt farmer! Fight me, damn you!” Kjelle was yelling from the direction of Father’s tent.

“Fine, gods damn it! Fine!” Father responded just as loudly. “But just one time!”

“One time is all I’ll need!” Kjelle responded.

There was a moment of silence, when Morgan could hear Kjelle’s heavy footfalls beginning to fade, before the sound of a sword striking armour rang out.

“What are you doing?!” Kjelle shouted.

“You wanted to fight!” Father shouted, grunting as he did so. “So fight me!”

“This isn’t the training area!” Kjelle responded as more loud strikes to armour could be heard.

Morgan rose and stuck her head out of her tent, watching the confrontation.

Her father, grinning like a maniac, was dancing around the armoured woman with his sword in his hands, bouncing it off her heavy plates as she tried desperately to defend herself with her heavy lance.

“War isn’t restricted to one battlefield,” he laughed, ducking under Kjelle’s lance and striking lightly three times in quick succession at her back. “If you are unprepared, then yield!”

Kjelle stumbled as Robin kicked out at her leg from behind, collapsing to one knee as he held the blade of his sword to her throat.

“I win,” he said before flipping his sword around and theatrically sheathing it.

Kjelle grumbled, standing and striding away frustration evident in her posture.

Father began walking back to his tent, a superior smirk on his face before he spotted Morgan watching.

“Remember that thick armour like hers limits movement,” he said with a wink. “Just get behind them. That’s pretty much the downfall of heavy armour.”

Morgan smiled and nodded, rushing back into her tent to make a note of what he had just said.

*

Morgan sat with her back to her tent’s entrance, nose stuck in a book.

Father had been writing down the history of what had happened in his life since Chrom had found him in the field (something Morgan still thought was utterly hilarious) in case his memory failed him again, and had decided that her reading it would be the quickest and easiest way for her to catch up on current events.

She read about how Ylisstol had been attacked, how Gangrel had provoked a war between the two nations, how they had marched across Ylisse and Regna Ferox and Plegia, battling all the way… It was absolutely riveting.

Morgan was so engrossed in the book that she completely missed her tent flaps opening, jumping out of her skin when Tharja appeared behind her.

“I have a job for you,” the Dark Mage said, looking down at her expectantly.

Morgan shot up instantly, standing at attention and not entirely sure why she was doing it.

“What can I do for you?” she asked brightly.

Tharja held up a small, golden amulet hanging from a leather cord; the one Morgan had seen Noire constantly holding on to during their trip.

“I want you to keep this away from Noire,” Tharja said, offering no further explanation.

Morgan reached out hesitantly, confused. She could feel the power and magical resonance oozing off of the amulet, a potent curse obviously having once been put on it.

“Sure…” she said, eying the little thing in her hand. “But, er… why?”

Her ‘Aunt’ scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Because the girl relies too heavily on it. I need to toughen her up a little. Going cold-turkey seems to be the best way to do that.”

And then Tharja was gone in a swirl of cloak, raven hair and tent flap, leaving Morgan standing in the middle of her little tent, still confused and holding a potent magical artefact.

Morgan admittedly had no memories of ever disappointing the woman before, and she didn’t want to start now. Even if her request was a strange one…

Shrugging and reasoning that she had nowhere else to put it, Morgan slipped the amulet around her neck and tucked it into her shirt, smiling and making a noise of satisfaction as she sat back down at her table to continue reading.

Noire would never notice.

*

“Where is it?” Noire demanded, barging into Morgan’s tent with wild eyes and a dishevelled appearance.

Morgan looked up, a little annoyed that Noire would be distracting her while she was reading about the Shepherds’ final showdown with Gangrel two years ago.

“Where is what?” Morgan asked innocently.

“You know exactly what I’m looking for,” Noire growled, inviting herself into the tent and beginning to riffle through Morgan’s sheets and new clothes, both of which had been provided by Olivia, who was apparently the camp’s resident carer. “You’re the only other person she would have given it to! Where is it!?”

Morgan laughed nervously as she stood and began backing towards the tent’s entrance.

Noire’s head snapped up, eyes flashing.

“Noire, you need to calm down a little,” Morgan reasoned, still backing up.

“Give it to me!” the girl screeched, hands extended as Morgan ducked out of her tent.

She ran like the wind, moving as fast as her legs would carry her through the Shepherds’ camp as Noire chased after her. Morgan leapt over barrels, slid under fences and realized she had left the camp and entered Port Ferox proper.

She spun, groaning as she saw Noire still racing after her.

“Blood and thunder!” the girl screamed. “You will pay for your insolence!”

“Oh man,” Morgan sighed, taking off again in a random direction. “I am going to get so lost.”

*

The city was bustling as Morgan wandered through it aimlessly, taking in the sights and simply enjoying being out and about. She stopped to look at the fruit vendors and bakers in the marketplace, breathing deep the scents of fresh fruit and bread. She wandered past the taverns and inns near the edge of town, watching the off-duty soldiers relaxing and having fun as they whiled the day away. Eventually she found herself on the docks, which had been all but taken over by the military. Soldiers drilled on the wide open space and tents sat near the buildings that hadn’t already been conscripted for use by the Ylissean and Feroxi armies.

One of the officers, a grizzled looking man with an eye patch in white armour looked up from the open tent he was leaning over a map in with four other officers, each in different armour.

Of the other three one of them was the Shepherd Kellam; the other was a Feroxi woman with severe features and short blonde hair; the fourth man was wearing thick, pale blue armour with white trim. Morgan only knew Kellam, but so far meeting new people had been an enjoyable experience.

“Excuse me, miss,” eye patch said gruffly. “But this area’s been cordoned off for use by the military. You need to return to your home or one of the civilian areas.”

“That’s okay,” Morgan said. “I’m a Shepherd!”

Eye patch’s eyebrow rose as one of the other officers looked over to a big man in thick armour.

“Is she, Kellam?” he asked.

Kellam had been present when Morgan, Kjelle and Noire had been introduced to the others the previous day, so she smiled brightly at the man, entering the tent as he nodded.

“She is,” he said, smiling back. “She’s a tactician, too, so she might be able to help us with the little problem we’re having.”

Morgan nodded enthusiastically, leaning on the table.

“What can I do to help?”

The Feroxi woman raised an eyebrow as eye patch moved back to his position at the table.

“Aren’t you a little young?” the woman asked condescendingly.

“Age has nothing to do with experience, Raimi,” the blue-armoured man said. “Think about it; the Shepherds are all ten year younger than us, but any one of them could mop the floor with all three of us at once.”

The woman, Raimi, nodded as Kellam beamed with pride.

“Anyway,” eye patch said. “I’m Roark, that’s Raimi and Seth, and you know Kellam.”

“I’m Morgan,” she said excitedly, beaming at the four soldiers. “I just read about what all of you did during the war; I can’t believe I get to work with you guys! You’re all heroes!”

Seth cleared his throat as Raimi and Roark grinned happily at the praise.

“Anyway,” he said, getting back to the matter at hand. “We’re trying to go over how best to load the food supplies onto the various ships. It’s boring clerical work, but it needs doing.”

Morgan ran her hand through her hair, looking at the sheets of paper on the table.

“All of these supplies are bulk lots,” she said after examining them. “You won’t be able to get a good variety of foods onto the different ships. We need to split a lot of this stuff up so that we get a good mix of the different food groups onto each ship. They’re still not here yet; why not have some of the lower ranked soldiers begin redistributing the food into smaller crates so it can be split up properly?”

 “Very well,” Roark said, nodding as he waved down a runner he could use to send the orders. “I’ll send the orders now.”

“Good work, kid,” Raimi said as Kellam clapped her on the shoulder.

“Got any more problems?” Morgan asked excitedly, looking around at the gathered leaders.

*

Morgan hummed as she skipped back into the Shepherds’ camp that afternoon. She had spent most of the morning working with the various division leaders and Kellam, organizing little things that would make everyone’s lives easier in the long run. She was proud of her contributions, even if they were only minor in the grand scheme of things.

Morgan turned, watching as a couple of the Shepherds unloaded crates from a wagon and placed them near their own supply wagons, Lucina among their number.

She rushed over to help her new friend, grabbing the other side of a particularly heavy box the Princess was struggling with on her own.

“Hey Lucina!” Morgan greeted cheerfully. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Hello Morgan,” Lucina greeted, nodding gratefully as the girl grabbed the other end of the crate. “We’re just unloading some supplies. Thank you for your assistance.”

“No problem!” Morgan said as they set the crate down with the others, going back for another one.

They worked for another twenty minutes, unloading the wagon with the priest Libra and the swordsman that had been duelling with Prince Chrom earlier in the morning, Lon’qu. As Morgan and Lucina put the last crate down an idea came to Morgan’s head.

“Are you doing anything right now Lucina?” she asked as the other woman stretched her back.

“I… believe I am free,” Lucina said hesitantly.

“Good!” Morgan said, taking off in the direction of her father’s tent. “Meet me back here in fifteen minutes!”

*

Robin was busily re-inking some of the spells in his spellbook he used more frequently that were beginning to fade when he heard Morgan’s voice outside his tent.

“Father? Are you in there?”

Robin looked up. “Yes. What’s up?”

Morgan stepped into the tent, panting and out of breath.

“Can I borrow some coins? I haven’t actually gotten any for myself yet…”

“Hrm? Oh, sure,” Robin said, reaching into his coat and dropping a small bag on the tabletop with a quiet clink.

Morgan snatched up the bag, thanking her father before he stopped her by grabbing her coat’s sleeve and yanking her back.

“Noire was looking for you earlier,” he said disinterestedly as he returned to carefully re-inking the focusing circle to one of his spells. “She seemed pretty out of sorts. I mean more-so than usual.”

Morgan internally wilted guiltily.

“Okay, thanks dad!” she said quickly as she bustled out of the tent, leaving Robin leaning over his table alone.

“Maybe I should have given her an allowance rather than my entire savings…” he mumbled absently.

Robin’s head snapped up, his pen-nib snapping as he realized what he’d just done, eyes wide with horror.

“Oh dear lord I did _not_ just gave my teenage daughter my entire savings.”

*

Lucina stood wither arms crossed, waiting patiently for Morgan near the supply wagons as she came running up, doubling over and panting when she reached the other woman.

“Are… you… ready to… go?” Morgan panted.

“Are you?” Lucina chuckled. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Where are we going, anyway?”

Morgan straightened, her heartbeat finally slowing.

“We’re going shopping!” she exclaimed with a grin as she held up Robin’s bag of coins, jiggling it and making a very satisfying clinking noise.

*

Lucina and Morgan wandered through the shopping district of Port Ferox, looking into each shop and chatting, just unwinding and having fun.

In the week that she had known her, Morgan had never once seen Lucina relax. She’d seen her rest, but never truly unwind and let loose, something that mystified the tactician-in-training. Father had explained that she felt solely responsible for ensuring that the world didn’t, in a word, end.

He had also explained that it was now their mission, as a father-daughter-duo, to ensure that she loosened up a little.

So Morgan had come up with the plan to go shopping and get something to eat. It sounded like fun to her.

But Lucina seemed pretty put off by the way people just… existed around her. Plus she looked pretty strange in her cape and armour wandering around boutiques with Morgan; not that Morgan could talk, wandering around the town in a man’s coat a size too big for her.

Morgan was prepared to label her efforts as a failure until Lucina spoke up as they walked into yet another small store.

“Thank you for this, Morgan,” Lucina said as they browsed the racks of clothing.

Morgan smiled as she waved off the Princess’ thanks.

“It’s nothing, really. I was actually starting to think you weren’t having fun.”

“It’s not that I’m not having fun,” Lucina admitted. “It’s just that, well… I’ve never done something this frivolous before. I will admit to fantasizing about this kind of simple pleasure in our future. It’s really very enjoyable and relaxing, though; everything I always hoped it would be.”

Morgan grinned as she looked closer at a flowing purple skirt.

“Well it’s not like I can remember ever doing this,” she admitted, deciding that she wanted the skirt and laying it over her arm.

_And now I just need a cute top to match_ , she thought, looking around the store.

Her search was distracted when she heard Lucina gasp from behind her, leaning deeply into a rack of colourful dresses.

Lucina emerged triumphantly, holding the gaudiest looking sun-dress Morgan had ever seen in her life. All seven days that she could remember, anyway.

Fluorescent colours clashed horribly beneath large pink polka-dots, but Lucina looked at it with unabashed wonder in her eyes.

“This… this is…” she stammered, looking at the dress.

_A horrible sin against nature?_ Morgan thought as she flinched away from the mess in the shape of a dress.

“This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen!” Lucina gushed excitedly. “It’s gorgeous!”

Morgan’s brow quirked, but she kept her mouth closed. She had never seen Lucina excited like this before, and it made Morgan happy to see her friend behaving like a normal girl. Or at least what Morgan approximated as a normal girl. Try as she might, she couldn’t bring herself to tell the girl not to buy it.

Lucina turned sombre, looking longingly down at the dress in her hands.

“But I have no money for such a frivolous purchase,” she lamented, moving to put it back.

Morgan reached out, stopping her. “I’m sure Father wouldn’t mind purchasing such a… unique piece of clothing, especially considering it makes you so happy.”

“Really?” Lucina asked hopefully.

Morgan grinned and winked. “As long as you help me find a top to match this skirt I don’t see why not.”

*

Robin looked up from his spellbook again as his tent flaps swished open, revealing his daughter with a gigantic smile on her face.

“Hello father!” she said happily, wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight hug.

“How was your day?” Robin asked once she had withdrawn.

“It was so perfect!” Morgan said, twirling happily. “I don’t remember ever having so much fun! Plus Lucina and I even got new outfits! I’m going to wear mine to dinner tonight!”

Robin nodded, looking at his daughter and dreading the answer to the question he was about to ask.

“How much of my savings did you spend, anyway?”

Morgan stopped to think for a moment.

“With the clothes and our afternoon snack I think I spent about… two silver?”

Robin sagged with relief. He should have known he could trust his daughter not to go overboard, but stereotypes were hard to overcome.

Robin reached out, taking the little purse back and tucking it safely into his coat.

“Just let me know if you need any more,” he said, turning and picking up the wrapped object sitting on the floor of the tent next to his table.

“Here,” he added, handing it to Morgan.

His daughter squealed with delight, tearing at the thin brown paper.

“Dad, this is…” she trailed off, eyes going wide.

“An empty spellbook,” he finished for her. “You can start adding spells to it as soon as you’re ready.”

In her hands was a black leather-bound tome, roughly the size of Robin’s, but of a much higher quality. The pages were thicker, too; he had accidentally torn the pages of his own a couple of times now.

Morgan looked up excitedly, reaching past Robin to grab one of his spare pens and seating herself on the ground next to his desk.

“I’m ready now!” she said, opening the book and beginning to transcribe simple spells from memory.

Robin chuckled as he returned to his own work.

*

Robin had to admit, his daughter had fine taste in clothing.

Her new outfit looked good on her as they walked to the mess tent together that evening. The calf-length purple skirt matched her boots and the dark vest she was wearing, while she had pinned her shoulder length brown hair back from her face close to her head. She almost looked like a completely different person.

The illusion was broken, however, when she had thrown her coat over top of her new outfit. Not that he could really judge her; it was a fine, fine coat after all.

Robin could honestly say he had never seen someone so carefree as she practically skipped alongside him. Her good cheer was infectious, and Robin soon found himself smiling along with her.

They entered the mess tent, where food was piled high on every table. One of the good things about being stationed inside a town was the fact that there were proper facilities, and that night’s dinner was testimony to this. Roast meat and vegetables were in dishes in the centre of each table; fresh bread and cheese, butter and jugs of water and wine had been distributed around the dishes.

Lissa and Lon’qu were already at one table, and the blonde girl waved the pair over enthusiastically.

“You’re looking mighty happy today,” Lissa chirped as Robin and Morgan took their seats at the table.

“It was a good day,” Robin said with a shrug, trying to supress his grin and failing miserably while he poured himself a cup of water.

_I think I might skip the wine tonight_ , he thought, sipping at his water.

“We should all enjoy the peace while we can,” Lon’qu pointed out, squirming in his seat a little as Morgan looked at him. “After all, the boats are supposed to arrive soon.”

Robin nodded, heaping the roast food onto two plates before passing one to Morgan.

“Let’s just hope that the others get back first then,” Robin commented.

“I like your new outfit, Morgan,” Lissa said conversationally as the four began to eat. “It’s very pretty.”

Morgan smiled shyly. “Thank you, milady. I bought it today from the market with Princess Lucina.”

“You can drop the formalities,” Lissa said with a laugh. “Robin’s practically like family; that means you are, too!”

Morgan nodded as she crammed an entire bread roll into her mouth, making Lissa giggle.

_Aaaaaand the formalities are gone_ , Robin thought, watching his daughter choke down the roll.

“Of course,” Morgan agreed, forcing the roll down. “So what did you get up to today?”

Lon’qu shrugged, obviously content to let his wife do the talking.

“We got some training in,” Lissa said. “Then we went and helped with the civilians who are planning to seek refuge elsewhere. It’s just making sure they have enough supplies and are healthy enough for the journey, but it’s satisfying work.”

Morgan nodded. “Maybe I can help tomorrow?”

Lissa beamed at the girl’s offer, agreeing and beginning to go into further details for the following day’s plans, Morgan listening intently.

Robin looked up as Chrom and his family entered, doing a double-take when he saw Lucina. He would have laughed at anyone else wearing such a ridiculous dress, but the pained looks on Chrom and Sumia’s faces made him hold his breath, bite his tongue and discretely stab himself in the leg with his fork to stifle his laughter.

Fortunately the majority of the Shepherds were either still attending to duties this early or else still in the field with the various missions Robin had given them.

Sully was very obviously trying not to laugh while Kjelle shook her head, looking at her friend with sympathy in her eyes. Libra’s facial expression barely changed as he went right back to eating, grinning a little to himself while Olivia looked very confused next to him. Gaius used the opportunity to steal her dessert right off her plate, but snickered quietly to himself as he sat back down next to Panne, who was probably the only one in the tent not bothered by the gaudy, clashing colours. Virion did his own double take, eyes wide as he looked back down at his plate, studiously avoiding staring at the Princess. Lon’qu merely raised an eyebrow, which was still the most facial expression Robin had seen from the man all week, while Lissa snorted, desperately trying not to burst into laughter as she covered her mouth with both hands.

Robin heard Morgan groan “Oh gods I can’t believe she actually wore it,” from next to him as she blushed slightly.

“Good evening everyone,” Chrom said stiffly, sitting down at the head of the table, Sumia silently sitting down next to him beside Lissa.

Lucina sat next to Robin, cheerfully oblivious to everyone else’s behaviour and reactions to her dress. The dress was a sleeveless blue, yellow, green and orange sun dress that accentuated her figure nicely; not that Robin could stand to look at it long enough to enjoy that fact. A bright pink ribbon around the middle, tied in a little bow around the back completed the look. Look being a word Robin used very, very lightly.

“Good evening,” she said to the table as she reached for a plate.

At least Robin could admire her bare, toned arms he thought, until his gaze travelled to far up and back to the dress…

“Evening,” Robin responded shortly, rubbing at the spot on his leg he had been forced to stab. “I… ah… like your dress?”

The comment came out sounding more like a question, but Lucina beamed anyway, glancing down at it.

“Thank you Robin. I initially acquired it thinking mother might wear it, but it was not to her taste. I thought ‘waste not, want not’, and fortunately it fit!”

_I can’t_ imagine _why Sumia wouldn’t want to wear it,_ Robin thought, nodding silently as he tried not to stare at the polka-dotted monstrosity, reminding himself that the woman wearing it was his friend.

Conversation picked up around the table again, Chrom and Sumia joining in with Morgan and Lissa’s talk of refugees while Robin sat in comfortable silence.

At one point he had to slap at Gaius’ hand as the skinny thief went for his cookies, but the ginger-haired man took a hint and slunk away in defeat, grinning and whispering “next time” in Robin’s ear as he did.

“Not bloody likely,” Robin muttered back, grinning himself.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Lucina said quietly to Robin as everyone else was engrossed in their conversation.

Robin looked up questioningly from guarding his cookies until he finished his main meal.

“This dress,” she explained. “Morgan offered to buy it for me.”

Robin nodded, understanding what she meant. “Please. Don’t thank me.”

_Really. Don’t thank me for that,_ Robin thought with an internal grimace as he outwardly smiled. _I shall have to have words with Morgan over not stopping you, though._

“I know it’s… unusual,” Lucina said, searching for the right word. “But in my future many were reduced to wearing little more than rags. I spent all of my time in my armour, day after day. It is nice to own a piece of clothing that’s purpose is not to keep me alive in combat.”

_Although that dress might prove adept at that purpose,_ Robin thought, hiding his grin by taking a swig from his glass. _The enemy would take one look and run as far away as they could. That or just become blinded by the colours._

“I’m glad you like it, then. And I accept your thanks,” Robin said instead. “At least you… er… pull off the look well.”

Lucina smiled shyly at Robin’s comment, looking down at her plate as she picked at her food.

Robin had to resist the urge to shake his head.

“Just… promise to go shopping with your mother instead next time,” Robin pleaded. “I’m sure she’d love the chance to spend time with you.”

_And the chance to stop you from repeating today’s mistake…_

*

There was a great bustle outside the camp the next morning as Frederick, Cordelia and Stahl all arrived back, the Knights and Pegasus Knights that had accompanied them all making directly for their garrisons to take a well-deserved break.

Sully was the first one to welcome them back; or welcome Stahl back, anyway, as she pounced on the man lips-first before dragging him off to meet their future daughter.

Robin brought Morgan out to meet them with him, intent on introducing her to the two commanders.

_Okay, showing her off,_ he mentally corrected himself as they strode up to where the stable where the two were storing their mounts.

Cordelia noticed Robin first, looking up and smiling brightly when she recognized the tactician, but having to do a double take when she saw Morgan.

Frederick frowned a little as Robin waved brightly to the duo, but that was nothing new wherever Robin was concerned.

“Good morning Knight Commander, Wing-Commander,” Robin said brightly, shaking Frederick’s hand and giving Cordelia a light hug. “I’d like you to meet my daughter from the future; Morgan.”

Morgan stepped forward, shaking both of the Knights’ hands eagerly.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” she said enthusiastically.

Frederick nodded, returning a terse greeting before begging his leave, no doubt heading straight for Chrom’s command tent.

Cordelia smiled brightly at Morgan. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Morgan.”

Robin’s next words were cut off as Panne rushed past him, going right up to Cordelia.

“Man-spawn!” she said urgently. “You will tell me why you smell of another Taguel and you will tell me now!”

Cordelia hesitated a moment, not knowing how to respond before grinning a little.

“I sent him to the mess tent to get some… food.”

Panne was off and running again before Cordelia had even finished speaking. Robin spotted Gaius racing after her from across the empty space in the middle of the camp, altering his direction and heading for the mess tent, too.

“We should head over there, too,” Cordelia said. “There are a couple of people I think you should meet.”

*

Robin watched, trying not to laugh as Panne circled one of the new arrivals, sniffing at him intently. The young man, another Taguel wearing leather gear similar to Panne’s, shifted uncomfortably as she did, flinching every time she came close to touching him.

“Geez, just look at the ring already!” he cried as she got a little too close to him, backing up and holding out a small golden ring, an exact double of the one Gaius had hand-made currently sitting on Panne’s finger.

“I get one too?” Gaius asked, looking at the young Taguel unbelieving with wide eyes.

The Taguel in question, Yarne, shifted to look at his father and grinned a little sheepishly.

“Yeah, dad,” he said after a moment. “It’s… ah… good to see you again.”

Robin smiled a little as he turned to face the other new arrival, letting Panne and Gaius greet their son without an audience.

“I’m the Shepherds’ tactician, Robin. And you would be…?” Robin prompted the girl, already having a good idea from the way Cordelia kept smiling at her.

“Severa,” she said shortly, glowering at Robin.

She looked almost exactly like her mother, including the long saffron hair. But where Cordelia let hers flow naturally, Severa had tied hers up in long twin-tails. She was also wearing a combination of dark leather and bare steel armours and a long-sword at her hip. Also, Robin had yet to see her face shift anywhere near the easy smile Cordelia usually wore off-duty.

She crossed her arms and huffed as Cordelia beamed at her, before her eyes settled on Morgan and widened, her face changing from irritated to shocked.

“Morgan!?” she exclaimed, shoving Robin bodily out of the way to get to his daughter and gripping her by the shoulders. “Is it really…? Yarne! Yarne, it’s Morgan!”

Yarne looked over from where his mother was still sniffing at him, his own eyes widening.

“Morgan!?” he exclaimed, crossing the room and wrapping both her and Severa in a tight hug, smiling and laughing happily.

“Not me, you moron!” Severa shouted, flailing and trying to get loose as Yarne hugged them both.

Morgan laughed as Yarne released the girls and Severa smacked him upside his head.

“It’s nice to meet you both, but I need to warn you right now I’ve got no memories. Total amnesia. All I remember from more than a week ago is my father and my name.” She said apologetically.

Yarne frowned as he stepped back. “But it’s you! I can tell; you smell exactly the same!”

Severa’s reaction was much more animated.

“Oh that is so typically Morgan!” she shouted, throwing her hands in the air. “I guess we weren’t important enough for you to remember, huh!?”

“I’m sorry,” Morgan said with a slight frown. “I’m sure you were just as important to me as I was to you. Hey, I have an idea! Let’s go find Noire and Kjelle! I’m sure they’d love to see you, too! Come on!”

Any protests Severa might have made died on her lips as Morgan grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the open tent in the direction of the training ground.

“Wait for me!” Yarne called, chasing after them.

Panne’s nose twitched before she took off after her son, Gaius shrugging apologetically as he followed her.

Robin looked at Cordelia, now the only other person in the tent with him.

“That was…” he struggled for the right word. “Interesting.”

Cordelia sighed and sat at one of the long benches.

“I know, I know,” she said. “Severa’s been difficult since we found her. I think she’s just hiding her emotions after losing both her father and myself once already. At least I hope that’s it…”

A thought occurred to Robin.

“Who is her father?” he asked curiously, sitting at the bench opposite Cordelia, his back to the table as her rested his elbows on it.

Cordelia sighed. “I don’t know. She won’t tell me. For all I know it could be you.”

Robin’s brow quirked faster and higher than it ever had before.

“I jest,” she laughed, seeing his expression. “I think she doesn’t want to interfere with the timeline in case she somehow alters events.”

Robin barked a quick laugh. “She may as well not bother. I’ve been messing with the timeline since my first conversation with Lucina. Plus, and lets face facts here, simply by being here all of those kids are messing with the natural order of things. For instance, did you know that I was supposed to pursue a military career rather than wander around a frozen forest, a tropical island and a desert for two years?”

Cordelia nodded, thinking.

“I think I’d rather still not know,” she said. “It would ruin the fun of getting to fall in love.”

Robin chuckled. “You know Virion said the exact same thing?”

They laughed together for a time before Robin stood, offering a hand to help Cordelia up.

“As much as I’d like to sit and talk all day, the tactician in me cries out for a proper debriefing. Let’s go find Chrom and Frederick and get this over with.”

Cordelia nodded her agreement, stretching her tired muscles a little before she followed Robin in the direction of Chrom’s command post.

*

“So that’s basically everything I remember,” Morgan said, finishing her very short life-story and still leading Severa by the hand to the training ground.

“Okay, great!” Severa said harshly. “Now please stop dragging me!”

Morgan stopped and let Severa’s hand go.

“Sorry,” she said. “I guess I got a little carried away.”

Severa huffed, straightening her top and giving Morgan a haughty glare as Yarne caught up, doubling over and panting, his ears flopping forward over his face.

“Geez Morgan… you move… really fast…” he panted, casting a glance over his shoulder, searching for his now absent mother.

Watching the two, giant, soft and fluffy looking ears flop around with his every movement made something inside Morgan snap.

“Bunny!” she exploded, pouncing on Yarne and grabbing at his ears.

“Waugh!” Yarne shouted, recoiling but not getting away from Morgan’s already tight hold on him.

“Oh look at these ears! So soft and adorable!” she squealed, rubbing her hands all along the length of his ears and not being entirely sure why she was doing it.

Severa just stood silently, ignoring Yarne’s pleading look and laughing into her hand.

“Quit pulling you maniac! You’ll tear them clean off!”

“Aw, I’m just touching them!”

“It hurts, though! It hurts! It huuuuuuurts!”

Morgan squealed again. “Even your wince and tiny tears of pain are adorable!”

“Gah! Severa, get her off of me!” Yarne pleaded. “I’m an endangered species here! Be gentle!”

“Aw, no need to be shy,” Morgan cooed, rubbing her face against the downy softness of Yarne’s ears. “I'll make sure nothing's permanently damaged.”

“I think _you’re_ permanently damaged!” Yarne yelped, finally freeing himself of her hold. “Hands of the merchandise already! What’s up with you? You haven’t done that since we were kids!”

Severa lost her battle to hide her laughter, the loud mirthful sounds exploding past her hand as she doubled over.

“I don’t even remember you,” Morgan explained. “But just looking at your ears makes me wanna cuddle them, Bunny!”

“Can you please just take us to Noire and Kjelle?” Yarne pleaded, positioning Severa between himself and Morgan. “Please?”

*

Morgan was sitting at a table in the mess tent with Severa, Yarne, Noire and Kjelle, looking around at the others as they laughed and caught up, telling stories about the time they had been separated.

She didn’t feel left out; even though she was sitting silently watching the others talk. It was fun to observe the other ‘future children’ as they had started being called around the camp just relaxing and chatting. Usually Noire and Kjelle were so grim. It was kind of sad.

Morgan noticed Noire shooting her a dirty look again, and smiled sheepishly, recalling the amulet still sitting under her collar.

_Should I give it back?_ Morgan wondered as Kjelle burst into laughter at something Severa had said. _Something tells me I don’t want to disappoint Tharja, though…_

“Where’s the Princess?” Yarne asked, looking around again. “She’s here too, right?”

He sure was twitchy; his eyes hadn’t looked at the same thing for more than a few seconds since he sat down, and he was constantly shifting in his seat, trying to see behind him. Fortunately his mother still hadn’t taken him away, giving Morgan all the time she needed to go after his ears again.

“She’ll be in a war council with the others right now,” Morgan said, eying Yarne’s ears.

“And what, we’re not good enough to join in the war council?” Severa asked bitterly, glowering at anyone who looked her way.

Morgan had yet to see her smile; even when she was laughing at her antics with Yarne earlier she had hidden her mouth with her hand. Morgan made a mental note to make the other girl laugh again at some point to view the results.

“It’s just a debriefing,” Kjelle said, sipping from a cup of water. “If it was a real council Morgan would be there.”

Morgan wilted under Severa’s glare. “I can get you in to the next one if it bothers you that much.”

Severa just huffed again, turning away and crossing her arms.

“I wonder if the others are out there somewhere, too,” Noire mumbled, looking down at the table.

“How many others travelled through time, anyway?” Morgan asked.

“Not including us already in the camp there’s eight more,” Kjelle said. “But I’m still curious how you got here. You weren’t at Mount Prism with us when the spell was cast, so how did you get back here?”

Morgan shrugged as everyone turned to look at her.

“Amnesia?” she reminded them, pointing to her head. “I have no idea. Fate brought me here, I guess.”

Severa narrowed her eyes while Yarne nervously shifted away from the two women.

The awkward atmosphere that was building was dispelled instantly when Yarne yelped, being dragged backwards off his seat by the scruff of his neck.

“You will come with me now,” Panne growled, dragging him away.

“Oh gods, somebody help me!” Yarne screeched, trying to break his mother’s iron grip.

Morgan laughed at the absurdity of the situation, the other three women at the table joining in.

“Bye-bye Bunny!” she called, waving at him. “Have fun with family time!”

_We’re in the same camp now,_ she thought. _His ears will never escape me!_

*

Robin ran a hand through his hair as he walked away from the command post, a small pile of books and scrolls under his arm.

They were officially ready to go. The ships would start boarding the next day; the Shepherds, all of them, would be travelling on the Plegian flagship _Dragon’s Claw_. They weren’t boarding first, though; a few smaller skiffs would be set up first to relieve the force that had been patrolling the harbour, giving the Feroxi mariners that had been constantly watching the waters a chance to rest.

Robin silently hoped that Gregor’s team would be back in time. They were supposed to return that night or early the next morning.

_I don’t feel like going through these stupid notes in my tent_ , Robin thought irritatedly, looking up at the clear blue sky. _Maybe I’ll find a nice shady spot under a tree or something._

His thoughts were distracted when Panne, dragging Yarne by the scruff of the neck, crossed his path.

“Heeeeeeelp meeeeeeeeee!” Yarne pleaded as his mother dragged him past Robin’s field of view.

_I am not getting caught up in that,_ Robin thought, leaving the boy to whatever his mother had in mind.

It was interesting, Robin thought, that even though the future children they had found were all the same age as the rest of the majority of the Shepherds, he still thought of them as children; Morgan especially.

_But I don’t think of Lucina that way_ , Robin reasoned. _Maybe it just takes some getting used to having them around._

Robin turned, his thoughts interrupted when he heard Chrom calling his name, instantly thinking he’d forgotten something at the command post.

“Quick, keep moving,” the Prince muttered, dragging him forward as he kept walking. “I managed to ditch Frederick but we have to leave now.”

“Where are we going?” Robin asked, grinning as he matched Chrom’s pace.

“Somewhere with ale,” Chrom answered with a grin of his own.

*

Chrom and Robin both slammed their mugs down on the tabletop, sighing contentedly and signalling for the serving girl to bring them another round.

“Gods, I needed this,” Chrom sighed, reclining in his chair and letting his head loll backwards.

Chrom had led Robin to one of the smaller ale houses still open near the docks, its interior was hazy and dark, but once Robin’s eyesight adjusted he’d been able to tell it was clean enough for him to relax a little.

“I feel like all I’ve done since you left is paperwork,” Chrom complained, perking up as the serving girl brought their second round of drinks to the table.

“Really?” Robin asked, sinking lower into his chair comfortably as he began to relax a little, too. “Because in the month I was gone I got nothing but awkward personal situations. I kinda started to miss the paperwork.”

“I did notice that Tharja was following you around less,” Chrom pointed out. “You finally let her down, eh?”

Robin rolled his eyes.

“We were never an item,” he said. “But Noire being someone else’s daughter was kind of a shock to her system.”

“Well, your daughter seems to have some serious skill with a blade,” Chrom said, unconsciously reaching up to rub his neck where she had held her sword.

“Yeah, I heard she beat you yesterday morning,” Robin goaded.

“Tied me,” Chrom corrected. “We tied. Then I taught her that little trick you always fall for.”

Robin groaned, glaring at his friend.

“It’s not bad enough you always beat me with it, but now you’ve made it so she can too? I thought you were my friend!”

“Friends help friends grow!” Chrom laughed, leaning back and taking a long sip from his mug.

When he lowered the ceramic mug Robin burst out laughing; the Prince of Ylisse had an ale moustache.

“Don’t wipe it away,” Robin teased, still laughing as Chrom desperately tried to wipe the ale froth away on his sleeve. “It’s a good look for you!”

Robin and Chrom both laughed a little, before trailing off and sitting in comfortable silence, thinking their own thoughts, occasionally sipping from their respective mugs.

“Tomorrow the real war begins,” Chrom said with a sigh.

“No,” Robin corrected him, “Tomorrow we board a boat for two months. Have you been on a boat-ride that long before? It’s exceedingly unpleasant.”

Chrom chuckled. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Robin agreed. “But you were bringing me down. Why worry about the problems of tomorrow today when they can wait until… uh, tomorrow?”

_Damn my weak constitution!_ Robin thought, glaring at the ale that had betrayed him so.

Chrom laughed and raised his mug.

“To waiting until tomorrow!”

Robin echoed his toast, clinking the rim of his mug against Chrom’s.

The war could wait for them to have a few more ales, at the very least.


	24. Chapter 24

Robin groaned piteously as he hung over the railing of the _Dragon’s Claw_ , the huge Plegian warship Chrom had claimed as his flagship, watching what had once been his breakfast slowly floating away on the tides.

“I hate boats so much…” he moaned, running a hand down his face as he closed his eyes and desperately tried to resist the urge to void the remaining contents of his stomach.

It had been a week since they had set out, leaving Seth and Raimi behind in Port Ferox to monitor the continued boarding. The Shepherds on the _Dragon’s Claw_ were part of an advanced force of fifty ships, each packed to bursting with Feroxi and Ylissean soldiers and sailors.

The third team of Shepherds had returned the morning they were to board the ship, and had gone from the road directly to the ship with no rest between.

Most interestingly, though, were Nah and Laurent, the two newest Shepherds that had joined them through Gregor’s group; Ricken and Nowi’s and Miriel and Vaike’s future children, respectively.

Robin groaned again, contemplating letting himself fall into the surf and just being done with the torture.

A large, beefy hand clapped him on the shoulder, breaking his reverie and making him look up as it began to rub comforting circles into his back.

“Oy. Young Robin has stomach of old lady,” Gregor said sympathetically. “Unfortunately Gregor is not having remedy for seasickness.”

Robin groaned, letting the older man continue rubbing his back. It was actually making him feel a lot better.

“That’s okay,” Robin groaned with a tired grin. “I can barely afford to keep buying the other remedy you make.”

Gregor grinned widely. “Is addictive; Gregor warned you.”

They stood in silence for a time, Robin trying desperately to ignore the swaying of the deck beneath him while Gregor rubbed his back and stared out to the horizon. It was a perfect day; no clouds, the sea was calm (or so the captain of the ship had said) and the wind was blowing the right way, speeding their progress considerably.

Gregor took a deep breath and when Robin looked up at him he could see the older man was smiling wistfully.

“Take deep breath, young Robin,” Gregor said happily. “All troubles feel miles away out on sea.”

“But we’re actually sailing right *urk* towards them,” Robin groaned, feeling his breakfast making a break for freedom again.

“I. Hate. Sailing. So much,” Robin moaned, turning and letting himself slide down to the deck with his back to the railing, adopting a foetal position.

Gregor laughed heartily, grabbing Robin under one arm and hauling him up, half dragging, half carrying him towards the centre of the ship.

“Young Robin will feel better if he doesn’t focus on how sick-feeling he is,” Gregor chuckled. “Come! We play checkers; Robin’s mind is distracted by tactical thinking.”

*

Robin admittedly felt a little better as he creamed Gregor for the fourth time in a row at checkers. He wasn’t as good at checkers as he was chess, but Gregor was hardly as tactically minded as Robin was.

“You see!” Gregor said with a wide smile. “Young Robin is making the happy faces and forgetting about being at sea!”

Robin nodded gratefully, leaning back and looking around the deck.

He and Morgan had drafted a roster for training on the limited upper-deck space; anybody was free to come and go, but they needed to stay fit, and so far Frederick had been fanatical about making sure everybody trained for their allotted time. Up one end of the ship were the Pegasi and Cherche’s wyvern; the Knights horses were being kept in a special section of the hold and monitored constantly; they were also being fed special calming herbs mixed in with their regular food to keep them from panicking.

The Pegasi and Minerva were too large for the specialized hold, though, and had been simply tied to the railing at the back of the ship. Cherche, Cordelia and Sumia took them out for scouting flights regularly to exercise them, though, so there was no need to feed them the same herbs as the horses.

Laurent had been exceedingly helpful, too; the mage had not only inherited his mother’s keen analytical mind, but also some of his father’s social skills. The resulting combination was the perfect lackey to do all the boring jobs Robin couldn’t be bothered doing. In the spirit of that, Robin had officially made Laurent the Shepherds’ new quartermaster and treasurer.

He watched the young mage wander by with a clipboard in his hand, mumbling numbers to himself as he checked the crates and barrels on the deck. Robin always found it amusing to watch the mages go about their daily lives with their wide-brimmed pointed hats.

Shepherds milled about the ship around the sailors from Ylisse that had travelled to Plegia to bring the boats to Port Ferox. Not that there had been many to begin with; even with all of the sailors and mariners from Ylisse and Regna Ferox put together they had been forced to hire fishermen and even ferrymen to fill in the rest of the ranks aboard the ships. Many of the troop transports coming last were being manned by inexperienced men that had very little time on the water, but such was the hand they had been dealt. Neither Regna Ferox nor Ylisse were great seafaring nations to begin with, and Plegia’s numbers were severely depleted; it was no wonder that Gangrel didn’t want to share his soldiers.

“Oy!” Gregor said, tapping the crate they were using as a table to get the tactician’s attention as he scooped up the checkerboard and pieces. “Gregor is saying he is going to go below decks and sharpen sword out of sun.”

“Sorry Gregor,” Robin said. “Thanks for distracting me.”

The older man was off, doing whatever it was he did in his down time, leaving Robin to sit and stare thoughtfully at the Shepherds that were on deck.

Robin zoned out, doing his best to breathe deeply and not think about the fact that he was on the ocean.

He looked up as Lucina approached, obviously still having some difficulty in walking aboard a ship. Unlike Robin; he could move around fine, but his stomach couldn’t handle the rocking…

_Focus, dammit! You don’t have any food left to puke up!_

“Still waiting to get your sea-legs?” Robin asked the woman sympathetically as she took a seat on the crate Gregor had vacated not long ago.

“I am finding it difficult to keep my balance,” Lucina admitted. “This is my first voyage. In my time all of the ships were destroyed, along with the docks and ports as well.”

“I can think of worse things to happen in the future,” Robin muttered darkly.

Lucina laughed a little at his statement; his hatred of boats and water were common knowledge. He had been telling everyone that would listen for the last week, anyway.

Chrom and Sumia took that point to make their entrance on the deck from the staircase leading beneath the quarter deck to the cabins. Chrom was having as much, if not more, trouble than his daughter keeping his feet on the rocking deck; just watching him made Robin begin to feel ill again. Sumia seemed a natural, though, walking straight next to her husband as he stumbled and weaved drunkenly.

“Yeesh, you’re having more trouble than I am, Chrom,” Robin pointed out as the Prince and Sumia joined him and Lucina.

Chrom groaned. “I never did fancy myself a sea-captain…”

“You’re doing fine, dear,” Sumia said comfortingly, patting his bare shoulder.

Chrom nodded a little, looking up at his daughter.

“Lucina, while we’ve got a moment and we’re all in one place,” he started, “Can I ask you something?”

“Should I make myself scarce for this?” Robin asked, perking up and pointing aft.

“Oh stop acting like you’re not part of the family,” Chrom said with a grin. “Do you know what it was like growing up with only two sisters? I always wanted a brother; now sit there quietly while the royals talk.”

Robin’s brow twitched. “You are aware you just contradicted yourself in the same sentence, right?”

Chrom chuckled along with the two women, waving off Robin’s comment before growing serious again.

“I’ve been meaning to ask why you didn’t join us after you helped prevent Emmeryn’s assassination. You ended up following us anyway.”

Lucina went quiet and looked down as she contemplated her answer.

“I felt I had no other choice,” she said after a moment. “I did not wish to risk altering history any more than necessary. I only sought to influence events directly tied to Grima’s return.”

“And the two assassins that attempted to kill your father in the gardens that night?” Sumia asked curiously. “Would they have succeeded?”

Lucina looked down again, obviously struggling with how much she wanted to reveal.

“He would have been gravely wounded,” she said. “Those wounds would have played a part in the tragedies to come.”

“It’s a good thing you did intervene, then,” Sumia said, patting her daughter on the leg.

“If indeed I did alter events at all,” Lucina said bleakly. “The river of time always favours its original course. Take the Exalt’s death for example; yes, I stalled it, but I did not prevent it. I was so certain I had altered fate; that I had saved the world. Perhaps the task is simply too great…”

“You did everything you could,” Chrom said comfortingly.

_I had no idea this was weighing so heavily on her,_ Robin thought, seeing the tortured look in her eyes.

“That’s okay,” Robin said dismissively, trying to lighten the mood. “We’re kinda experts at uphill battles by now. I only see obstacles to be conquered.”

“He has a point,” Chrom agreed. “We’re not out of the fight yet.”

“But what if I had done things differently?” Lucina persisted. “I replay events over and over in my head…”

“Don’t dwell on these things,” Chrom said kindly. “You did manage to save me, after all.”

Lucina smiled sadly at her father. “You are kind to say so, Father, but nothing is certain. Another could cripple you, or even take your life. Time could find a way.”

“Screw time,” Robin scoffed.

“As much as I agree with Robin’s incredibly eloquent statement,” Chrom said sarcastically, casting a wry grin at the tactician, “I would still know how I die in your future.”

“I know only rumours,” Lucina said apologetically. “We were told that you fell in a great battle, fought to sway destiny itself. And… that you were murdered; betrayed by someone dear to you.”

Robin’s eyebrow rose, remembering snippets of the dream he had had just before Chrom and Lissa had woken him in the field.

_A fateful duel… A foe laid low… A blood-stained dagger…_

“Robin?” Sumia asked, worry clear on her face. “Are you okay?”

Robin glanced up, noticing the three royals staring at him with similar expressions on their faces.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “I should probably be paying close attention to this, right?”

“It’s okay; after you left I got used to taking care of myself,” Chrom chuckled.

“Then why in Naga’s name did you put me right back in the position I retired from in the first place the second I got back?” Robin asked with a smirk.

“What can I say?” Chrom shrugged. “I missed you.”

Sumia cleared her throat, glaring at the two men. “Sorry, Lucina. Why don’t you continue?”

Chrom and Robin both shifted guiltily as Sumia continued to glare at them, almost daring them to keep talking.

“After your murder and Grima’s return I took the name Marth and fought back,” she continued. “I prayed to the Hero-King for a small portion of the strength he had to save our people. But I need this subterfuge no longer; I choose to be Lucina now.”

She looked up to her parents, a smile forming on her face.

“I choose to fight bearing the name that reminds me of the strength of the man and woman that gave it to me,” she added in a small voice.

“A strength shared by the woman that bears it,” Chrom said, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“Touching,” Robin said, interrupting the happy family moment. “But you never told me how I died. I’ll settle for rumours, too.”

Lucina looked at Robin for a moment before responding.

“I am sorry, Robin,” she said. “But by all reports you simply cease to exist.”

Robin crossed his arms and leaned back.

“Now I know you’re just screwing with me.”

Chrom burst into hearty laughter, slapping his knees and doubling over.

“How could Robin possibly have such an ignoble fate as to be forgotten?” he laughed. “Don’t worry friend, I’ll make sure you’re remembered.”

“Yeah, as a footnote in chapters about your history no doubt,” Robin muttered, grinning as the mood began to pick up again.

*

“Urk… Dad… I think… I think I’m *urf* dying…”

Robin chuckled as Morgan curled up over a bucket, pushing her hair out of her face with one hand.

“Just eat enough to survive, then,” Robin shrugged, reaching over to rub his daughter’s back. “That’s how I’ve been coping. A little for breakfast, some dinner and lots of water in between.”

They were both sitting together on the forecastle deck at the front of the ship, trying to read their tactical manuals. A few days ago Robin had given up on eating properly and simply ingested enough to remain alive and awake. His plan was working, too; he had spent markedly less time leaning over the railings lately. Unfortunately Morgan had yet to catch on.

“How am I supposed to… to get anything done?” Morgan moaned pathetically.

“Don’t force it,” Robin advised. “Just try and distract yourself with something. Go play checkers with Gregor; I’m sure the old bastard would love the chance to beat somebody new.”

Morgan shook her head, dry-retching.

“If I move, I’ll puke,” she said.

“Then you wait here, I’ll bring Gregor to you,” Robin said, giving her shoulder a squeeze as he rose.

Morgan wordlessly moaned as she wiped the hair out of her face again in case her lunch made another dash for freedom.

Robin steadied himself on the various railings as he walked, watching absently as Libra and Stahl sparred in the open area in the centre of the main deck. He shook his head as he realized that a crowd of the female Shepherds had formed and was watching the two shirtless men intently.

The tactician looked down at his own chest, visible through his open collar and patted his flat stomach, sighing. The other men in the Shepherds, excluding Ricken and perhaps Henry, were all chiselled statuesque hunks of, to borrow a term he had heard from Olivia, ‘man-candy’. He was obviously fit enough to keep up on the battlefield, but he didn’t put as much effort into his physique as the others did, and he was starting to feel a little self-conscious as the others adopted Vaike’s dress-code while they were on the ship’s main deck, where it could actually get quite hot.

_Maybe I ought to start training a little harder_ , Robin thought, pausing to watch as Stahl and Libra traded blows, both of the men covered in a light sheen of sweat that made their muscles gleam.

He could practically hear the women swooning.

Robin’s eyes widened as he spotted Tharja in the crowd, lasciviously watching the two men and licking her lips. She glanced up and their eyes met briefly before the Dark Mage blushed heavily, pointedly looking anywhere but at Robin.

_Whatever,_ Robin thought, running a hand through his hair and skirting the crowd, entering the staircase to the ship’s interior. _As long as they keep entertained._

Robin dodged around Nowi as she dragged Nah up the stairs and onto the deck, obviously intent on watching the two men fight.

He stepped into the galley, where Virion and Gregor were moving around the small kitchen behind the staircase, cleaning up after the light lunch they had just prepared.

“Hey Gregor, Morgan could use some of your patented distracting,” Robin said, entering the kitchen area. “I’ll finish cleaning up if you want.”

Gregor sighed theatrically; the illusion was ruined by the smile that broke out on his face. “Gregor will get checker board.”

“She’s up on the forecastle deck!” Robin called to the retreating mercenary, taking his place at the basin of dishwater as Gregor waved an acknowledgment over his shoulder.

Virion chuckled from where he was stoking the cooking fire that the Shepherds cooking dinner would be using.

“You, my friend, are truly a hopelessly doting father,” the archer said.

“I can’t help it,” Robin laughed, rolling up the sleeves of his coat and plunging his hands into the warm soapy water. “I just see her so sick and miserable and I want to do something about it. You just wait until you have kids, you’ll be no better.”

“Perhaps,” Virion agreed, beginning to dry and put away the dishes Gregor had already washed. “But that simply means I must mock you now while I can.”

Together they made short work of the dishes, Robin’s stomach growling hungrily as he passed by a barrel of apples.

_If I eat now, I won’t be able to stomach dinner_ , Robin silently reminded himself as Virion eyed the suffering tactician curiously.

*

Morgan threw her hands in the air and made a victorious noise as she defeated Gregor for the third straight round.

The older mercenary chuckled as he rubbed a hand down his face.

“Oy. Even young Robin not catch on so fast as young Morgan.”

Morgan grinned happily over the board. “Come on old man; best five out of seven.”

Gregor barked out a short laugh as he started resetting the board.

They played silently for the first half of the game, each lost in concentration while they tried to figure out the other’s strategy.

“You knowing…” Gregor said as one of his pieces reached the end of the board, becoming a king. “Young Morgan is very much reminding of Gregor’s brother Gregor.”

Morgan looked up confusedly.

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” she said, trying to figure out the man’s strange speech pattern. “And… his name is Gregor, too?”

Gregor laughed, slapping his knees.

“No! Silly Morgan, Gregor is brother’s name!”

Morgan arched a brow as she moved another checker.

“So what’s your name then?”

Gregor chuckled. “Is Gregor now.”

“Hooooo-kaaaaaay…” Morgan said, watching his move.

“Gregor’s brother is dead a long time now,” Gregor went on. “But he was always smiling, just like young Morgan does. He was smart, and kind. Just like young Morgan is.”

Morgan blushed at the praise as she looked up, grinning.

“Flattery won’t distract me you know,” she said, a resounding _chack_ marking the demise of another of Gregor’s pieces.

“Oy,” Gregor moaned, running a hand through his hair. “Young Morgan is cute but ruthless. Gregor never standing chance.”

They continued to play in silence a while before Morgan’s curiosity got the better of her.

“How did he die?” she asked tentatively.

Gregor sighed and leaned back.

“Gregor did bad thing, yes?” he said quietly. “Made many bandits angry. Gregor and brother were cornered by bandits, and forced to fight. Gregor’s brother… not making it.”

Morgan looked up sympathetically as she moved another piece on the board.

“That’s horrible,” she said sadly.

“Is okay,” Gregor said, his usual smile slipping back into place. “Gregor getting to talk to brother again with spooky-lady’s help. Is making amends, clearing air with brother. No longer sad about it. Gregor no longer blames himself.”

Morgan nodded, smiling the older man’s infectious smile.

Gregor finally looked back down at the board.

“Oy,” he moaned. “How can such young girl be making Gregor look so bad at game?”

*

“The Pegasus Knights report that the Valmese fleet outnumbers ours three to one,” Cordelia reported to all those assembled.

Chrom, Lucina, Robin, Cordelia, Virion and the two Khans stood around the forecastle deck, Morgan standing a small distance behind Robin with Severa at her elbow.

The pouting redhead had apparently been adamant that she be included, and Robin wasn’t about to get into an argument while they were in such close quarters by denying her request.

That morning the Pegasus Knights had returned early from a routine scouting sweep ahead of the boats early and ashen-faced, reporting directly to Cordelia who had called the war-council.

They were still a month from Valm’s eastern shore; obviously they had run into the advance party that they had defeated in Port Ferox’s reinforcements; one hundred warships, each easily capable of holding another hundred men.

A thousand Valmese soldiers.

“This is what we wanted,” Robin pointed out. “On the boats their cavalry counts for nothing; we can face them sword to sword, bottleneck them, strike from above with our Pegasus Knights.”

“This is a thousand men, Robin,” Frederick said tersely. “Each one of those ships is no doubt packed to bursting; our vessels are barely half-full at best.”

“If we attempt to board them in a straight-out fight we’ll be slaughtered,” Chrom pointed out.

“We’ve little choice but to try anyway,” Flavia said, bouncing her sword impatiently on her shoulder guard. “Plegia had no men to spare, but they were generous with their supplies. Such as oil…”

She grinned directly at Robin. “Perhaps a clever tactician could make use of that?”

Robin stroked his chin thoughtfully, being interrupted when Morgan spoke up excitedly.

“Oh! Oh! I have an idea!” she said, thrusting her hand into the air, seasickness apparently forgotten. “If we light their ships up, they’d have nowhere to escape to! We could-”

“Wind up roasted like hams!” Basilio interrupted loudly. “Are you so eager to see us all dead, girl?”

“I don’t hear you suggesting anything better, oaf!” Flavia said, verbally leaping to Morgan’s aid. “I’m with the girl on this one.”

Morgan grinned as the Khan complimented her.

“How do we do it, though?” Chrom asked. “We haven’t got any catapults… Perhaps we could fly Pegasus Knights over the ships and drop the barrels?”

“Too dangerous,” Robin said quickly. “The loss of life for the Pegasus Knights would be too high. There aren’t enough of them, anyway.”

“So how do we get the oil onto their ships without setting our own ablaze?” Chrom asked.

A light went on in Robin’s head.

“Wait!” he shouted excitedly, looking at the assembled leaders with his best crafty-tactician grin. “Unless we _want_ our ships caught in the fire. I have a plan.”

*

“This is the most absurd, the most hair brained, the most… the most…” Severa was saying as she stood next to Robin.

“Run out of adjectives?” Robin asked cheekily, glancing over at the girl.

She glared at the tactician wordlessly; something Robin was starting to get used to from her.

His plan saw twelve of the Shepherds, including himself and Chrom, charging full speed on one of the troop transports toward the line of Valmese ships, intent on assaulting the Valmese flagship and killing their General, or their Admiral or whoever was in charge.

The _Fargus’ Revenge_ , the smaller, faster ship that Robin was currently standing on, cut through the waves in a way that the _Dragon’s Claw_ was far too heavy to. Robin was standing on the ship’s forecastle deck, one foot resting on the end of the bow-spirit and his coat flapping out theatrically behind him.

_I have been around Virion far, far too long_ , he thought absently, doing his best to cast a heroic pose; just because he could.

Chrom, Frederick, Virion, Panne, Lon’qu and Gregor were on the main deck, weapons at the ready, waiting for the part of the plan where they would board the enemy ships, while the reserve group that would keep the Valmese off of their own ship, Vaike, Kjelle, Libra and Donnel, were waiting up on the quarter deck, Vaike doing his best to keep the _Fargus’ Revenge_ going in a straight line.

At some point Vaike had wrapped a bandana around his head ‘pirate-style’, and the look had stuck.

The Valmese ships grew in the distance as the Shepherds careened towards them.

Severa’s face was one of almost comical worry as she gripped the short railing next to Robin.

Robin started laughing.

“I always wondered what it felt like to be a pirate!” he shouted over his shoulder to Chrom.

“Yarr!” Chrom shouted, raising Falchion above his head and making the other Shepherds laugh. “Prince Chrom’s Rowdy Shepherd Pirate Gang! I like the sound of that!”

“Got any more bandanas, Vaike?” Robin called to the man at the rear of the ship when he stopped laughing.

Much to Robin’s surprise the blonde man grinned and handed something to Donnel, sending him up to Robin.

Donnel’s new armour, the same pale blue colour as the forces from Jagen, gleamed in the sun as he darted across the ship.

“Vaike says he’ll be wantin’ it back,” Donnel said with a grin.

Robin burst out laughing as Donnel returned to the quarter deck while he wrapped the red cloth around his head and drew his sword.

“All hands brace for assault!” Robin called in his best rough pirate voice.

“You people are insane,” Severa muttered, her comment almost lost to the roaring wind racing past Robin’s ears.

He just grinned as they drew within range of the Valmese ships; she’d get used to their antics soon enough.

The lead ship, no doubt the Valmese flagship, judging from the gold gilt on the railings and the ostentatious figurehead on the ship’s bow-spirit, moved into position alongside the _Fargus’ Revenge_ , while two more Valmese ships darted around their other side, boxing them in and leaving them nowhere else to go but forward.

With a violent tugging motion that made Robin suddenly grateful he was bracing himself with one foot up on the railing, the _Fargus’ Revenge_ was brought to a dead stop in the water, loud crashing sounds echoing around the open water as ballistae on board the Valmese ships pierced the hull, dragging them closer to the _Revenge_.

“Bring it on!” Vaike shouted, readying his axe as he prepared to leap down onto the main deck when the others vacated it.

“That one!” Robin shouted to Chrom, pointing to the larger of the Valmese ships.

Chrom nodded, and the assault team assembled near where the Valmese were preparing boarding planks.

“Shouldn’t we get down there?” Severa asked, holding her own sword ready while Robin walked to the railing facing the Valmese ship.

“I’ll meet you over there,” Robin said with a grin over his shoulder, grabbing hold of one of the ropes hanging from the rigging above them.

Before Severa could question what he was doing, Robin sliced through the rope and threw himself off of the edge of the _Revenge_ , swinging over to the Valmese ship, his coat flapping out behind him.

_I always wanted to try this,_ Robin thought giddily in the brief second he was out over the gap between the two ships.

Laughing manically, Robin released the rope and rolled to his feet on the deck of the Valmese ship, shocked faced looking at him from under red helms and armour.

“Who wants some first?” Robin challenged, brandishing his sword and grinning like a madman.

*

“Tell me he did not just do that,” Chrom groaned, watching his tactician sail through the air.

“For a tactician he’s really not all that bright, is he?” Virion asked drolly as the Valmese forces finally managed to get their boarding plank onto the _Revenge’s_ deck.

“Kjelle!” Chrom called.

She stepped forward, nodding intensely as she beat her lance onto her shield. The young Knight raced forward, barrelling across the plank and throwing the Valmese soldiers in her way into the ocean, clearing the path for the rest of the Shepherds.

Chrom was the next one across, the others following him one by one while Virion fired arrows across the gap, disorienting the Valmese as the Shepherds crashed into them.

Chrom risked a glance over his shoulder as he heard the sound of more planks hitting the _Revenge’s_ deck, but Vaike and his team were already moving into position to repel the boarders.

Robin was laughing, having the time of his life as he leapt around the Valmese ship, slashing and making Pirate quips as he went.

“Severa, please go and make sure our tactician doesn’t get himself killed,” Chrom said to the young woman that had just crossed the plank.

Severa darted beneath soldiers as she raced to Robin’s side, the rest of the Shepherds engaging Valmese troops all across the main deck; a deck that was easily three times the size of the one on the _Dragon’s Claw_.

Chrom began to lash out at four Valmese troops with lances that were trying to get around and flank Lon’qu, driving them back before felling them in quick order.

Panne was darting around the ship, opening necks and tearing at light armour as she went, the deck quickly becoming slicked with the red liquid wherever she went. Virion remained on the _Revenge_ , shooting arrows across at all three of the Valmese ships at once, every shot a direct hit from the incredibly skilled archer.

Chrom was thrown to the right as a lance flashed by his vision; Gregor grunting as he brought his own sword down on the soldier that had threatened Chrom.

The old mercenary huffed as he hauled Chrom to his feet.

“Prince should be watching himself more carefully,” Gregor said, his voice oddly clipped. “Would not be wanting to die here, yes?”

Chrom nodded as Gregor went back to the fighting, swinging his sword one handed and bowling over a large group of soldiers pressing in on the Shepherds.

Trusting that the others would follow the plan, he gave himself to the melee before a lance really did skewer him, and completely missing the drops of Gregor’s blood splattered on his boots.

*

_Perhaps I spent a little bit too much time cooped up on that ship,_ Robin thought as he stabbed another of the Valmese sailors attacking him, turning to face the next.

The soldier in front of him made a strange jerking motion before he fell, Severa standing panting behind him as blood still dripped from her sword.

“Gawds!” she shouted. “Are you a moron!? Get back in formation!”

Robin didn’t answer, instead grabbing her shoulder and spinning her out of the way as a lance passed through the space they had just been occupying.

“C’mon,” Robin asked, slicing the throat of the soldier who had attacked them with the tip of his rapier, “Where’s your sense of whimsy?”

“Are you really asking me that in the middle of a battle!?” Severa shouted, parrying a strike meant for her shoulder before lashing out with the pommel of her sword and knocking her attacker off balance.

“I mean really,” she added huffily, running the man through. “You’re acting like a child.”

Robin just shrugged, looking around for the next soldier to engage. Spotting a man who was no doubt the enemy admiral, judging from the fancy hat he was wearing and the gaggle of soldiers pressed around him, Robin pointed his rapier directly at the man.

“In the name of Ylisse!” Robin shouted, charging forward with a very frustrated Severa on his tail.

*

Chrom grunted, reeling back from the shield-strike of a particularly heavily armoured Valmese soldier, before darting back in and burying his divine blade in the join between plates.

The Prince looked around as more of the heavily armoured soldiers charged up from below deck, a red-faced, middle aged man in ornate amour following behind them with a lance in his hands, his furious face split diagonally by a large scar across his nose.

“Who dares attack General Ignatius’ personal ship!?” he roared from behind his men. “I’ll see all of you peasants dead and cast into the waves for the sharks to feed on!”

Chrom strode forward, Gregor and Libra falling in around him.

“I would ask that you retreat, General,” Chrom shouted across the deck. “There need not be any more bloodshed today.”

“Kill that man and bring me his head!” Ignatius shouted, pointing at Chrom with his lance.

_I tried_ , Chrom thought, readying his sword.

The first of the elite Valmese soldiers fell backwards, one of Libra’s small throwing axes lodged in his chest. The second was swept aside by a one-handed sweep from Gregor, who stepped forward with Chrom.

The next three were barrelled over as Panne tore into them out of nowhere in her beast-form, shredding their armour with her razor sharp claws.

The Valmese General sneered as he strode forward, flanked by another two soldiers.

“I will kill you myself,” he growled, darting forward lance first, aiming at Chrom’s chest.

Chrom dodged low and swept out a low kick at the General’s legs as Libra and Gregor pounced on the other two soldiers, driving them away from the General and giving Chrom the room he needed.

Ignatius stepped back, narrowly avoiding Chrom’s kick, stepping back again when Falchion bounced off of his shoulder guard.

Chrom pressed his advantage, thrusting with Falchion again and again, and driving the General further back across the deck.

With a thump Ignatius hit the railing, fear beginning to show through his haughty exterior as Chrom swept his lance aside.

“What was it you said about feeding the sharks?” Chrom asked, savagely kicking at the General’s midsection.

The railing he was leaning on shattered, and with an ear-splitting scream General Ignatius fell into the sea, his heavy armour dragging him down almost instantly.

Chrom stared down at the ripples of where he hit the water, frowning and watching the bubbles float to the surface for a moment before turning and resuming the battle.

“Shepherds!” he called. “The General is down! The General is down!”

*

Robin swept his rapier out laterally in a two-handed grip, satisfyingly knocking the Valmese sailors’ weapons aside. Severa was at his side, striking at the undefended sailors as they pressed towards the Admiral.

Robin ground to a halt as he faced off against the Admiral.

The older man, his grey beard cropped close to his pointed chin stood staring at Robin with a neutral expression, his posture perfect in his immaculate dark blue naval uniform, with his hands clasped behind his back.

Next to the perfectly presented Admiral Robin actually felt like a dirty pirate in his coat and old clothes.

“I am Admiral Dalton,” the man said with a tired sigh, drawing the ornate cutlass at his hip. “Know that the sea is my home. You arrogant pups will not live to see dry land again.”

“I hope you fight better than your crew,” Robin commented as Severa tore through the Admiral’s guards beside them.

With a flourish the Admiral held his blade out, a small smirk crossing his features.

Robin darted in low, his thrust being deflected by a lightning block from the Admiral, who struck three quick blows at Robin’s torso that he was hard-pressed to parry. The two men circled each other before Robin darted forward again, switching to a high-guard that Chrom favoured during duelling and managing to drive the Admiral back a few paces with his unorthodox change in tactics. Robin switched style again, coming in fast with Lon’qu’s favoured striking pattern, scoring a few shallow cuts to the Admiral’s arms and chest.

Before Robin could press his advantage he heard Severa cry out as she was knocked to the ground by a lucky blow from one of the sailors, who was standing above her, poised to strike with a short-hafted axe.

Without thinking Robin twisted and threw the sailor back with a wind spell, launching him across the deck and over the ship’s railing.

Robin grunted as the Admiral took the opportunity to race forward, sliding his cutlass into Robin’s chest.

Robin gasped as he instinctively struck back, breaking the Admiral’s nose with a vicious headbutt.

The two men stumbled back, and Robin fell backwards. Severa was on him instantly, grabbing Robin beneath the arms and dragging him back one handed, pointing her sword at the Admiral with the other.

The Admiral hesitated as Chrom began shouting for the Shepherds to retreat.

“The General is dead!”

Dabbing at his blood-smeared face with his sleeve, the Admiral looked at Severa.

“Get off my ship,” he said bitterly as he turned, walking away.

“I say we take his advice,” Robin said weakly, crawling to his feet and leaning on Severa as they ran back to the _Fargus’ Revenge_ with the rest of the Shepherds.

Libra was waiting for them on the ship, taking Robin’s other arm and helping Severa sit him down on a crate, wordlessly beginning to heal the tactician with his staff.

“Idiot!” Severa shouted, slapping Robin in the back of the head. “I knew that would happen!”

“Hey, I was doing fine until you distracted me,” Robin said defensively, the pain of his wound already beginning to fade.

Severa went quiet, her expression becoming unreadable as she spun and strode away.

“Women,” Robin said with a shake of his head.

“This is much easier when you don’t move,” Libra said, a note of annoyance in his musical voice.

*

Robin watched Chrom stride onto the deck, twisting the end off of one of Miriel’s smoke-signal tubes and tossing it into the corner of the deck, a plume of bright green smoke instantly rising into the air.

Robin stood, thanking Libra for his efforts and walked over to the railing, watching as a line of ships headed directly towards the Valmese formation.

He grinned; only the Ylissean forces knew that the ships were loaded to bursting with barrels of oil, and fitted with a special spell that would ignite said barrels when Miriel finished the incantation from the safety of the _Dragon’s Claw_ once the others were in range of the focusing iris on the _Fargus’ Revenge_. An incantation she would finish once the oil-loaded ships hit the Valmese ones.

Robin waved, cringing when he remembered he was still wounded, as he spotted the shapes of eleven pegasi and one much larger wyvern flying towards them at top speed, to extract the Shepherds before the ships all exploded.

“May I suggest haste?” Virion shouted, beginning to shoot more arrows at one of the Valmese ships as more soldiers began pressing to the _Revenge_.

Vaike cursed and picked up another bow, shooting with surprising accuracy at the Valmese pressing in from the other side while Lon’qu and Kjelle moved to block the planks.

“Form up for extraction!” Chrom ordered loudly to the other Shepherds.

Robin looked out at the other ships again, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand and watching their progress.

“The ships are moving too slowly,” he realized, dread settling in the pit of his stomach. “They’ll never get close enough before the Valm forces find the focusing iris!”

Chrom cursed, looking down.

Robin wracked his brain, trying desperately to come up with an escape plan that gave them enough time to get the ships into position while leaving enough of a chance to get to a safe distance. He couldn’t think of anything.

“Gregor will stay.”

Robin and Chrom both looked up simultaneously. The big mercenary was limping towards them, but Robin could tell that something was very wrong with him. He coughed wetly, wiping away red spittle as he did, gripping his side tightly with his other hand.

“Gregor is finished,” he said, his voice still strong, still smiling jovially. “He will make sure that young Robin and friends get away.”

“No,” Robin said quickly, motioning Libra over. “No, Gregor, we all get out of here. I’ll think of something else. No one gets left behind. If you stay, I stay.”

Gregor’s smile turned sad. “Gregor was afraid Robin would say that.”

The last thing Robin saw before he was out cold was a ham-sized fist flying towards his face.

*

Robin crumpled, out cold from Gregor’s sucker punch.

“Are you insane!?” Chrom shouted as Libra picked up his pace, trying to catch the tactician as he collapsed.

“There is no time for arguing,” Gregor said. “Take Shepherds and win war. Gregor will keep enemy from spell thingy as long as he needs to.”

Gregor nodded once to Chrom, striding away as the Prince looked up at him, confusion warring with indignation on Robin’s behalf. As Gregor passed a confused Libra he patted the man on the shoulder without stopping, positioning himself in front of the doorway to the lower levels.

“What’s going on?” Libra asked as he grabbed Robin, hoisting him up over his shoulder.

Chrom looked up as eleven sets of hooves clattered on the deck, followed by the heavy thump of a wyvern. The Shepherds all ran to one of the riders each, Virion and Vaike covering them.

“Gregor’s staying behind,” Chrom said past the lump in his throat.

Cordelia rushed up, helping Libra secure Robin across her pegasus before looking to Chrom.

Chrom nodded, walking over to Sumia and her waiting mount as Cordelia took off, keeping one hand on Robin’s back the whole time. As he climbed up behind his wife he cast another glance at Gregor. The mercenary smiled at Chrom and saluted lazily.

Chrom nodded, hardening his heart.

“All Shepherds retreat!” he called.

*

Gregor watched as the others rose into the sky on the backs of the pegasi before he broke into a coughing fit, his hand coming away from his face covered wet with his own blood.

He shook his head, hefting his sword one handed as he heard the sounds of armoured feet banging on the planks from all directions.

He grinned, a thin trail of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth as a score of Valmese soldiers charged onto the ship, stopping cold in front of Gregor as another man, older and with a recently broken nose strode forward.

“Surrender, and we will spare your life,” the older man, obviously an Admiral from the fancy hat he wore, said in a refined accent. “Resist, and we will cut you down without mercy.”

Gregor spat blood, smiling at the man.

“Gregor is not young man anymore,” he said, drawing himself up to his full height and staring down the assembled soldiers. “But he is thinking he can take weaklings to hell with him.”

Without warning Gregor charged forward, grasping his sword two handed, ignoring the pain in his side and brining the weapon down on the Admiral with all of his strength.

The Admiral’s cutlass shattered as Gregor’s sword descended, the man himself dodging back with a light furrow cut through his uniform front.

“Kill him!” the Admiral shouted, tossing aside the half of his ruined sword in his hand as he backpedalled.

Gregor kept smiling as he spun, striking indiscriminately at the red-armoured Valmese soldiers and sailors crowding him. He fought like a man half his age, ducking and weaving between the soldiers, keeping their attention solely on him. He grunted as a lance pierced his stomach, reaching down and yanking it out before pulling it back towards him, letting it slide by his side and running the soldier holding it through on his sword. He stumbled forward as another soldier cut a deep line across the back of his shoulder, rending his pauldron in two. Gregor spun, cutting the man in half, armour and all; both sides fell wetly to the deck as Gregor kept moving through the soldiers like a demon unleashed from the underworld, a feral smile on his face as he cut and sliced again and again and again.

Gregor stumbled forward as his left leg gave out, his tendons cut from behind. The world seemed to slow to a stop for a moment as he leaned forward, blood running from his mouth to mingle with that of the Valmese he had slain already on the deck before everything sped back to normal as he lifted himself back up, throwing himself forwards onto another Valmese soldier, running his sword across the man’s neck as he brought them both crashing to the deck.

Another sword pierced Gregor’s chest from the back, making him cry out in pain as his other lung was punctured.

Gregor rolled, taking the sword with him as he kicked out with his good leg, snapping the soldier’s knee and bringing him down to the deck, where Gregor pounced on him, his sword forgotten as he crushed the other man’s neck with his bare hands.

He was thrown backwards when a boot smashed into his face, crushing his nose.

Lying on his back, barely able to breathe, Gregor looked to the side and started laughing as the Ylissean ships began drifting by.

“Gregor sees you all in hell…” he choked out, laughing weakly, blood bubbling up between his lips and from his broken face as he did.

His last sight before the all turned to flames was the beautiful blue sky calling to him.

As the world exploded around him Gregor reached up with one hand, reaching to the sky where he knew his brother was waiting for him.

*

“Wow,” Morgan breathed as the ships began exploding.

“It’s as if the sea itself is on fire,” Lissa said from next to her.

“Only your father could come up with such a brilliant scheme,” Khan Flavia said from next to her. “Moving all of our troops onto other ships and then sacrificing the empty half of the fleet… I can’t decide if he’s a genius or insane.”

The entire line of Valmese ships were ablaze, Father’s plan having gone off without a hitch.

They were both standing on the bow of the _Dragon’s Claw_ , waiting for the Pegasus Knights to drop the Shepherds off safely. They were already drawing close, and the two women hurried over to the main deck, leaving Flavia staring out at the fiery destruction, where they were landing one by one, letting their burdens off before circling out again to rescue the soldiers that had ridden the ships into the Valmese line, who had thrown themselves clear just before the ships had impacted.

Cordelia landed heavily, Morgan’s father slung across her lap.

“Somebody take him,” she called, her voice thick with unshed tears as Morgan and Lissa rushed forward.

Before either could ask what was wrong after they had Robin safely on the deck Cordelia was back in the air again, circling with her Knights as they flew out to the flaming wreckage.

Cherche landed Minerva at the bow, Virion sliding off the wyvern’s neck and collapsing to his knees, punching the deck in frustration. The pink-haired woman came up behind him, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Morgan saw this scene repeated from the other Shepherds already on the ship, her heart freezing.

Sumia landed and Chrom wordlessly slid off the back of her pegasus. The woman had tears running down her face as she climbed off after Chrom, and he wrapped her in a tight hug.

“Where’s Gregor?” Morgan asked in a small voice while Lissa was healing her father.

Chrom looked sadly at her before he shook his head.

*

Robin returned to consciousness slowly, firmly aware of the aching pain in his jaw as he did.

He realized Lissa was leaning over him with tears in her eyes.

“What…” he started groggily before his mind caught up and he bolted upright. “Where’s Gregor!?”

The Shepherds around the deck, obviously they were back on the _Dragon’s Claw_ , were all milling about aimlessly, avoiding looking at him.

Lon’qu was gripping his sword’s hilt so tight that Robin thought he could hear it creak; Lissa walked up to him slowly, laying a hand on his arm. In one movement the Princess was in Lon’qu’s arms as she burst into tears, the usually stoic swordsman burying his face in her hair.

Kjelle sat down heavily off to one side, ignoring the others around her as she ran a hand down her face. Frederick approached her, laying a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder as she stared into space; the older Knight’s face strained and drawn tight.

_No…_ Robin thought desperately, looking around the deck.

Cherche was holding Virion from behind, the archer kneeling in the foredeck, fists clenched as he silently sobbed. Minerva crooned sadly, laying her large reptilian head next to the distraught archer.

Panne limped over to where a shell-shocked Gaius was standing with Yarne; the ginger thief snapped out of it, wrapping an arm around his wife as she rested her head exhaustedly on his shoulder while Yarne bowed his own head respectfully.

Libra stood to one side, quietly saying a prayer that Robin quickly realized were last rights for the departed.

_No no no no no no NO!_ Robin thought, staring around at the others.

Donnel collapsed to one side, pulling his helmet off and wiping at his face, trying to hide the fact that he was crying.

Vaike was letting Miriel hold him, shaking with anger at a failure he would never forgive himself for.

“No,” Robin finally whispered, the simple denial catching in his throat.

He caught Chrom’s eye from where the Prince was standing, holding his wife while she sobbed against him. Chrom silently shook his head before looking back down at his wife and leading her past Robin towards the cabins.

Lucina burst onto the deck from the galley staircase opposite Robin, looking around desperately as the other Shepherds began to disperse.

Robin became aware of Morgan holding onto his arm, quietly sobbing for a man she had only known a few weeks as Lucina approached them.

“Who…” she asked hesitantly.

Robin looked up, unable to answer as tears formed in his eyes.

“Gregor… didn’t make it,” Morgan answered for him when he wordlessly looked back down.

*

That night Robin was leaning on the railing on the foredeck, watching the flaming Valmese ships burn themselves out. They wouldn’t be able to advance through the wreckage until the fires had died down, so that meant waiting.

Robin let his head droop, his hair falling forward to cover his face.

Everyone had been so kind, saying that it wasn’t his fault that Gregor had died; that his plan hadn’t been responsible for the mercenary’s death; that he was blameless.

Everyone had been lying to Robin.

The blame fell squarely on his shoulders.

He had taken up his position watching the flames as soon as he had stood, leaving Morgan, such a sensitive young girl that had been crushed by the death of her new friend, to grieve with Tharja and Noire.

Robin wanted to be alone.

He needed to be alone to figure out how to properly atone for the death of a man that had trusted him implicitly.

A man he had let down.

In the war with Plegia he hadn’t lost a single Shepherd; soldiers had died, and he had felt guilty, but he had never lost one of the elite fighting force that followed the Prince around. He had never lost a friend before.

Robin looked back up to the flames, seeing Gregor’s last easy smile in his mind’s eye as he stared at the conflagration.

He glanced over his shoulder as he heard footsteps on the stairs that led up to the forecastle deck, looking away again when Lucina entered his field of vision.

“Robin,” she said gently. “You need to eat something.”

Usually the smell of food would make him feel ill while he was so close to the water, but he was numb and the smell did nothing to him.

“I’m not hungry,” he mumbled.

“Today was a fierce battle, from Father’s telling of it,” she persisted. “You need to keep your strength up.”

“I’m not hungry,” Robin repeated, his tone unchanging.

_What if I had brought Morgan with us today?_ He thought for the hundredth time. _Or Tharja? Or Chrom didn’t come back? What if Lucina had been there? What if I hadn’t been able to save her?_

There was a light clatter as Lucina set something down behind him.

Robin started as soft arms wrapped around his chest from behind and Lucina pressed herself gently to his back.

“It’s okay,” Lucina whispered to him. “You did everything you could.”

Tears Robin thought he had long exhausted sprung to his eyes again as he started sobbing uncontrollably.

“No,” he said, his voice rough and broken. “It’s not okay. Gregor died because… because my plan didn’t account for the… the travel time of the ships… and… and…”

Robin trailed off, letting his head fall forwards, chin against his chest as he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to wake from the horrible nightmare he found himself in.

Lucina released him, moving over to his side and gripping his face with both hands, forcing him to look up at her.

“Robin, Naga knows I’ve lost my fair share of friends,” she said, tears in her own eyes as she spoke fervently. “I watched my army slowly destroyed by forces we could never hope to match. I lost my parents, and my country, and my kingdom, and I blamed myself for the longest time. But it wasn’t my fault.”

She gently wrapped her hands around Robin’s head and pulled him into another soft embrace.

“Just like this isn’t your fault,” she added quietly as Robin lost control again, tears flowing freely as he collapsed against the woman.

They stayed like that for a long time, even after the tears stopped, Robin simply allowing himself to be comforted.

She meant well, but she was wrong.

It was his fault that Gregor was dead.

But Robin vowed that he wouldn’t give in to despair. He would go on and win the war in Gregor’s name, and when victory had been secured Robin would return to Ylisstol and carve the old mercenary’s name into the rafters of the Shepherds barracks, so he would always be looking down on them.

“Thank you Lucina,” Robin said at last, drawing away from the Princess. “I think I’ll be okay now.”

She nodded, smiling a little as Robin stretched his back.

“You still need to eat something,” she said quickly before turning and walking to the stairs back down to the main deck.

“Good night, Robin.” She said over her shoulder as she descended.

Soon Robin was standing alone on the foredeck, wondering why Lucina had been in such a hurry to leave as he bent down to pick up the tray she had brought him.

“What was that about…?”

The tactician cast a questioning look at Sumia’s pegasus where it was tied to the railing with Cordelia’s and Minerva, rolling his eyes when he realized he was hoping for an answer about her behaviour from two flying horses and an overgrown flying lizard.

*

Lucina closed the door to her tiny cabin bellow the quarterdeck, leaning against it and willing her heart to slow.

She had been comforting Robin completely innocently, holding him while he poured out all of the wretched emotions pent up inside of him. She hadn’t thought about it at all until he had calmed, and she realized that they were in each other’s arms, and her thoughts had turned to how good it felt to be held by him…

_No_ , she told herself vehemently, shaking her head. _I will not interfere with this timeline any more than I have. I will not give in to my baser urges just to hurt him when I leave after the war._

She drew Falchion, her Falchion that had been brought back to Ylisstol by a broken and bleeding Frederick after her mother and father had died; the last reminder besides her name of her old life, the cold steel glinting softly in the weak moonlight streaming in through the cabin’s small window.

_That is what I need to be_ , she repeated to herself again. _I need to be like cold steel. I need to strike strong and true at Grima’s heart so that no others suffer the way I have._

She sighed sadly, sheathing the divine blade and slipping out of her armour, preparing to take rest for the evening.

_I have no time for anything else._


	25. Chapter 25

Say’ri panted as she ran through the port city, her kimono soaked with sweat and her long brown hair sticking to her face.

_Fie_ , she thought, cinching the loose silken fabric tighter around her chest. _I am never volunteering for undercover work again._

She could hear loud crashes and even explosions from where she was, three blocks away from the harbour already; the Ylissean League was close.

She growled with frustration, kicking off the light sandals she wore that were impeding her progress so and proceeding barefoot.

She ducked low, hiding her face as a mounted squad of the Conqueror’s cavalry rode by, kicking up a cloud of dust and forcing the civilians on the road to dive aside.

_Savages,_ she thought, glaring at the backs of the men riding to the harbour. _What manner of warrior would sacrifice those they have sworn to protect for their own vain ambition?_

She regretted wiping the thick white makeup she was wearing to disguise her identity off of her face earlier, but she had thought to meet the Ylissean League with a little dignity, not painted up like a harlot. She had been forced to hide her katana with her armour, but the small tanto strapped to her inner thigh was a comforting weight beneath her kimono.

Women of pleasure from Chon’sin were not uncommon along the eastern coast, making a perfect disguise for Say’ri’s spy network and herself when she had to travel incognito. Her chief spy, Seiko, had set her up with the proper papers to get into the city with the intention of staying with her, but the two had become separated almost immediately by drunken soldiers, and Say’ri had slipped away while Seiko distracted them.

She had to duck again as another squad of cavalry, the fourth one so far, charged by her, heading for the docks.

Another explosion, a very loud, very big one, sounded from over at the docks.

_What are these Ylisseans doing?_ She thought, watching the flames, obviously magical in nature, reach into the sky.

Steeling herself, she ducked back out onto the street, angling for the next block.

_Just a few more feet…_ she thought, head bowed low as she jogged across the street.

Say’ri’s jogging was brought up short when her head was dragged back by a gauntleted hand viciously grabbing and yanking her hair.

“And where would you be off to in such a hurry, Princess Say’ri?” a cruel voice asked from behind her.

Say’ri twisted, seeing that the Captain of the Conqueror’s forces, Farber, had a grip on her hair and a smirk on his face.

“Please,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he threw her backwards into the now abandoned street. “Allow us to treat you with the due hospitality a woman of your position deserves.”

She hit the ground hard, her cheek stinging as the skin was torn away. A fifth squad of Cavalry had assembled around her, spears pointed down at her as the Captain dismounted, his armour clanking heavily as he approached her.

“It really is a shame to kill one as beautiful as you,” he whispered, kneeling down and running the back of his gauntleted hand down Say’ri’s undamaged cheek.

Acting on impulse as the Captain’s hand drifted to the fabric on her chest and began drawing it back she tore the tanto from its bindings around her leg and lashed out, nicking Farber’s face and giving her the opportunity to escape down the alleyway behind him.

“Argh! Damn it all! You two! After her; kill the slant-eyed bitch!” Farber shouted angrily from behind her. “The rest of you, on me! We ride for the harbour!”

Say’ri ran, darting around the tight corners of the back alleys, doing her best to lose her pursuers. At some point they had dismounted, giving up on trying to follow her on their horses through the tight corners and low passages.

She paused to get her bearings as she emerged from between two buildings onto the harbour, breathing heavily as she gripped the small knife in her hand tightly.

As she watched another fireball blossomed among the cavalry lined up on the docks, throwing men and horses high into the sky. She could see a man standing on the front of the ship coming in to the docks, blazing with magical energy as he cast another spell, bolts of lightning striking from the heavens to great effect among the cavalry. Another figure was next to him, wearing similar clothing as she cast smaller spells into the front ranks of the cavalry. Five more mages appeared as arrows started flying past them, raining down on the Conqueror’s forces.

In an unparalleled show of magical superiority the seven mages conjured a typhoon together, throwing the assembled cavalry off of the pier that the Ylissean ship was pulling up to and clearing the way for the infantry leaping over the side.

A gangplank pounded down, and Ylissean Knights in different coloured armour charged out, riding to engage the red-armoured foe as pegasi flew overhead, raining spears down as they went.

Spinning as the shouting behind her drew closer Say’ri turned and ran for the docks, hoping she could reach the Shepherds before the Conqueror’s men reached her.

*

Robin watched Frederick lead the Knights in their charge, his perfect armour glinting in the sun.

The mages around him were sagging from their efforts to clear the dock for their landing; Ricken and Miriel sagged off to one side, while Henry laughed tiredly, looking over at Tharja as she leaned against the railing. Laurent had simply sat down, fanning himself as he waited to recover some strength.

Robin grinned. At least the good thing about constantly exhausting his mana supply was that he had forced it to grow.

Morgan was doubled over and panting, hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath.

He opted for discretion rather than to continue casting, though, breezing through the mages as he headed toward the main deck where Chrom was preparing the next wave, giving Morgan’s shoulder a quick squeeze as he passed her, descending to the main deck.

He passed Olivia, carrying waterskins for the exhausted mages with a determined set to her features.

The Shepherds were already beginning to move off the _Dragon’s Claw_ , Chrom standing at the top of the gangplank and waving them onwards.

“Ready to kick this war into motion?” Robin asked, resting the spear he had opted to borrow to combat the mounted foes on his shoulder as he adjusted his silver breastplate, coming up alongside the Prince as he descended the plank himself.

Chrom nodded, looking out over the ruined harbour as the Shepherds began to engage, his own thick silver armour gleaming regally beneath his white and blue cape in the afternoon sun.

Virion and Noire had taken up positions near the ships railing, crates of arrows behind them as they began shooting with larger longbows than their regular bows. Robin watched as their shots struck true, and cavalrymen began falling from their horses, Virion’s distinctive fletching waving in the wind.

Frederick, Sully and Stahl charged along the beach, intent on circling the Valmese forces and striking from their flank; Cordelia and Sumia flew above them, tossing occasional thin javelins into any Valmese unit that strayed too close.

Cherche was right in the middle of the fighting with Vaike, Kellam, Libra and Kjelle, striking out with her halberd and knocking Valmese soldiers clear off their horses, making them easy prey for her wyvern or the other soldiers on foot.

Nowi and Nah swept low over the flank of the Valmese cavalry, their dragon forms shrugging off the arrows flying at them as they breathed fire on the unsuspecting horsemen before peeling off to the Shepherds rear to rest. Nah wasn’t quite as skilled as her mother, and could only remain transformed for so long; which turned out to be just long enough to cause serious disarray on the Valmese flank that the Knights weren’t angling for.

Panne and Yarne darted forward, Gaius easily keeping pace with the two Taguel as the three of them tore into the flank that Nowi and Nah had just broken, Severa, Donnel and Anna hot on their heels.

Lissa and Maribelle were waiting patiently at the foot of the gangplank for wounded to begin to retreat, staffs held at the ready.

Lucina was waiting for Chrom and Robin at the foot of the gangplank, and together the three of them charged forward for the front.

Robin instantly lost sight of the two royals as he joined the melee, striking up at the mounted Valmese and instantly becoming grateful for the greater reach of his spear to his rapier.

The final weeks of their sea journey had not been wasted, and Robin whirled and thrusted with his new weapon, striking with all the skill of an expert.

The flanking teams met up in the middle, and between all three of them the Valmese forces were quickly pulling back to the higher ground near the city.

“We have them on the run,” Robin said to Chrom, leaning heavily on his spear.

_The stupid thing weighs three times as much as my sword_ , Robin thought tiredly.

Chrom nodded, brandishing Falchion in the direction of the Valmese forces, which were hastily reforming their lines on the western edge of the harbour.

“Press forwards, men and women of Ylisse!” Chrom shouted, a line forming around him as the Shepherds advanced.

Robin held back, noticing a scuffle going on over on the eastern edge of the harbour; two armoured men were holding a defenceless woman at sword-point as she tried to escape.

Robin didn’t even think, charging directly towards them with his spear held low to the ground.

The two armoured men turned as Robin got closer; he didn’t slow as they brought their own swords up, jabbing out with his lance and burying it in the first man’s stomach. Dropping the lance and drawing the sword he turned on the second man, prepared to duel a larger and more armoured opponent, only to see him drop to his knees, bleeding from the gash across his neck while the woman Robin had been set on rescuing stood above the corpse. In one hand she held a short, single bladed knife similar to Morgan’s sword, her arm soaked to the elbow in blood.

“I guess my intervention was not necessarily needed,” Robin said wryly as the woman eyed him suspiciously. “Are you okay?”

She nodded once, retreating a step and brining up her knife as Robin took a step towards her.

“Whoa,” Robin said, holding his hands out in a non-threatening manner. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Are you with the Ylissean League?” the woman asked shortly, still eying Robin with mistrust.

Robin’s brow rose as he deciphered her strange accent.

“Uh… I guess?” Robin said. “Is that what they’re calling us here?”

“Do you serve the Prince of Ylisse or not?” she asked with an unmistakable tone of warning in her voice.

“Yeah, I’m his tactician,” Robin said, glancing over his shoulder. “And I should really be getting back to the battle. Do you have somewhere safe to hide?”

“I must speak to Prince Chrom,” she said, lowering her knife but not moving forward.

“We’re kinda busy right now,” Robin said, his patience beginning to run thin.

“Indeed,” the woman said, brushing past him. “And I will fight alongside you. Let us be off.”

Robin rolled his eyes.

“With a knife and a fancy bath-robe?” he said as he flipped the rapier in his grip, holding it out to the woman pommel-first. “I don’t think so. Can you use one of these?”

She hesitated before taking the rapier.

“Arigato,” she said, bowing slightly before she turned and started heading to the battle, holding Robin’s sword in a two-handed grip.

“What?” Robin asked, quirking his head to the side. “What did you just say? Hey, wait up! At least tell me what your name is!”

Robin groaned, running a hand through his hair.

_Why does every woman I meet have to be so complicated?_

*

Morgan jogged forward, her sword in one hand as she hurried for the front. The other mages were still hanging back near the ship, still utterly spent, but Morgan had a secret weapon. She still had a few precious vials of Gregor’s special revitalizing tonic.

Her eyes grew misty as she thought of the gentle old mercenary that had distracted her from seasickness by teaching her to play checkers, but she quashed the thoughts and focused on the battle.

A good tactician couldn’t afford distractions.

She slowed a little as she watched her father darted off, moving the opposite direction to the rest of the Shepherds, but Morgan reasoned that he probably had a good excuse, so she paid him no mind, instead slowing as she neared the rest of the Shepherds.

Spinning to help direct her mana, Morgan cast a small fire spell, throwing embers at the Valmese cavalry at face height. Many of the soldiers dropped their weapons and began patting at the embers in their eyes and coughing as the red-hot dots were breathed in. The spell was much, much smaller than Morgan had intended, but the effect was the same she had been hoping for.

Prince Chrom looked back, grinning thankfully before he ordered the charge.

“Shepherds!” the Prince roared. “For Ylisse! Attack!”

Morgan lost sight of the grand picture as soon as she joined the melee, winding up fighting at Severa’s side. The fiery red-head frowned as Morgan darted around her shoulder, thrusting forward and piercing the armour below the armpit of a soldier pressing in on the woman.

“Thanks,” Severa said grudgingly, before the two of them were back to fighting.

Morgan regretted not following her father’s lead and choosing to double with a weapon with greater reach than her sword, but wasn’t about to dwell on it during a battle.

Besides, she thought as she cast a weak thunder spell to get the attention of a red-armoured form closing in on Kellam, she still had her magic; even if it was weak after their assault on the pier.

Severa shouted a warning, and Morgan instinctively ducked, a long-hafted axe passing through the space her neck had been occupying a moment ago.

The cavalryman cursed as he passed, reining his mount around and making to charge at Morgan again while she backpedalled, holding her sword out in front of her defensively with shaking hands.

Before the cavalryman could reach her a brown and fluffy blur smashed into him from the side, tearing him from his mount and driving him to the hard stone ground.

Morgan relaxed a little as Yarne looked up at her, still in his adorable bunny form.

“You owe me one, now,” he said, his voice oddly flanged as he hopped off towards his next enemy.

_That. Was. So. CUTE._ Morgan thought, watching his ears flop around as he moved back towards the battle.

“Morgan!” Severa shouted, finally getting her attention. “Gawds, you’re dense! We need to move up!”

Morgan laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of her head as she moved up with Severa.

_A good tactician cannot afford fluffy, cute distractions_ , she repeated over and over in her head.

*

Robin thrusted his lance up, catching the gut of the cavalryman charging at him and knocking the man off his horse, the mysterious woman in the fancy bathrobe dancing in and slashing at his exposed neck with her borrowed sword.

Robin had to admit, they made a pretty good team. She fought like Lon’qu, but with such grace it was like she was dancing with the sword. So far none of the cavalrymen had even torn her robe, let alone touched her with a weapon.

Robin glanced up as he heard Severa yelling at Morgan and jogged over, the woman at his heels.

“Hi, dad!” Morgan piped up, smiling brightly as he approached.

Severa huffed and crossed her arms, her sword hanging from one hand and tapping against her hip.

“Uh, hi ladies,” Robin said, hesitating at Severa’s reaction to his presence.

_What is her issue?_ Robin thought before putting her odd behaviour out of his mind.

“Have either of you seen Chrom lately?” Robin asked, directing the question more to Morgan than Severa.

“Frontline, right in the middle,” Morgan said. “You can’t miss him; I think his fancy sword was doing that cool glowy thing that it does when he’s mad.”

“Joy,” Robin moaned, turning when the strange woman behind him started walking directly for where the fighting was thickest.

“He would have to be right in the thick of it, wouldn’t he…” Robin muttered, walking quickly to catch up with the woman with his sword. “Because Naga forbid he actually stays somewhere safe. It’s not like he leads this army or anything…”

“What was that?” Morgan asked, keeping pace with Robin. “And why does the lady in the fancy bathrobe have your sword?”

“I just don’t know anymore,” Robin said, letting his head drop for a moment as they walked.

Severa scoffed again from behind them; she was really starting to get on Robin’s last nerve, if he were being honest, but he really didn’t have time for her crappy attitude.

Robin jogged ahead, catching up to the strange woman with his sword just as they melted into the frontline, striking and stabbing at the dismounted cavalrymen that were beginning to grow in number. Robin spotted Chrom a little distance away, facing off against a man in black armour with red trim.

“That man in the black armour is the leader of these troops,” the woman said, confirming Robin’s suspicions.

“Then he dies,” Robin said, moving forward again.

Robin spotted the woman looking at him with something approaching respect before he was lost to the melee again, whirling and stabbing, both mounted and unmounted men falling before his lance. He lost sight or Morgan and Severa at some point, but trusted the two to watch each other’s backs; as annoying as Severa could be, she was definitely a skilled soldier.

Shadows flashed overhead and all of a sudden his way to Chrom was clear, Sumia and Cordelia flying back towards the _Dragon’s Claw_ to resupply on javelins.

Robin gave them a quick wave before charging forward, stabbing at the man in black armour that was striking at Chrom from atop his horse.

Chrom stepped back, allowing Robin to take the initiative and giving him a chance to catch his breath; Robin stabbed quickly the way Cordelia had taught him, drawing the lance back and striking again, slipping by the black armoured man’s guard but not piercing his armour.

Robin jumped back as Chrom pressed forward again, slashing high with his sword and cutting a deep furrow into the man’s black armoured side.

Before either of the men could press their advantage, though, the mysterious woman leapt onto the black armoured man’s horse from behind him, dragging him to the ground. She recovered faster than he did, and viciously stabbed into his chest with Robin’s rapier, leaning close to whisper something to the man before she spat in his face.

“Well that was… brutal,” Robin said, eying the woman warily.

“Who’s your new friend?” Chrom asked, breathing heavily.

Robin shrugged, looking around. Without their leader the Valmese forces were retreating from the harbour en mass, many simply abandoning their weapons when they saw the Ylissean ships pulling into the other docks.

“Ah, good,” Chrom said, spying the ships at the same time Robin did. “Roark and the Khans made it.”

“Late as usual,” Robin added, leaning on his lance.

Ylissean and Feroxi soldiers started flowing off of the ships, and Robin spotted Flavia at the head of the first group, signalling a charge with her sword held high.

Robin was content to stand by out of their way, leaning on one of the low stone walls around the harbour as Flavia led the first of the Feroxi forces into the city.

“Drive the Valmese soldiers out of the city!” Chrom called to her. “Don’t harm the civilians! Set up a perimeter along the town’s outer wall and make sure that the town is ours by nightfall!”

Flavia saluted with a lazy wave of her sword, beginning to jog into the town itself with her warriors close behind, bright Feroxi banners snapping in the ocean wind.

The strange woman cleared her throat once the Feroxi soldiers had passed them, reminding the Prince and his tactician of her presence.

“Oh. I forgot about you,” Robin said, looking her up and down. “Are you done with my sword yet?”

The woman ignored him, looking right at Chrom.

“Tales of your strength were obviously no exaggeration,” she said to the Prince. “I am called Say’ri, and I am one of the leaders of the Resistance.”

“Hi there,” Robin said, lifting a hand in greeting and still being ignored.

“So there is an organized resistance movement?” Chrom asked, wiping the blood from Falchion with a scrap of cloth taken from one of the dead Valmese soldiers.

“Aye, of sorts,” Say’ri said. “There are many groups that formed to seek liberty for the states of Valm.”

“Word was that the Emperor had stamped out all dissent,” Chrom said, testing the woman.

“He tries, but we resistance are not so easily defeated,” Say’ri declared proudly. “We strike hard where his army is weakest, and disappear again into the dead of night. Even now rebels ride to the banners of the old dynasts across the continent. United we could pose a veritable threat to Walhart’s reign; so I conspired to bring them all together.”

“Sounds like you don’t really need our help. What’s stopping you bringing them all together, then?” Robin asked.

Say’ri sighed tiredly.

“Greed; sloth; jealousy,” she said. “All of the old weaknesses of man. The dynasts would all have freedom, but on their own terms. Some refuse to take up arms unless their territory is threatened. Others thrive under the Conqueror’s heel, and will not revolt unless they see profit in it. Liberty is a fine dream, aye, but not always enough to rouse men from their foolishness.”

“Great,” Robin groaned. “We’re playing politics now. I nominate Virion.”

Chrom tried not to chuckle, attempting to look like a leader in front of Say’ri.

“So we just need a more convincing argument, then,” Chrom suggested.

Say’ri nodded.

“Just so, but so far my efforts have met with meagre success. I fear many distrust me because my brother fights for Walhart.”

“That… is kind of a big deal, yes,” Robin pointed out.

“Why would he support the empire if you seek its downfall?” Chrom asked.

Say’ri sighed again. “Would that I knew, Prince Chrom. Yen’fay was a good man once, but he is my brother no more. If we were to meet him on the battlefield, I would cut him down the same as any other imperial, this I swear to you.”

Chrom shared a glance with Robin.

Robin had no experience with siblings; or if he did, he didn’t remember it. But swearing to strike down your own blood felt a little extreme to the tactician. He knew for a fact he could never turn his blade on Morgan, or any of the Shepherds for that matter, not even if they would abandon them to the enemy.

“Okay, let’s head to the ship and call a war council,” Chrom said, running a hand down his tired face. “We need to take stock of the situation and make preparations to occupy the city. Lady Say’ri, I would be honoured if you were to join us.”

Say’ri nodded once, falling into step with Chrom, leaving Robin to follow behind them.

“Can I _please_ have my sword back now?” he asked as he followed them.

*

Robin leaned with his back to the railing on the forecastle deck back aboard the _Dragon’s Claw_ as the rest of Chrom’s war council assembled. He grinned, realizing the war council was pretty well a third of the Shepherds now.

Say’ri stood next to Chrom at the front of the deck, her hands clasped behind her back and her posture perfect. She had cleaned Robin’s rapier, and it now sat tucked beneath the sash she wore around her midsection. Robin eyed it longingly; he’d get his sword back if it killed him, which considering the level of skill he’d seen the petite woman display, it just might.

Morgan and Severa were the first ones onto the deck, Morgan smiling happily as she leaned on the railing next to her father while Severa crossed her arms and glowered from behind the girl.

Frederick came up next, pausing for a split second as he spotted Say’ri, but collecting himself and moving to stand next to Chrom’s other side. Robin glowered at him. His armour was still absolutely pristine, as if he had just spent the afternoon polishing it rather than fighting.

Virion clambered up next, spotting Say’ri and giving her his best charming smile as he took up a position on Robin’s other side.

“Good to see you faring well, friend Robin,” he greeted the tactician.

“She has my sword,” Robin muttered, eyes never once leaving his sword.

Virion chuckled and shook his head, crossing his arms and leaning back silently, seeing that he wouldn’t be getting any conversation out of the tactician at present.

Cordelia arrived next, standing near Virion and smiling at all those gathered; when she smiled at Severa Robin saw the younger woman’s jaw twitch.

Laurent stumbled up the stairs, his face pale and drawn as he clutched his clipboard and silently took up a position next to Severa. Robin would speak to him about practicing his craft a little more, rather than working on constant paperwork.

Lucina arrived last, her arm in a sling, obviously fresh from Lissa and Maribelle’s care. Half of her face was covered in bruises and her lip was split; she was also walking with a slight limp.

_What the hell happened to her?_ Robin wondered as she took up position opposite Cordelia, frowning as his thoughts instantly flashed back to losing Gregor, a momentary spike of fear and concern making him on edge.

“The Khans are leading the troops to take the city,” Chrom said once everyone was assembled. “So it will just be us today. Have any of our forces suffered any serious injuries?”

Robin’s gaze was drawn to Lucina as she shifted a little uncomfortably.

Virion cleared his throat.

“I believe Vaike took a blow to his shoulder; the man really ought to acquire some armour. The mages are still exhausted from the beachhead they created. Apart from that, merely the usual scrapes, bumps and cuts.”

The archer shared a glance with Lucina when Chrom looked away, and the Princess nodded appreciatively.

“Excellent,” Chrom said. “The Khans and Duke Roark should have the city under our control before nightfall. We will be using it as a staging area while we unload the rest of the ships once they arrive, but I would not impose our presence on these people any longer than necessary. Once the army is assembled we will leave, and return to camping.”

“If such is your will, milord,” Frederick said while Laurent made hasty notes on his clipboard.

“The people of this city oppose the Conqueror’s reign,” Say’ri assured as all eyes in the group snapped to her. “They will not cause any trouble for your army.”

Chrom nodded.

“I believe introductions are in order,” he said, gesturing to the woman next to him. “This is Say’ri, one of the leaders of the Valmese Resistance. She has pledged herself and her army to our cause.”

Say’ri bowed deeply from the waist.

“I am honoured to meet you all,” she said.

“You’ll learn the names as we go,” Chrom said to her. “What I wanted to talk to you about were the numbers we face, the enemy’s disposition, and how we will get your dynasts to join us.”

The stern-faced woman was silent for a moment.

“The Conqueror’s forces number more than a million men,” she said gravely. “Perhaps more. Sooner or later Walhart will crush the resistance if we do not unite them and combine our forces.”

Robin’s jaw dropped as the assembled Shepherds made similar gestures of shock.

“Did you say a million men!?” Robin asked incredulously.

Say’ri nodded, grinning confidently.

“But what are one million men to the Ylissean dogs of war? You stopped a thousand of their ships, did you not?”

“More like a hundred,” Robin corrected her, already adjusting his plans in his head to reflect the superior Valmese numbers.

“Your daring strategy has awoken and inspired people all across Valm,” Say’ri persisted. “Together I know we can unite the resistance and break Walhart’s power!”

“Please, Prince Chrom,” she said, turning to the man and speaking passionately. “I beg you. Help me save my people.”

Chrom took a deep breath and looked away from the rebel leader.

“Milord?” Frederick prodded when Chrom had been silent for a few moments.

“This is no easy thing you ask of me,” Chrom said honestly, meeting Say’ri’s gaze. “I have my own causes; a Haildom to save and a future to win.”

Lucina shifted uncomfortably as Chrom’s gaze fell on her.

“I know a great battle has been foretold,” he went on. “But is this it? How do we know?”

He looked at Say’ri again and smiled reassuringly.

“Still, I admire your courage. Standing alongside us today was not something I take lightly; and perhaps your mission is the best way to achieve our own goals. So yes, Lady Say’ri, I will join my cause with your own, and together we will bring Walhart the Conqueror to his knees. Now what will it take to unite your people?”

Say’ri sighed with relief, smiling a little as she did.

*

“Lucina!” Robin called to the woman as she descended into the galley. “What in the hell happened to you?”

She paused, stepping back to create space for some of the sailors going about their business to pass.

“I was kicked by one of the Valmese Knights,” she admitted embarrassedly. “I let my guard down while he was charging past and paid the price for my lapse in attention.”

Robin took a step closer, looking closely at the bruise covering half of her face. Her eye was beginning to swell shut, the orb beneath her lids red and bloodshot.

“You need a healer,” Robin said, forcing her to sit down at one of the tables in the galley.

“I will be fine, Robin,” she persisted, trying to rise again but wincing and falling back into her seat.

Robin crossed his arms and stared at the Princess with one eyebrow raised, daring her to try to argue the point.

Lucina sighed and relented.

“Aunt Lissa and Lady Maribelle are both busy tending to the injured civilians, and Sir Libra is assisting with those subduing the prisoners. I did not feel it right to disturb any of them.”

Robin shrugged. “We’ve got spare staves. I’ll do it.”

Lucina looked up at him, startled.

“I was unaware you had any skill with the healing arts.”

“I don’t, but how hard can it be? I’m already one of the top mages in the army.”

Lucina grinned at him.

“Then I shall await your ministrations in my cabin, Robin.”

“Okay, just let me give this spear back to Cordelia, I’ll grab a staff and meet you there.”

*

Robin approached Cordelia on the quarter deck, still holding the spear across his shoulders.

“Hey Cordelia,” he greeted her as she was bringing food to her pegasus.

“Robin,” she said, spinning and standing up straight, an easy smile on her face. “What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to thank you for letting me use this today,” Robin said, holding out the spear, sunlight glinting off the polished head and intricate decorative carvings along its haft. “You really did make a great weapon.”

“Why don’t you hold on to it?” she said with a light laugh. “I’ve certainly got enough of them lying around as it is.”

Robin looked at the beautiful weapon in his hands.

“Are you sure?” he asked, looking back up at her. “I know how hard you worked on this.”

Cordelia waved his question off. “I’m sure. I want you to have it. Consider it my thanks for your feedback on my javelin-making skills.”

Robin shrugged. “Okay, but at least let me help you with your pegasus to say thanks.”

*

The tactician knocked quietly on Lucina’s door, a healing staff resting on his shoulder.

He had gotten some funny looks when he had walked through the galley holding it, but the Shepherds already knew he could use just about every other weapon under the sun; they all just assumed he was expanding his repertoire of skills further.

“Lucina? It’s me,” Robin called softly through the door.

There was some shuffling and some muffled curses from the other side, before Lucina opened it, a frustrated look on her face.

“Come in,” she said shortly.

“What’s up?” Robin asked, stepping by her as she closed the door behind him.

“I cannot reach the clasps on my left side,” she said, indicating to her injured arm.

“How many times did you get kicked?” Robin asked with a chuckle.

Lucina grimaced.

“Are you going to help me or not?” she asked irritatedly, lifting her injured arm a little.

Robin resisted the urge to laugh as he unclasped the straps on the thin leather armour she wore over her chest. He reached up, carefully removing her pauldrons, and setting them to the side, drawing up the cape that came off with them so that it wouldn’t touch the ground and get dirtier. Lucina jumped and squirmed, trying to get the hardened leather chest piece off over her head without using her injured arm, hissing in pain as she failed.

“Hold still,” Robin said, reaching over and pulling the leather plate over her head.

“Thank you,” Lucina mumbled, blushing with embarrassment.

Robin grinned and chuckled as he set the chest plate down on the sideboard with her pauldrons and cape.

“You’re on your own for your boots,” Robin laughed. “Now sit down and hold still. This could take a while.”

Lucina did as she was told as Robin stood before her, gripping the staff tightly as he began to concentrate and pool his mana.

Unlike an offensive spell, healing magic had to be maintained once the spell was cast, which took a lot of concentration. An offensive spell like elthunder or bolganone was easy; all the caster had to do was summon the right amount of mana, say the incantation right and point. Healing magic required a gentle touch; the spells to heal were notoriously difficult to keep a hold of once they were cast, hence the staves that had a miniature focusing crystal embedded at their head to make life easier. Robin doubted even Libra could cast a healing spell strong enough to fix more than a paper cut without the aid of a staff.

Robin concentrated, feeling the spell begin to form in the staff. As he gently coerced it out and in Lucina’s direction he lost control, the magic dissipating as Robin growled and glared at the staff.

“Give me a second here,” he muttered, closing his eyes to try again as an idea occurred to him.

He followed the same steps, breathing deeply and trying to centre himself. Robin concentrated his mana, feeling it pool in the focusing crystal at the head of the staff, and he felt the spell begin to take shape.

Taking a deep breath Robin gave himself entirely to the spell the way Tharja had told him to with dark magic.

The effect was instant and incredible.

Robin reached out with his mind, feeling the same pain that Lucina would have been feeling; his own cheek stung, and his eye ached. His shoulder burned from the blow Lucina had taken during the fighting, and Robin winced with sympathetic pain.

He allowed the spell to flow through him, allowed it to use his body as the focal point rather than the staff. Robin reached out again, feeling Lucina’s pain start to fade as her wounds began to heal. Ruptured blood vessels beneath the skin of her face and shoulder were repaired almost instantly while torn and tired muscles knitted themselves back together with the aid of Robin’s spell.

All at once he was done, gasping and returning to his own consciousness.

“I don’t think I did it right,” Robin said, still breathing heavily, his mana now well and truly exhausted. “Did it work?”

Robin looked up, realizing Lucina was blushing again, his hand resting on the side of her face.

Apparently he hadn’t just reached out with his mind.

Robin’s hand snapped back as he blushed heavily.

“Ah, crap, sorry, I guess I needed to make… uh, physical contact, because I’m still… not entirely sure what I’m doing and…” he stammered, reaching behind him for the door. “I’ll just go now.”

Lucina nodded, still blushing as she reached up to feel her cheek where Robin’s hand had been.

Then Robin was safely outside the door, closing it behind him and leaning back against it, running a hand through his hair.

_Great_ , he thought. _Now she’s going to think I’m a freak._

Robin glanced down at his hand, flexing the fingers that had lingered on the soft flesh of her cheek.

He shook his head. He was just tired and feeling the cabin fever.

_I wonder what the others are up to?_

*

Robin found his daughter in the galley that evening, her head lying on the table she was sharing with Tharja and Henry while they all ate in an attempt to regain their strength after the day’s events.

“I know elbows on the table are bad manners,” Robin said as he sat down opposite the trio. “But what’s the etiquette on heads?”

“Depends,” Henry answered. “Did I cut the head off? Or is it still attached to someone?”

“This conversation got really weird, really fast,” Robin said with an awkward chuckle. “How’s everyone feeling?”

Morgan mumbled unintelligibly from the table.

“Eat something, Morgan,” Tharja said in a stern voice.

Morgan acquiesced, reaching up to the table and sweeping some jerky into her open mouth.

“I’m feeling pretty good,” Henry said disappointedly. “Which sucks, because usually when I exhaust my mana I usually get a really cool nosebleed…”

“I will be fine,” Tharja said, favouring Robin with a warm smile, a rare sight on her face.

“Good,” Robin said, helping himself to a piece of the jerky Morgan had missed.

The day had been brutal; the fighting had been fast and harsh, and most of the Shepherds were exhausted. Robin was worried about Lucina, though; she had disappeared as soon as the meeting had been over, and she was obviously wounded.

“Watcha thinkin’ bout?” Morgan mumbled tiredly, looking up from the tabletop.

“Getting you into a bed,” he said with a small grin, rising from the table and grabbing Morgan under the arms.

“Noooooo…” she moaned as Robin picked her up princess-style. “I’m not tired…”

“Say that to the puddle of drool on the table,” Henry giggled.

“Save me, Aunt Tharja!” Morgan shouted, her head lolling back as Robin carried her.

Robin glanced back to where Tharja was grinning waving evilly as Morgan pleaded.

He carried the exhausted girl to the rear of the ship, ducking and weaving through the tight confines of the _Dragon Claw’s_ interior to where his closet of a cabin was, across from Chrom’s. He would simply take Morgan’s hammock in the main hold with the rest of the Shepherds while she slept in his marginally more comfortable bed.

He gently nudged the door to his room open, Morgan already out cold in his arms. Gently setting her down on the bed and covering her with his sheet, Robin became aware of just how tired he was himself as he watched the girl curl up into a ball on her side.

_That hammock’s sounding pretty good right now_ , he thought as he absently stroked his daughter’s cheek. She responded by smiling as she mumbled incoherently, curling up into a tighter ball.

He quickly slipped out of his armour, careful not to make any noise as Morgan slept as he piled the plates in the corner of the tiny room. No doubt Morgan would still manage to trip on them in the morning…

Robin silently closed his door and stretched his back, the vertebrae popping loudly as he did, a small groan escaping his lips as he did.

Realization crashed into Robin, making him groan again.

_Say’ri still has my bloody sword…_

*

Robin sat on the low wall near the edge of the street above the harbour, watching the soldiers on patrol come and go and fiddling with his empty scabbard.

The sun had set completely, leaving Robin sitting in the dim light given off by the lanterns lining the street as he patiently waited for Say’ri to reappear.

His head drooped, chin bumping his chest before he snapped it back up.

Okay, so he was falling asleep. But he wanted his sword back.

Robin rolled out his neck in an attempt to stave off the encroaching exhaustion trying to claim him. He was about to give up and go wandering the streets, hoping to find the rebel leader when a flash of light on smooth white plates caught his attention.

Robin did a double-take, looking at the armoured woman walking towards the _Dragon’s Claw._ Say’ri had retrieved a set of strange, light looking armour she wore over another robe, similar to the one she had been wearing earlier, but obviously of a more utilitarian design. Her bare legs flashed in the moonlight, and Robin recognized the shadows of two swords hanging off her hips in the low light.

He called her name, bouncing off of the low wall and beginning to walk towards the rebel. She stopped when she heard Robin’s call, and stood waiting for him with her arms crossed over her chest.

“I believe you have something of mine,” Robin said, crossing his own arms as he approached Say’ri. “I’d like it back now.”

Say’ri nodded, taking the thin sword from her hip and handing it to Robin.

“’Tis a good blade,” she said, nodding once. “Thank you for allowing me to use it.”

Robin nodded in reply, sheathing it and bouncing his hip a little, ensuring the familiar weight was back where it belonged.

“Thank you,” Robin finally said. “I was starting to feel naked without it.”

Say’ri chuckled a little at Robin’s comment.

“It is the mark of a true tsuwamono to feel unbalanced without his weapon by his side.”

“I’m going to assume that was a compliment?” Robin said, his tired mind not comprehending Say’ri’s strange speech patterns.

“Apologies,” Say’ri said with a shallow bow, her face serious again. “It means ‘warrior’ in your language. I admit to still having difficulty speaking the common tongue on occasion.”

Robin smiled a little. “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it fast enough. Just don’t say anything that the shirtless, spiky-blonde-haired one tells you to.”

Say’ri’s grin returned. “I shall endeavour to remember your advice.”

Robin clapped his hands together.

“Well, it’s getting late and I’m close to dropping dead,” he said with a rueful chuckle. “I’m going to go and crawl into a hammock and pretend the world doesn’t exist for a few hours. Good night, Lady Say’ri.”

“Konbanwa, Robin-san,” she said formally, bowing low from the waist again. “I look forward to fighting alongside you tomorrow.”

Robin nodded, a little confused by her behaviour and speech, but putting it up to difference in cultures.

_She’s not even speaking the same language half the time_ , Robin thought, running a hand through his hair. _It’s kinda interesting, though. I wonder if she’d teach me some of it?_

Besides, Robin mused as he walked back to the ship; it was in his best interests to try to get along with the serious woman. She was the one of the leaders of the Resistance, and they needed the Resistance’s bodies to win the war. Besides, she did have a certain old-world charm to her; her face was all soft lines and her skin was flawless and smooth looking. She could stand to loosen up a little and smile more, but Robin thought that about most of the people in his acquaintance.

Before he realized it Robin was descending the staircase back on the _Dragon’s Claw_ into the galley, the space empty save for one figure sitting alone at one of the long tables.

“What’re you still doing up?” Robin asked Tharja, sitting down across from her.

She glanced up, her gaze partially obscured by her low fringe as she leaned over her spellbook with a pen in hand, retracing the intricate circles and diagrams on the pages.

“I’ve put this off far too long,” she explained, holding up the pen before setting back to work.

Robin nodded his understanding. A spellbook was a very important thing to a mage; many chose to use the weaker, simpler to use, dime a dozen varieties available from most weapon merchants, but those truly dedicated to the craft had their own book, written in their own handwriting. Many of the more powerful mages, who were few and far between, only kept the spellbooks as reference, having memorized the necessary incantations and movements for their favoured spells.

Robin realized that he was fast becoming one of those mages.

He let his head fall exhaustedly onto the table in much the same way Morgan had a few hours ago, closing his eyes and letting his mind wander, the only sounds around him the gentle scratching of Tharja’s pen and the waves lapping at the ship’s hull.

“Do you think they’ll give us proper lodgings in this town?” Robin asked tiredly. “Or will we be stuck on this stupid boat until we start camping again?”

Robin glanced up as Tharja set her pen down, sprinkling a little fine dust on the ink to help it dry faster.

“I have grown weary of camping,” she admitted, reaching over to run a hand through Robin’s hair. “If all else fails I could hex some of the villagers into giving up their beds for some of us…”

Robin groaned, too tired to remind her that they were supposed to be helping these people and enjoying the simple human contact as she ruffled his hair.

“You need a haircut,” she pointed out.

“Argh, I know,” Robin moaned.

In a strange way they had become closer in the weeks following the revelation that Robin and Tharja never became a couple in the future; strangely enough, the tactician no longer feared physical contact with the Dark Mage, who had stopped looking for any excuse to initiate it. They were interacting like normal friends for the first time since they had met nearly three years ago, something Robin had never thought would happen, but was still incredibly grateful for.

He twitched as Tharja poked the top of his head lightly with one finger, unaware that he had drifted off.

“Go and get some rest,” she said, clapping her spellbook closed.

“Comfortable here,” Robin mumbled, closing his eyes again and yawning. “Just wake me when I’m in the way of breakfast.”

Robin jolted up as a tiny bolt of lightning struck his shoulder, making his entire arm twitch violently and almost throwing him to the floor.

“Argh, okay!” he groaned, forcing his tired limbs to carry him one last time. “There’s no need to get violent…”

Tharja chuckled as she turned, heading to her own hammock next to Henry.

Robin yawned again, running his hand through his hair as he walked into the next room, crowded with sleeping Shepherds and collapsed into Morgan’s hammock.

His last thought before unconsciousness claimed him was that the hammocks were actually far more comfortable than they looked.

*

Say’ri strode through the dark streets, far more comfortable in her armour than she had been in the light and flowing kimono.

Her hand rested comfortably on her sword, her tanto back in its regular position next to the longer katana. She shook the hair out of her eyes, wishing she had something to tie it back with.

The night air was cool, but Say’ri didn’t even notice as she rounded a corner into a dead-end alley. She walked all the way to the back, turning when she reached the sheer brick wall at the other end.

There, standing in the shadow that had been empty only a moment ago, was a slight woman in dark blue shozoko, her eyes the only thing visible. Even expecting the woman Say’ri still started a little at her sudden appearance.

“Good evening, Princess,” Seiko said quietly in the native language of Chon’sin, bowing low to one knee.

“Rise, Seiko,” Say’ri answered in her native tongue. “We do not have much time this evening.”

Seiko rose. Say’ri had rarely seen her chief spy’s face; she so often worked in the field, taking on the most dangerous and high-risk missions, stating that she was the best at what she did. What she did was the dirty work Say’ri couldn’t; assassinations, espionage, and weapons smuggling were but a few of the things that Say’ri relied on the kunoichi and her ilk for.

“The tactician is cute,” Seiko pointed out, her sense of humour at odds with her appearance and dangerous work as she passed Say’ri a sealed scroll.

“If you like outsiders,” Say’ri replied with a faint smile, accepting the scroll and tucking it carefully into the belt around her waist.

On it was the usual reports; Say’ri didn’t have to read them to know what they said.

“So the dynasts still will not be swayed?” Say’ri asked.

“No, my lady,” Seiko answered, bowing her head. “Their cowardice shames all of our people.”

Say’ri shook her head.

“They dear for their lives and their homes,” she told the other woman. “Were our roles reversed, I too would choose caution. That is why I have made the decision to involve the Voice in our war.”

Seiko was silent for a moment, her widening eyes the only indication of her surprise.

“You cannot have made that decision lightly, my lady. You have my support and the support of my clan, as always,” Seiko said with a low bow.

Say’ri nodded, clapping a hand on the other’s shoulder in gratitude.

“It means much to hear you say that, my friend. I need you to scout the Mila Tree, and to give me an accurate idea of the Imperial presence in the area.”

“Of course, my lady,” Seiko said, a slight crinkling at the corner of her eyes the only indication of the smile her hood was hiding. “After all, I look so good in a green shozoko. I will leave three of my best here to guard you from the shadows.”

Say’ri chuckled and nodded her thanks.

“If that is all, I must prepare for the journey,” Seiko said.

“Indeed. Be safe, my friend.”

“And you, Princess.”


	26. Chapter 26

Robin groaned, hanging his head and putting both hands on the back of it, letting their weight stretch his neck.

He and Chrom had been at it for hours, and still there was no end in sight.

“No matter how we slice it,” the tactician said tiredly. “We just don’t have enough men. We barely have enough to hold this city if it’s attacked.”

“Come on Robin, we planned for this,” Chrom said, sounding just as tired as the other man.

“No,” Robin corrected, leaning back. “We planned for numbers reflecting the forces we had already fought. We planned under the assumption that the ten thousand men we fought on the sea was a sizeable chunk of Walhart’s army. We did not, in fact, plan for him to be able to throw ten thousand men at us and still have a million more hiding somewhere.”

They had been in Valm Harbour now for three days, and in that time it had become abundantly clear to Robin that they were almost comically outnumbered.

Robin and Chrom were sitting in the small room on the bottom floor of the inn that had agreed to put the Shepherds up, where they had been all morning, pouring over maps with the Valmese troop movements and looking at their own troop disposition reports.

The bulk of the Ylissean League’s army, as the locals had taken to calling it, was only now beginning to arrive in the hulking troop transports, but even with the ships filled to bursting they would have to make a second trip to collect the remainder of the troops; another four month round trip before the entire army was assembled.

“Your pessimism doesn’t help,” Chrom deadpanned, glancing up at Robin.

Robin sighed. “I know, I know. We’ve just been cooped up in this room all day working on this; I’m starting to get claustrophobic.”

“Perhaps we might break for lunch,” Chrom said, rising from his chair.

Robin was already halfway through the door when Chrom added, “A short break.”

The tactician grinned over his shoulder.  “Define ‘short’.”

*

Robin smiled as the cool wind from the harbour tossed his hair around, sunlight beating down on his dark coat. It was a pleasant change to the dingy little planning room Chrom had set up, that was for sure.

He watched the steady stream of soldiers trickling off of the transports, heading directly to the empty warehouses they were being billeted in. Men in pale blue or white armour that had spent two months packed together like sardines stretched, smiling and joking as they walked to the warehouses alongside other warriors wearing leather and furs, glad to finally have the space to move around again.

“Tis a sobering sight, no?” Say’ri asked, coming up behind Robin.

He turned to look at the woman; she was good, he hadn’t even heard her approaching.

“Yeah,” Robin agreed, going back to watching the men. “Makes me grateful for the closet sized cabin I had on the _Claw_.”

Say’ri stood beside Robin, her back perfectly straight as she clasped her hands behind her back, looking over the harbour like a queen observing her subjects.

“Beautiful day,” Robin pointed out after Say’ri had been silent a few moments.

_When in doubt, discuss the weather_ , Robin repeated in his mind.

She nodded thoughtfully, staring at the troops coming off of the ships.

“So what’re you doing out here?” Robin asked curiously when she still didn’t answer him.

“I could ask you the same question,” she responded.

Robin huffed, letting his head drop. “Looking for inspiration.”

“And watching your troops usually inspires you?” Say’ri asked seriously.

_She and Panne would probably get along great_ , he thought absently, glancing up at her out of the corner of his eye. _They both strike me as very driven individuals._

“I can’t leave the city,” Robin admitted after a moment. “Usually when I’m tired or stuck on a problem I get closer to nature; go for a walk in the forest, sink my feet in a creek for a while, that kind of thing. It helps me think.”

“But you cannot do that at present,” Say’ri finished for him.

Robin nodded, sighing. “The best I can do is the ocean breeze in my hair.”

Say’ri went silent again, before turning away from the harbour.

“I have an idea that may help you. Follow me,” she said, motioning for Robin to join her.

Thinking something along the lines of _what have I got to lose right now_? Robin followed the serious woman down the main street before veering off and walking down some narrow side streets. Robin trusted that she wouldn’t lead him to harm, but he became turned around pretty quickly by the labyrinthine layout of the back streets.

Low hanging awnings blocked out the sun, and the feeling of claustrophobia soon set in on the tactician. Walls and doorways were everywhere in the shadowed twilight of the back roads, eyes watching from high windows and cracked doorways. The streets were clean, though; no garbage or refuse littering the area; obviously the residents of Valm Harbour took keeping their homes presentable seriously.

Robin began to feel a little nervous following Say’ri, spotting more and more eyes and blank stares watching their progress, but the armoured woman didn’t seem concerned and kept walking, her head straight and high.

They came into a small courtyard before an old looking shrine. The buildings seemed to have popped up around its grounds, pressing in on it but not disrupting the tranquillity that Robin could feel in the air. A small pond stretched across and around the carefully maintained gravel of the courtyard, water lilies and rushes dotted its surface. Robin watched small, brightly coloured fish darting around beneath the surface, captivated by the sight.

“My people appreciate simplicity of design,” Say’ri said, running a hand along the railing of the short bridge as she crossed it. “We seek to achieve tranquillity in our temples and shrines. This is hardly the same as a creek in the woods, but perhaps you will find the answers you seek here?”

Robin nodded, awestruck that such a place would exist in such a tight-packed city. All sense of claustrophobia and being watched evaporated, leaving Robin feeling pretty silly that he had let his mind jump to conclusions.

“This is amazing,” Robin breathed, quickly forgetting the problem he and Chrom were trying to solve.

“Is all of Chon’sin like this?” Robin asked, turning to face Say’ri.

Say’ri paused for a moment, obviously not expecting the question.

“Some areas, yes,” she said. “Others are much busier, much more modern. We walk a fine line between honouring the past while striding toward the future.”

Robin nodded, looking around the small space again. He took a deep breath, basking in the moment.

“Did you find the answers you were seeking?” Say’ri asked after a few minutes of quiet contemplation.

Robin sighed and shook his head.

“No. I just don’t know where we’re going to get more men on such short notice. We have the soldiers from the boats, but that’s barely half of our army. Until the other half gets here we’re vulnerable unless we find reinforcements, and quick.”

Say’ri chuckled. “Fie, good tactician. Why did you not say that was what vexed you so? I may have a solution for you.”

*

“And you’re sure that they’ll join us?” Chrom asked cautiously.

“Aye, Prince Chrom,” Say’ri answered with a nod. “As long as you request their aid in person. Lord Liung is a proud man, and will be insulted if any but you request his aid.”

“I’m just not sure how comfortable I am with travelling alone in what is paramount to enemy territory,” Chrom admitted.

“Fie, Prince,” Say’ri said. “You and I will not be alone; Sir Robin shall assemble a team for us to travel with, and as long as we avoid the main roads we will easily avoid incident with the Conqueror’s forces.”

Chrom nodded thoughtfully.

“And what do you think, Robin?” he asked, looking over to the tactician.

Robin thought Say’ri’s plan was a godsend; it was the answer to their problems. He had brought her directly to the tavern and into Chrom’s little planning room; the Prince had been a little unimpressed with Robin’s tardiness, but the idea of going to one of the closer, more sympathetic dynasts for aid had been enough to distract Chrom’s irritation.

“I wouldn’t have brought her in here if I didn’t think it was our best shot,” he said with a wry grin instead.

Liung’s seat of power was about a week’s journey north west through the forest; they couldn’t risk open roads while the Imperial Valmese still held them, not even in disguises. Say’ri had offered to lead a small group to Chéngshì, where they would appeal to the man for his army’s aid. Say’ri had assured them that he followed Walhart only because his lands were threatened, and she was confident he would join them.

Chrom nodded. “I’m not too pleased to be leaving the army at this critical juncture, but I suppose we have no alternatives.”

“Great!” Robin said, clapping his hands together. “I’ll draft up a team and we can head off tomorrow.”

“We?” Chrom asked with a grin and a raised brow.

Robin shrugged in response. “I owe you an adventure by now; figured you’d want me to make good on it.”

Chrom laughed, shaking his head.

“Of course. We’ll leave before first light tomorrow.”

*

Robin was sitting in the small common room that the Shepherds had been using as a place to relax in the inn, hunched over a sheet of paper and trying to figure out who the best candidates to bring on the journey were.

So far the only solid names he had were his own, Chrom’s and Say’ri’s.

Robin considered Lon’qu, knowing that the man was trained for stealth ops and also doubled as an excellent tracker. His extensive experience in the forests of Regna Ferox clinched it, and Robin wrote his name down next.

Libra was in as well; last time he had travelled without a healer had not ended well for anyone involved. Robin blushed, remembering the conversation he had had with Lucina about her leg-wound’s awkward placement… Robin shook his head, focusing. He just needed to find the blonde priest and tell him now.

“Five of us should be enough…” Robin muttered, standing and packing away his things.

Robin glanced up as Lissa and Morgan walked into the room, placing their packs next to the door and looking up at him expectantly.

“No,” Robin said, rolling up the scroll he had been working on.

“Aw, come on!” they both cried in unison.

“No,” Robin repeated, bopping Lissa on the head with the scroll.

“Why not?” Morgan asked, making puppy-dog eyes at Robin.

_Gah! Not the puppy-dog eyes!_ Robin moaned in his head.

“Because I’m not taking the entire Ylissean royal family into certain danger,” he said, looking at Lissa before turning to Morgan, “And Frederick’s going to need a tactician while I’m gone. That will be you.”

“But you’ll need a healer!” Lissa persisted, stomping one foot on the ground petulantly as Morgan went silent, her eyes wide. “I’m not letting you take my brother _and_ my husband and leave me behind!”

Robin sighed. “I’m already going to ask Libra.”

“Then I’ll go and tell him to say no!” Lissa said, running out of the room, no doubt to go and pester the quiet Priest.

Morgan was still staring at Robin with wide eyes when he picked up the writing tools he had left on the table. Grinning, he bopped her on the head with the scroll too, which seemed to snap her out of it.

“Me?” she asked nervously. “You want me to be… acting tactician for the whole army? Me?”

“A-yep,” Robin drawled, grinning at his daughter. “The best way to learn is by doing, and I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think you could handle it. Besides, Fr-”

The rest of what Robin was saying was lost when Morgan launched herself around him in a tight hug.

“Thank you so much, dad!” she squealed. “I promise I won’t let you down!”

She released him, suddenly looking very distracted.

“I’m going to go upstairs and read over my basics again! Make sure you say goodbye before you leave,” Morgan said quickly, retreating from the room like it was on fire.

“Wait a minute,” Robin called her back.

Morgan re-emerged through the doorway, a questioning look on her face.

“Care to explain the giant bruise on your forehead?” Robin asked, raising a brow and crossing his arms.

He hadn’t noticed it before; the way her bangs hung over her brow hid it pretty well. Put when she had hugged him Robin had noticed the great purple bruise right in the middle of her forehead.

Morgan laughed nervously, looking down at her feet.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice that,” she mumbled. “I was doing an experiment to see if I could get my memories back.”

“By doing what, exactly?” Robin asked, his voice unamused.

Morgan shuffled her feet nervously, still looking for all the world like a child that had been caught doing something they weren’t supposed to be instead of the grown tactician-in-training about to take over her father’s duties.

“I beat my head into a pole…” Morgan finally said quickly.

Robin had to stop a moment to process what his daughter had said.

_A pole?_ He thought. _Really? How was that supposed to work, exactly?_

“And how did that work out for you?” he asked instead.

Morgan grinned up at Robin.  “No change. I did get a splitting headache, though.”

“I wonder why,” Robin drolled, bopping her with the scroll again. “Go see Maribelle before you start studying and get that taken care of. I need your brain in working order before I leave.”

Morgan perked back off at being let off the hook, nodding and smiling widely.

“Yessir!” she said quickly, spinning and running from the room again.

“And no more poles!” Robin called after her, chuckling at the girl’s antics when he was sure she was out of earshot.

He hadn’t been lying when he had said that she was ready to take over from him for a little while; all they did in his spare time was go over the tactical manuals, play tactical games and talk tactics. Robin knew she trained more than he did, too; her swordsmanship and spellcraft were both well above average. Her eccentric nature made him worry a little, though…

Robin scratched the back of his head as he put his gear back in the little planning room.

_Maybe I ought to step things up a notch, too_ , he thought, worried about his daughter outpacing him.

Robin stepped outside, once again feeling the wind in his hair as it blew in off the ocean.

_It really is a beautiful day_ , Robin thought, heading down to the training area.

*

Robin ran through his sword exercises, working his way up from the very basics.

_Slash, step, parry, stab…_ he counted in his head, sweat beginning to dot his forehead. _Spin, stab, step, stab, step, slash…_

He struck out, imagining Gangrel standing in front of him where his strikes landed.

_Come on, boy_ , the Gangrel in his head sneered. _You can do better than that. Your little brat could do better than that. Hit me!_

Robin twirled again, duelling with his imaginary foe. The Gangrel in his mind fought with much more skill than the one Chrom had killed did. Robin ducked low under an imaginary high sweep, aimed at his neck, thrusting upwards with the tip of his blade to Gangrel’s stomach. The phantom sidestepped, and Robin rolled forward as his blade came down where the tactician had been kneeling.

The Gangrel phantom laughed, cold and harsh. _Really now_ , he snorted. _I just can’t seem to die! Where’s that messy end I was promised, eh?_

Robin bounced on the tips of his toes, slipping out of his coat and throwing it onto the nearby bench his towel and waterskin rested on.

He and the phantom Gangrel circled each other, Robin slowly rolling up the sleeves of his cream coloured shirt as they did. Without warning the tactician darted forward again, striking high with one of Chrom’s moves, only to meet air as Gangrel ducked under his guard. Robin hopped back, bringing his rapier down to parry a wild series of blows.

_You are weak, tactician!_ Gangrel sneered.

Robin glanced down as he stumbled across his feet, desperately dodging the downward strike the dead king directed at his neck.

_You are weak… but you could be so much more if you just embraced your destiny!_

Robin’s eyes shot back up. Gangrel was gone. In his place Validar was standing, laughing at the tactician with his cold, dark eyes boring directly into Robin’s soul.

With a low growl he lashed out, striking at the Validar phantom that made no move to defend itself.

Running a hand through his hair Robin took deep calming breaths, his heart racing out of control.

_Damn my over-active imagination…_

He was so caught up in his post-training lamentation that he didn’t even notice he had an audience until he stopped for a break, panting from his exertions as he went for his waterskin.

Lucina clapped slowly as she approached, Robin wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you actually train before,” she said, stopping a short distance away from him. “It was rather impressive.”

Robin nodded, still breathing heavily. “It’s… ah, been a while, honestly.”

“I spoke with Lissa about the mission you and Father are going on,” she said as Robin walked to the bench holding his coat and waterskin, drinking from the skin deeply as Lucina talked.

“I’m still not taking her,” Robin said, wiping his mouth and corking the skin. “I already spoke to Libra, and he agreed to come with us. If, gods forbid, something happens to us I can’t be responsible for losing the entire Ylissean royal line.”

Lucina nodded.

“You mistake my intent. I agree with your decision to leave my Aunt here. I want you to bring _me_ with your party.”

“You?” Robin repeated.

“Yes,” Lucina said simply.

Robin gave Lucina a knowing look, frowning a little as her transparent intentions became clear to him.

“It’s not hard to see what’s going on here,” he said, grabbing the towel next to his coat and wiping his face with it.

He paused, looking at the crow sitting on the back of the bench, staring at him with its beady little eyes. The bird cawed softly before taking flight and sitting on the ledge of a nearby building, like it was watching him.

Lucina seemed taken off guard by his comment, opening and closing her mouth a few times before going stone faced.

“And what, exactly, is going on?” she asked shortly, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Lucina, anyone could tell that you’ve made it your personal mission to safeguard your father,” Robin said, throwing the towel back onto the bench. “And I get it, I really do. He’s the important one; we’re all just the seat-fillers. And truly, I agree with you that it is important to protect him at all costs. But you’ll burn out if you keep going around suspecting and mistrusting everyone close to him.”

“Oh,” Lucina said, her arms falling to her sides, her face a neutral mask hiding her emotions.

“You’ve been going non-stop since you joined us,” Robin added, noticing the change in her attitude and bearing. “I just thought… you know, you could use a break. You’re my friend, and you’re important to me. I don’t want to see you burn out. You have to look after yourself, as well as your father. I mean, what would happen to him if you were to collapse under the strain?”

“I can handle it,” Lucina said, her voice carefully level.

“Look, I’ve probably crossed some line here,” Robin said, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “But… Will you just promise me to take better care of yourself?”

“For you… yes,” Lucina said quietly, deflating and softening a little.

“But I’m still going with you,” she added, her usual fire returning.

Robin threw his hands into the air.

“Why bother being a tactician when no one listens to you anyway!?” he groaned, spinning to retrieve his things.

He paused with his hand halfway to his beloved coat when he heard the soft swish of a sword being unsheathed. Turning slowly, Robin let his own hand fall to the hilt of his rapier.

“We will duel,” Lucina said, grinning wickedly. “If I win, I join you.”

“And if I win, you stay?” Robin finished for her. “Why is everything settled with swords around here? I guess I don’t have a choice in the matter, do I?”

Robin drew his rapier again, shaking out his arms and loosening up as Lucina began to circle him.

“Whenever you’re ready, Princess.”

*

“How exactly did you get this wound again?” Libra asked, leaning close with his staff.

Robin shifted uncomfortably as the priest attended to the deep scratch across his chest while Olivia mended his shirt behind them.

“Duelling,” Robin said shortly, glancing away as his face grew hot with embarrassment.

Libra made a tsking sound, shaking his head. Robin couldn’t help but notice the man’s hair looked like liquid gold as it swayed with his movements.

The truth was that Lucina had annihilated him while barely breaking a sweat. She had simply swept his guard aside and lunged, obviously expecting Robin to be quicker than he had been. She had apologized profusely, but Robin waved her off, saying that he had needed to go and see Libra anyway.

“Our tactician should know better than to duel with real weapons,” Olivia chided as she cut the thread she had been sewing his shirt up with.

Libra sat back and let out a small sigh. “There. All fixed up.”

Robin looked down, flexing experimentally. He hissed when the newly closed wound stung as he moved, holding a hand to his bare chest.

“It will hurt until your brain realizes that the wound has been healed,” Libra explained in his soft, melodious tones. “Just move around a little bit and you’ll be fine.”

Robin nodded his thanks, getting up and circling his arms, trying to ignore the stinging pain across his chest.

“About this mission,” Libra said as Robin tried to convince his brain he wasn’t wounded.

“Lissa got to you already?” Robin asked, turning to look at the blonde priest.

Olivia was silent behind him, listening intently as she tried to clean the blood out of Robin’s shirt. The pink-haired dancer tensed, though, at the thought of Libra leaving.

“She did,” the man said, placing his staff down carefully. “And I support your decision. I will accompany you on your mission.”

Robin sighed with relief.

“Thanks,” he said. “I managed to get it in my head that Lissa would convince you to deny my request.”

“She is difficult to say no to,” Libra agreed, chuckling softly.

*

Robin knocked on the door of the room Laurent had claimed at the inn, waiting for the young mage’s response.

“Enter,” he called tersely.

Robin always felt he was intruding around the boy, especially while he was in the room he had claimed, but the tactician needed to speak to the Shepherd’s quartermaster and treasurer before he left.

“Afternoon, Laurent,” Robin said as the skinny blonde man looked up, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

“What can I do for you, sir?” Laurent asked, clapping the book he was reading closed.

Robin was always struck by just how much the boy resembled his mother; if he hadn’t been blonde like Vaike he would have assumed that Laurent had just appeared out of Miriel one day like a seed or a bud off a plant.

“I’m sure word’s gotten around that the Prince and I are leaving for a mission tomorrow,” Robin said, leaning on the door jamb with his arms crossed lightly across his still-damp shirt.

Laurent nodded.

“Well, I just wanted to tell you that I’ve spoken to Frederick and your father,” Robin said, “and we’re going to be starting you on a new training regime while I’m gone.”

Laurent looked a little confused at the statement, blinking rapidly for a second as he tried to absorb what Robin had said.

“That showing on the _Dragon’s Claw_ during the landing was pretty unimpressive,” Robin explained. “You have potential to be a great mage, Laurent. But you need to spend more time training and less with your nose in a book.”

“Sir, I assure you-” Laurent began before Robin cut him off.

“Don’t bother,” the tactician said with an evil grin. “You’re not getting out of it. I’ve asked Chrom to give you authority to conscript anyone you need to help keep up with the work you do around here because of the time you’ll lose to training, but that training’s going to happen. I’ve told Vaike to pick you up and carry you to the training ground if he has to.”

Laurent paled before nodding.

“I see,” the mage said, pushing his glasses up his nose again and beginning to make quick notes in a seemingly random book. “I’ve heard an old saying along the lines of ‘healthy body, healthy mind’… Perhaps I can turn this into an experiment on the effects of physical exercise on magical potency… Robin, you train with a sword regularly, yes? Would you say it increases your effectiveness with casting spells, too?”

“Er… I suppose?” Robin replied, caught a little off-guard with the fast change of topic.

_This boy is so much like his mother it hurts_ , Robin thought, shaking his head as Laurent began to make more notes, buttering to himself and seeming to forget Robin was even present. _At least he wasn’t too hard to convince; and here’s me ready for a big argument. I wonder if he knows just how important adaptability like this is to someone in his position?_

Robin glanced back as he exited, watching Laurent nudge his glasses back up his nose with the end of a pen as he hurriedly made notes, referring to another book as he did.

_Nope. He’s got no idea how much potential he has. Go figure._

*

Morgan sighed happily as she flipped through the pages of her father’s tactical manual, sitting on a bench near the harbour and reading through his messy handwriting. He didn’t know that she had it, but that was part of the fun; once he had finished his rounds for the day she would go and see if he could find the nefarious hiding place she would put it.

In her pouch, hidden in plain sight. He’d never see it coming…

Chuckling at her own genius she didn’t hear the footsteps approaching until Severa was on top of her.

“What are you sneering about?” she asked in her usual irritated tone.

Morgan jumped about a foot in the air, her father’s book going about a foot higher. She looked up, judging exactly where it would land and catching the book neatly in her outstretched hands, closing it gently as she did.

“Afternoon, Severa,” Morgan said, grinning at the other woman.

Severa was standing above her, arms crossed and frowning the way she always did.

“You should smile a little more,” Morgan said happily. “You’ll wind up getting frown lines.”

“Who asked you?” Severa asked huffily, sitting down next to Morgan on the bench and stretching her legs out.

“So what’s up?” Morgan asked, slipping her father’s book into her bag.

Severa shrugged, sighing as she rested her hands behind her head. A few of the men passing by glanced at the spectacle as her chest inadvertently thrust out, but the red-head’s glare made them quickly rethink their gaze’s direction.

“I’m just bored,” she said, going silent for a moment.

“Wanna go shopping?” she asked suddenly, surprising Morgan.

“Uh, sure…” Morgan said hesitantly. “Anywhere in particular?”

Severa rolled her eyes. “You don’t need to have a destination in mind to shop; you just go where the shopping takes you, genius!”

Morgan chuckled. “I didn’t know you took shopping so seriously. I’d be honoured to accompany you, oh mistress of the art of spending.”

“It’s not like I want to go shopping with you…” Severa huffed, glancing away. “Everyone else is just busy.”

“I’m sure that’s what it is,” Morgan laughed, hopping up before grabbing Severa’s hand and dragging her up too. “C’mon, we’re burning daylight here!”

“Alright, alright!” Severa groaned. “Just stop pawing at me already! Sheesh!”

*

Robin looked around his small room, scratching the back of his head in confusion.

“Where did I leave that stupid thing…?” he muttered.

He had wanted to go over the tactical manual he’d been working on again, just to keep it fresh in his mind while he was away. It was hardly space-saving to take a pile of books with him while he travelled, so he would be leaving it at Valm Harbour with the others. Not to mention the thought of rain constantly made him nervous for his spellbook at the best of times…

“I know it’s around here somewhere…” he muttered, squatting down and looking under the desk in the corner again.

“Hello father!” Morgan called from the doorway.

There was a loud thump and Robin cursed; she had snuck up on him, and he’d smacked his head on the underside of the table.

“Ow… owowowowow…” Robin groaned, rubbing the new lump on his head.

“I suppose you’re looking on that Treatise on Tactics that you’ve been working on, right?” Morgan asked, sauntering into the room and leaning against the wall with her arms crossed and a superior smirk on her face.

“And how exactly would you know… that,” Robin asked, trailing off as realization hit him. “Waiiiiit a minute. What’d you do?”

“Oh, nothing,” Morgan said innocently. “But I thought it might be fun to pit your deductive skills against mine in a little game. A game like… ‘where did Morgan hide my book’?”

Robin grinned. He’d been waiting for this moment to come since the he’d found the girl in that ruined fortress in Regna Ferox.

“Are you sure you wanna play this game, little girl?” he asked mockingly.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Morgan said confidently. “I’m also sure you’ll come to me later, begging for some clue over where I hid the book. You have until sundown today! Though I could give you weeks, and you would never find my diabolical hiding-”

“Found it,” Robin said, smirking triumphantly as he cut Morgan off.

Her face fell, shocked before she quickly recovered her superior act.

“Oh?” she said, doing a remarkable job of imitating Severa as she crossed her arms and looked down her nose. “And where exactly is it then?”

Robin pointed at the pouch on Morgan’s hip in the exact same place he usually wore his.

“It’s in that pouch right there,” Robin said confidently.

Morgan’s mask shattered as she drooped, shock once again on her face.

“No. Way,” she said. “How did you… I thought I…”

Robin started laughing as she produced the book he had been searching for earlier and held it in both hands.

“It was easy,” he explained, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “You know me well, Morgan. And that includes knowing how much that book means to me. I knew you'd never hide it anywhere it might be damaged or stolen. So it needed to be somewhere you could keep a close eye on it...yet still concealed.”

Morgan groaned, sitting down next to Robin and staring down at the book.

“You just read my entire thought process,” she said bleakly. “And here was me thinking I was being so clever…”

Robin reached over, pinching the corner of the book between two fingers and sliding it out of her grip.

“I guess I win, huh?” he asked, taking the book and flipping it to the first page on his lap. “So now I get to choose the next challenge.”

Morgan looked up questioningly.

“You wanted to read this, right?” Robin asked, indicating the book on his lap. “So why don’t we see who reads faster between the two of us, huh?”

Morgan grinned, the spirit of competition rekindling in her.

“Oh you are so going down, old man.”

Robin scoffed. “Old? I’m barely three or four years older than you in this timeline. Now; get ready to read like you’ve never read before! Go!”

*

Robin sighed as Lucina walked past him, out of the gates to Valm Harbour to wait with Libra and Lon’qu under a tree.

“She challenged you to a duel, didn’t she?” Chrom asked with a knowing grin.

“Shut up,” the tactician mumbled.

Chrom burst out laughing as Say’ri approached, a curious look on her face at the Prince’s very un-princely behaviour.

“Don’t ask,” Robin said, Chrom still howling with laughter as he did.

Say’ri nodded seriously as Chrom finally quieted.

“Are we prepared to depart?” she asked.

Robin nodded. He had said his goodbyes to Morgan and given her all the last minute advice he could think of. Lon’qu and Lissa had said their farewells, Lissa glaring evilly at Robin the entire time. Chrom and Sumia had also shared a moment, but Sumia seemed to be content with the knowledge that Lucina would be there to watch her father’s back.

Libra had surprised everyone by arriving with homemade lunches for the party, wrapped up in cloth and prepared by Olivia no less.

Robin had made a mental note to thank the timid dancer on their return.

Chrom stretched his arms above his head as they stepped off the road and began their trek cross-country.

“It is so good to be off that boat!” the Price sighed happily.

“Says he who got the biggest cabin on it…” Robin muttered, making Lon’qu and Libra both chuckle a little.

“Just look at this natural beauty,” Chrom went on, glancing over his shoulder at Robin. “It’s such a beautiful day; I can see why you go on all the missions involving camping, now.”

Robin groaned loudly, his shoulders slumping as Chrom looked at him questioningly.

“Dammit all, Chrom,” Robin moaned. “You’ve just jinxed us.”

“Don’t be so superstitious,” the Prince laughed, facing forward again.

*

Robin grumbled, pulling his hood lower over his face as the rain pelted down on him and glaring at Chrom’s back.

Of course as soon as the Prince had opened his mouth storm clouds had rolled in off the horizon.

About fifteen minutes later and everyone was digging through their packs, hurriedly pulling out cloaks in a vain attempt to stay dry.

“What did we learn today, Chrom?” Robin asked as the Prince stepped in a puddle, groaning as the water splashed up his leg.

“Never underestimate my tactician’s superstitious nature,” the Prince replied, still grinning.

_He’s having the time of his life here_ , Robin thought with amazement. _And I’m beginning to notice a pattern with my travelling here…_

They had just begun crossing a series of open fields with absolutely no cover to protect the party from the rain; dark clouds hung oppressively low in the sky, cutting the light and turning the day into a strange grey twilight. The others didn’t seem to be affected, though. Libra and Lon’qu stomped on ahead with Say’ri, the three of them heedless of the pouring rain falling on their cloaks and puddles they were stepping in.

Chrom followed them closely, still grinning to himself.

_It has been a long time since he’s been out in the field like this_ , Robin reminded himself.

Lucina stopped to adjust her cloak in front of Robin, and the tactician fell into step alongside her as she started walking again.

“Next time I organize a mission,” he muttered, “I’m going to roster some people with actual personalities to come with us. Those three up the front could be walking statues.”

Lucina nodded silently, not looking at Robin.

“We are in the middle of what is supposed to be enemy territory,” she said after a moment. “I think a little bit of seriousness might not be a bad thing, given the circumstances.”

Robin nodded, his brow furrowing under the fringe of his coat’s hood.

“You’re probably right,” he said, letting her get a few steps ahead of him.

_What was that about?_ Robin wondered silently. _Maybe she’s in a bad mood because of the weather or something…_

Robin looked up absently when he heard the cawing of a crow circling above them, oblivious to the rain.

*

That evening they came upon a farm, and with some quick talking on Say’ri’s part and a few gold coins on Chrom’s, they were told to spend the evening in the barn.

“A barn?” Robin asked, eying the large structure incredulously.

“At least it’s dry,” Chrom said with a shrug as he wrung out his cloak just outside the door.

Libra and Lon’qu had already done the same; both men had retired early, and lay to one side on their bedrolls, covered by their blankets while their clothes dried on a line strung out not far from where they were sleeping.

The girls were set up on the other side of a high stack of hay; the entire party, with the exception of Robin thanks to his magically altered coat, had been soaked and forced to hang their wet clothes to dry. Robin had just shaken his coat, watching the droplets of water fly off, leaving the coat dry as a bone when he had folded it up, intending to use it as a pillow.

Chrom was right; the barn was dry and clean enough. For a barn, anyway. Robin watched as a large tabby cat slunk through the rafters, watching them with shining eyes in the light given off from the small oil lamp that had been given to them by the farmer.

The farm was nothing special; just another of the hundreds of thousands like it throughout the world; a house, some fields and a barn, with a couple of animals wandering around for good measure. The farmer had seemed suspicious, but the gold Chrom had pressed into his hand had silenced any protests from the man; it had probably been more money than he made in a year.

Robin stretched, getting up from his bedroll and stretching his legs. There was an undercover area just outside and around the corner from the large doors; he could take a minute to collect his thoughts in solitude out there.

Robin sauntered past the Prince, who was looking oddly out of place wearing nothing but a rough towel, and ducked around the corner of the barn quickly, ignoring the rain still pelting down.

He sighed contentedly, stretching and finally on his own. The tactician sunk to the dry earth, his back leaning against the barn’s outer wall, and sat watching the rain fall.

A flash lit up the night sky, painting everything in stark washed out colours, before distant thunder rumbled over the forest half a day’s walk from the farm.

There was something relaxing about watching a thunderstorm at night, Robin mused as another flash lit up the sodden countryside. The tactician sat and let his mind wander, thinking about the situation they had landed in.

Walhart’s forces outnumbered them, yes, but by all accounts the armies were spread thin; that was their only saving grace at this point. However it didn’t take four months for an army of decent size to congregate in one place. If Walhart really desired as much, the Shepherds would be destroyed by his superior forces.

Robin ran a hand through his hair. He really had not expected the man to be capable of fielding an army with numbers in the millions…

_I am never assuming anything again_ , Robin swore, berating himself for not having the foresight to deal with this problem before it had arisen.

He looked up as he heard the light splash of someone stepping in a puddle, expecting Chrom to be coming and asking why his tactician was sitting out alone in the dark. Instead Say’ri, wrapped in one of the blankets that Robin had donated since his clothes were still dry enough to sleep in, rounded the corner, looking at Robin with what he was sure was a mirror of his own expression.

“Good even, Sir Robin,” Say’ri said, recovering faster than he did.

Robin nodded, looking back out over the field as more thunder rumbled.

“Evening, Say’ri,” Robin offered once the distant rumbling died off. “What’re you doing out here so late?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Say’ri chuckled, mirroring their conversation from the previous day.

Robin grinned and shrugged.

“Nature,” he said simply. “There’s something calming about the chaos of the heavens during a thunderstorm.”

Say’ri nodded and took a seat against the barn next to Robin.

“In Chon’sin the old stories tell us that twin gods battling in the sky is the cause of storms such as these,” she said. “They fight to see who is the superior of the two, despite being evenly matched.”

Robin nodded, rolling the word ‘twin’ over in his head.

_Is that what the Hierophant was?_ He thought. _Was that man my brother that I simply have no memory of? Why am I even thinking about this now? It’s been months since then, and I didn’t dwell on it for the entire voyage here. So why now?_

“May I ask you a question, Robin?” Say’ri asked, breaking Robin’s train of thought.

“You just did,” the tactician joked lamely. “But go ahead and ask another.”

Say’ri seemed to think carefully about how to word her question. At least that’s what Robin thought was happening; it was dark and he could barely see his own hand in front of his face, let alone the serious woman sitting next to him.

“The others say you are an amnesiac,” she said after a moment.

“That wasn’t a question,” Robin said lightly when she didn’t go on.

“Are you?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Robin said with a sigh. “Yeah, I am. Why do you ask?”

“I have never met a man like you before,” Say’ri explained. “I find it curious that you have no memories and still act so normal. Irreverent and disrespectful, but normal.”

“I’ve had three and a bit years now to get used to being an amnesiac,” Robin said with a shrug. “It was kinda hard at first, admittedly, but you get used to not knowing where you’re from or how old you are…”

Robin sighed, looking down from the majesty of the storm in the night sky and staring at the ground.

“Or who your family is…” he added, thinking about Validar and the Hierophant.

“Would that I could forget my own blood ties…” Say’ri muttered bitterly.

“Sorry, that was insensitive of me,” Robin said quickly.

Say’ri chuckled, and in another flash of lighting Robin saw her waving his apology off.

“Think nothing of it, Sir. It is a burden I must bear, not you. I apologize for forcing you to dwell on your own problems.”

“I was already dwelling before you came out here,” Robin admitted with a self-depreciating chuckle, before growing serious and adding “How am I supposed to know who I am when I don’t know who I was?”

“I cannot answer that question for you,” Say’ri said, shifting in the darkness. “But I can tell you that I’ve only known you a small time, and you seem to have a fair idea over who you are without prior memories.”

Robin nodded, slightly mollified.

He had dealt with all of these questions years ago; he was just suffering a momentary lapse in confidence due to so many of his plans coming undone recently. He just needed to think about something else for a little while.

“Tell me a little more about Chon’sin,” Robin said suddenly, eager for a change of subject after they were silent a moment.

“What do you wish to know?” Say’ri asked from the darkness, sounding a little surprised.

Lightning flashed again, followed by thunder rumbling much closer than it had been before. In the brief second that the world had lit up Robin could see that Say’ri had shifted and was sitting perched on her own legs, much the way a bird would. Robin had no illusions that his legs would hurt like hell after sitting the way she was for a few minutes.

“Tell me about your armour,” Robin said, asking about the first thing that popped into his mind. “It’s different from ours. Is the style common in Chon’sin?”

“Aye, it is. Most warriors wear a variation of it,” Say’ri explained. “It is made of hardened lacquer. It keeps the armour light while providing excellent defence. It's quite rare to see heavy armour where I come from. And we wield a curved, single-edged blade in both hands, so we do not carry shields.”

“Lon’qu fights in a similar fashion,” Robin pointed out. “But it's still a far cry from what I'm used to... Are there any other important differences?”

“Aye, a world's worth, sir! You'd find much of Chon'sin culture curious. Food, dress...most everything.”

Robin smiled lightly in the night. “I’d love to hear more about it. If you’re willing to share, of course.”

“Of course. I would be honoured. Talk of my homeland keeps it close to my heart,” Say’ri said happily. “Although perhaps it is a conversation best saved for another day; it is growing quite late now.”

Robin nodded, watching one final burst of lightning in the distance before standing.

“I will join you momentarily,” Say’ri said when Robin hesitated, looking back at her.

The tactician shrugged, braving the rain as he ducked back inside.

*

_It is nice that others share an interest in our culture_ , Say’ri thought as she watched Robin retreat to the light and warmth of the barn.

“It is safe now,” she said quietly to the night in her native Chon’sin dialect after a moment.

A vaguely human shape materialized in the darkness, stepping out of the rain into the small covered area.

Seiko knelt down low, rainwater dripping off of her.

“I thought he would never leave,” the spy admitted in the same language, shaking some of the water off of her soaked extremities.

“You’re report?” Say’ri prompted.

“Lord Liung has agreed to meet with you and the Prince,” Seiko said without preamble. “Although there are more Walhart supporters in his court than last time. I would advise caution, my lady.”

Say’ri nodded, not surprised. Walhart used bribery and coercion just as effectively as brute force; after all, dead men couldn’t be pressed into service.

“Thank you, Seiko,” Say’ri said as she stood. “Why don’t you rest here out of the rain for a time?”

“You are too kind, Princess,” Seiko said with a low bow.

Say’ri nodded, smiling before she too returned to the barn.

Say’ri hesitated before she did, though; in the last flash of thunder she thought she had spotted a glimpse of a head of long blue hair around the far corner of the barn.

Thunder sounded, growing distant again as the storm passed over them.

Say’ri put the thoughts from her head as Seiko sat down, getting comfortable to rest for a time.

_They have no reason to mistrust me_ , she assured herself. _But one does not reveal all of their cards at the beginning of the game._


	27. Chapter 27

Robin chuckled quietly as Chrom groaned irritatedly, his foot sinking into a puddle, water running over the top of his boot and pooling in the bottom of it.

The rain had abated early the next morning, but continued on and off lightly for the next few days, and the ground was still wet and uneven, leaving numerous deep puddles to taunt and irritate the tactician as he and the others struggled to maintain some level of dryness.

“Still having fun?” Robin asked Chrom, coming alongside him and taking a bite out of the apple in his hand.

“Don’t mock your monarch,” Chrom warned jokingly.

They both shared a chuckle. Everyone was unimpressed with the crappy weather, but Robin and Chrom still made the best of the bad situation, joking and splashing at each other like children every chance they got; which given the amount of standing water in the fields they were traversing was often.

“How much farther is it?” Robin asked Say’ri as they began to travel through the forest around lunch time.

Say’ri paused and looked back at the tactician, stopping to think for a moment.

“If we continue at this pace we shall reach our journey’s end by this time tomorrow,” she said, beginning to walk again.

“So am I right in assuming that if it starts raining again we’re screwed? It doesn’t look there are a lot of barns to hide in out here,” Robin asked jokingly.

“A little water won’t hurt you,” Chrom said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Besides, you’ve got that fancy magical coat; we can just string it up like a tent and take shelter!”

Robin gathered his coat around him protectively as Chrom laughed.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he whispered to the coat. “I won’t let the mean man hurt you.”

Robin looked up when Say’ri snorted, obviously trying not to laugh.

_So she does have a sense of humour_ , Robin thought interestedly.

*

Robin wandered after the five others, looking around the forest bored while thinking he should have brought Virion along after all.

_At least I can talk to him_ , the tactician thought sourly.

Lon’qu was the strong, silent type; when he did talk it was usually about training or fighting, or just to tell the others to shut up. Libra was the quiet type, too; he was friendly enough, but Robin hardly had anything in common with the monk, so there wasn’t a lot to talk about.

He couldn’t talk to Chrom; Lucina kept hovering around her father like a bad smell giving him funny looks every time he came within arm’s reach of the Prince, and it was starting to weird Robin out. So he had given up on that front for now; at least until he figured out what was wrong with the Princess.

So Robin wound up talking more with Say’ri about the unique culture of her homeland.

“Raw fish? Really? You just chop it up and… go to town?”

The foreign woman chuckled, nodding as she and Robin led the group through the pine forest of Valm’s north-eastern region.

“Traditionally we eat it with rice, or rolled up with rice inside dried seaweed. But for special occasions, yes; we do eat it on its own. It is best when very, very fresh.”

Robin paled a little, imagining trying to eat uncooked food.

“Uh-huh. That sounds… er… appetizing.”

“I assure you, it is delicious,” Say’ri said, laughing lightly.

Robin was surprised to admit that he liked her laugh; a warm, quiet sound like a whisper that occasionally snuck out around the no-nonsense front she presented in her daily life. It was nice to see a person underneath all the manners and seriousness.

He just nodded, wholly unconvinced as he looked around at the lush forest.

It was truly beautiful; this area of Valm would have been a great place to simply lose himself in if he hadn’t been on an important diplomatic mission. Or in the middle of a war.

With a sigh Robin promised himself to return and enjoy the scenery properly once he got the opportunity.

“That was a big one,” Chrom said from behind him.

Robin glanced over his shoulder.

“All this talk of food’s making me hungry,” Robin said instead.

Chrom chuckled. “Always thinking with your stomach, eh? Well it’s almost lunchtime; why don’t we take a short break?”

“Define ‘short’,” Robin asked cheekily.

“Long enough to eat, but not long enough for you to disappear this time,” Chrom laughed. “You’ve got no big city to hide from me in this time.”

“I shall climb a tree to escape you, then!” Robin said in his best ‘Vaike’ impersonation.

Chrom laughed as he dropped his pack, before tossing an apple at Robin’s head.

The tactician caught the fruit-turned-missile, grinning. Libra and Say’ri were both chuckling, and even Lon’qu was trying to hide a small grin.

Robin noticed with a strange, defeated feeling that Lucina’s face hadn’t even twitched; she had just sat down a small way away from the rest of the group and begun eating her own provisions.

The tactician sat down heavily next to Chrom on the fallen log he was perched atop, taking a bite from the apple.

“What’s her deal?” he asked softly, indicating Lucina with a nudge of his head, confident she wouldn’t hear them.

“You noticed too, huh?” Chrom replied, his voice equally low. “I’m not entirely sure. The closer we draw to the opening moves of the campaign against Walhart the surlier she’s gotten.”

“I thought we were supposed to defeat Walhart first, and then fight Grima,” Robin muttered, thinking out loud. “Unless… do you think Walhart is the one that summons Grima?”

Chrom shrugged, tossing his apple core over his shoulder.

“It’s a possibility,” Chrom admitted. “But there’s only one way to find out. I’m still worried about her, though.”

“Hey, she’s not the one beating her head into a pole,” Robin said, running a hand through his hair as he thought of Morgan.

Chrom snorted with laughter. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’ll explain later,” Robin muttered, trying not to grin himself. “But what do we do about her?”

Chrom shrugged.

“You have the best people skills out of anyone I’ve ever met,” he said. “Talk to her; try to get her to open up a little. Consider it a request from her father and your friend.”

Chrom said the last part as he stood, grinning down at the tactician.

“You don’t have to sell it to me,” Robin said, standing himself. “I probably would have wound up doing it anyway.”

Seeing that their short break was over the others began rising as well, preparing to continue their journey.

“But I’ll give it a go,” Robin added, recalling the face Lucina had made when he had healed her wounds on the _Dragon’s Claw_ a few weeks ago.

“That’s all I ask,” Chrom said, lightly punching Robin’s shoulder. “Now what’s this about a pole?”

*

Robin stared dubiously up at the twilight sky through the tall evergreens, watching as a few clouds still rolled across the purple skyline.

“You need not fret, Sir Robin. It will not rain this evening,” Say’ri assured him as she put the final touches on her tent.

Robin nodded, still watching the sky suspiciously.

Chrom and Say’ri had already set up their own small tents, while Lon’qu and Libra had chosen to share a two-man tent to save on carrying supplies and were busily erecting the small canvas prism.

Robin would simply spread out his bedroll. As long as it didn’t rain, he’d be fine. He honestly had no idea what Lucina was going to do; probably the same thing as him.

Lucina had opted to make a small fire; the wet logs hissing angrily as they dried out. They had been forced to use some of their precious kindling supply, but Robin assumed he would be able to track down more in Chéngshì. At least they didn’t need to worry about flint stones while Robin was around; he was always delighted to burn things and indulge his inner pyromaniac.

“I am going to try to find more firewood,” Lucina said, rising from where she was squatting near the fire.

“Hold on, I’ll give you a hand,” Robin offered, rising quickly and remembering his conversation with Chrom earlier that day.

“If that is your wish,” Lucina said, turning and walking into the darkening forest.

Robin looked back at Chrom; the Prince motioned that Robin follow her, making a stupid face as he did.

Snorting and trying to keep a straight face the tactician hurried after Lucina, summoning a small flame to dance above his fingertips so that he didn’t trip on anything.

He spotted a flash of blue disappearing between trees in the distance and hurried forwards, rounding the thicket and coming on Lucina as she was bending to pick up some of the dryer branches from the forest floor.

“So what’s up?” Robin asked conversationally as he began gathering up branches one-handed.

Lucina glanced up at Robin for a second, her face unreadable before going back to collecting firewood.

“What do you mean?” she asked neutrally.

“C’mon, something’s bugging you,” Robin pressed, deciding to use a phrase he’d heard Nowi use a few times before. “Where’s your sprinkles, cupcake?”

The ridiculous phrase had the intended effect, Lucina snorting and dropping some of the branches she was holding in an attempt to stifle her laughter.

“C’mon, Princess,” Robin pressed, coming closer and helping her pick up the branches she had dropped. “You know you can talk to me.”

Lucina looked up at Robin, her earlier and short-lived laughter fading from her eyes as she sighed and stood. In the dim light from Robin’s small magical fire Lucina seemed to be struggling with how to word her statement.

“I…” she began before stalling again.

“Are my plans bugging you?” Robin asked, taking a few shots in the dark. “Is it something someone in camp is doing? Are you worried about the war?”

“It is all of these things and more,” Lucina admitted.

“I… should not be here,” she continued after a moment. “Neither should Kjelle, or Severa or even Morgan.”

Robin perked up defensively at the thought of anyone taking Morgan away from him.

“I cannot help but think we might be altering history for the worse by interfering,” Lucina continued. “And this vexes me.”

Robin thought carefully before he spoke again.

“I understand where you’re coming from,” he said. “But I really think you’re making mountains out of mole-hills.”

“But Gregor-” Lucina began before Robin cut him off.

“Gave his life to protect us all; yes. You were young during the war with Valm anyway, right? Do you remember if he survived?”

“I… do not…” she admitted hesitantly.

_How long has she been sitting on these feelings and letting them stew?_ Robin wondered. He was still grieving for the loss of the heroic older mercenary, too, but with the support of Morgan and Tharja and everyone else he was getting over the pain. He hadn’t forgotten the oath he had sworn to Gregor’s memory, but the pain was beginning to fade.

_How hard was it for her to comfort me with these thoughts dancing around in her skull?_

“You and Morgan and all the others give us a distinct advantage during this war,” Robin continued. “And I don’t mean the whole future-foresight thing; soldiers with the level of skill you all have are a rare commodity, and one I refuse to waste.”

 “You gave me comfort when I needed it,” Robin said, turning his head to face the Princess. “So let me make you a promise; no one else dies before this war ends.”

“You can’t possibly promise that,” Lucina scoffed.

“Sure I can,” Robin said. “Tactician, remember? It’s my job to win this war, and I promise I will do so without sacrificing any of our people.”

“It is a war, Robin,” Lucina said bleakly. “People will die.”

Robin nodded, realizing that his arm was now full as he tried to slide another branch into the bundle.

“True,” the tactician admitted, passing the extra branch to Lucina. “But no more Shepherds. We will go on the most dangerous missions, fight on the frontlines, and all live to tell the tale; and when this war is over and Ylisse is safe from Valm, we will face whatever threat Grima can conjure up together. All of us, future and present.”

Lucina looked at Robin, her piercing blue eyes meeting his and seemingly inspecting his sincerity in the quickly darkening woods.

“You truly believe you can accomplish this?” Lucina asked after a moment.

Robin nodded once, grinning.

“Of course. I have extra sets of hands and eyes in Morgan as well as Virion; Laurent’s doing all the little dirty work that keeps Frederick off my back; and you’re the inspiration to keep me working so hard. I’d say I’ve got a pretty good team to keep me going.”

Robin watched as, for the first time in days Lucina’s face softened and her soft lips turned up in a genuine smile. The effect was similar to the sun emerging from behind clouds as her whole face lit up.

_Holy crap is she beautiful_ , Robin realized before mentally slapping himself, reminding himself that she was his best friend’s daughter. _No! Bad train of thought! Bad!_

“Alright,” she said, smiling over the bundle of firewood in her arms. “I will accept your promise. Thank you, Robin.”

“Any time,” Robin said, smiling happily as he used his free hand to try and get a better grip on the branches under his arm.

And completely forgetting about the fire spell he was using for light as the branches caught almost instantly, making Robin flail them about as he tried to put them out.

“Dammit, not yet!” he shouted at the branches, fighting desperately to extinguish them. “First we get back to camp, and then you burn! Stop! Stop burning, curse you! STOP!”

With a wind spell he finally managed to get the branches out, but he had to drop the fire spell to cast his wind spell.

In the darkness and silence that followed Robin’s stupidity he could hear a sound that was quite possibly the most beautiful thing he’d heard in weeks: Lucina dropping her branches as she doubled over laughing.

_Well, I suppose that works, too…_ Robin thought, flicking his wrist and lighting another fire spell, this time far, far away from the branches in his other hand.

“I never seem to have a problem making your family laugh,” Robin said lightly as Lucina began to calm, beginning to pick her bundle up again. “Even if I have to light myself on fire to do it…”

Lucina burst out in another fit of laughter at Robin’s comment, holding her stomach and dropping the branches yet again as she wiped tears of mirth from her eyes.

*

“Big place,” Robin muttered in awe as the party entered Chéngshì.

The city rose up the side of a mountain, five great tiers carved into its side supporting the various levels of the city. Squat stone buildings with black and brown tiled roofs made up the majority of the structures around a central river flowing through the bottom tier, aqueducts criss-crossing a great waterfall flowing from higher up the mountain, providing an ample water supply to the upper tiers. Robin could just make out Liung’s palace on the highest tier; it was easily the biggest building in the city, with a high, sloped red tiled roof.

“Indeed,” Lucina agreed from next to him.

If anything she seemed more in awe than the others; no doubt since her idea of civilization from her native timeline was an armed caravan desperately trying to stay one step ahead of the Risen horde.

Lucina had been much less grumpy during the morning walk to the city, Robin had noticed. She had even joined in with his and Chrom’s banter for a time, before speaking at length with Say’ri about the kind of city they were heading to.

_Good to see her getting back to normal_ , Robin thought happily.

Townspeople and soldiers on armed patrols through the streets both thankfully ignored the Shepherds, and they quickly merged with the press of bodies climbing the large ramps and staircases to the higher tiers.

It took them the better part of three hours to ascend to the top; in the end even the normally unflappable Lon’qu was breathing a little heavier.

Robin, however, collapsed at the top of the stairs.

“So… many… stairs…” he gasped, clawing his way forward on his stomach.

Chrom wordlessly sank down next to him at the summit of stairs, gasping and looking back down on their progress.

“After all the hiking we do, one would assume we would be more prepared for this,” Lucina gasped, doubled over and holding herself up with her hands on her knees.

“Thank Naga that’s over,” Libra muttered, wiping a hand over his perfect face to remove any sweat.

“Come, we cannot linger,” Say’ri said, taking a deep breath to compose herself. “Lord Liung awaits our arrival.”

Robin groaned, looking up from the stones he was lying on at the woman.

“Allow us a moment’s rest for pity’s sake!” he begged. “I can’t present myself to anyone if I can’t stand!”

Chrom took a deep breath, forcing himself upright before grabbing Robin by the back of his coat and hauling the tactician up to his feet.

“Come on, Robin; she’s right,” the Prince said. “We’ll get a room at an inn tonight to make up for the stairs; there’s no way I’m camping again after that climb.”

Robin gurgled exhaustedly as he forced one foot in front of the other, following the others who didn’t seem to be doing much better.

_I can see why Liung would put his castle up here_ , Robin thought. _Who in their right mind would climb that many stairs to assault a castle?_

The truth was that the whole city was immensely defensible in the right hands; huge gates separated the different tiers that could be closed to halt traffic and stop invading forces, not to mention that each tier offered a perfect vantage point for archers and mages to rain death from above. The buildings were all made out of the same heavy stone, too, so Robin assumed that setting the city ablaze wouldn’t work for an invading force, either.

It was less a city, more a fortress. The tactician could see why Walhart would be reluctant to make an enemy of Liung.

Say’ri led them away from the castle’s main gate and around to the side, where two guards stood watch over a smaller, private gate. They raised their weapons warily at first, but lowered them and bowed deeply from the hip when they recognized Say’ri. A few quick words in another language Robin didn’t understand, all harsh consonants, before one of the guards ushered them inside.

“Our guide will be here momentarily,” Say’ri said, switching back to the common tongue.

“Just how many languages do you speak?” Robin asked as she led them into a small reception room.

“It is necessary for cohesion between the various dynasts in the resistance that I speak the native languages of their territories,” she explained.

“Do not get comfortable,” Say’ri added as Chrom and Libra sank down to a low bench along one wall. “We will not be waiting long.”

True to Say’ri’s warning a young woman wearing a strange blue silk dress came in, bowing low before indicating for them to follow her.

“The rest of you will need to wait here,” Say’ri said as Chrom and Robin rose to follow her.

Lucina didn’t seem overly impressed, but held her tongue as Chrom and Robin left.

Chrom stood, adjusting his clothes and leather armour plates nervously as they walked.

Robin would have chuckled, or even emulated him, but all he could think about was the burning in his calves and knees.

The silent woman in blue led them into a large chamber from a side door. Robin could see, looking to the left, the entrance to the castle-proper he had spotted looking through the gates at the end of the path atop the stairs outside down a corridor of red lacquered pillars and brightly burning braziers.

As he turned his head right he spotted who could only have been Lord Liung, sitting atop a great gilded throne in the shape of a swooping bird of prey.

The man himself was pretty average looking; long black hair tied neatly out of his face with a red ribbon, contrasting sharply with the thick grey plate armour he wore. When he spoke Robin’s opinion of him rose slightly; his was the voice of a true leader, similar to Chrom’s; quietly authoritative, as if he didn’t need to raise his voice to get his way.

“Leave us,” he said in common to the woman that had escorted them in.

She bowed low, still silent, before retreating through the main doors, closing them behind her and leaving the Shepherds alone with Liung.

Liung rose, meeting the eyes of those assembled and affording Robin his first proper look at the man’s face.

A thin, neat moustache sat perched beneath his nose, its edges drooping down to his chin in small wisps. He looked to be about forty, but Robin was unused to judging the ages of people in this land, so it was more a wild guess than a real judgment.

A jolt of electricity passed through the tactician as his eyes met Liung’s, at last understanding how the man could defy Walhart where so many others had bent their knee to him. Robin had no doubt that the warrior standing before him was one of the deadliest men he’d ever met, and his controlled movements added credence to his theory. A long, thin sword similar to Say’ri’s hung at his hip, its grip looking worn from decades of use.

“Princess,” Liung greeted Say’ri with a shallow bow, a hand resting over his heart as he never broke eye contact. “It does my heart well to see you again.”

“Lord Liung,” Say’ri greeted, bowing low. “It is a pleasure.”

Liung descended the steps from his throne, stopping one step from standing on level with the Shepherds.

“Who have you brought before me, Say’ri?” Liung asked, clasping his hands behind his back and eying Chrom and Robin standing behind her.

“This is Prince Chrom of Ylisse, and his tactician Sir Robin,” Say’ri introduced.

Chrom and Robin both bowed the way Say’ri had instructed them; Robin low from the hip until he was practically at ninety degrees to the floor, looking down, and Chrom only slightly, eyes never leaving Liung.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Liung,” Chrom said formally.

“I know of you, young Prince,” Liung said after a moment of silence. “I know why you are here in Valm, and I know why you are here in my throne room.”

“Then we can skip the pleasantries and get down to business,” Chrom said.

“Indeed,” Liung said, turning his back and ascending back to his throne.

“You seek my aid against the Conqueror’s armies,” Liung said as he resumed his seat. “I cannot give you what you seek.”

Robin noticed Chrom’s jaw twitch, but the Prince retained his formal outward appearance.

_Here we go again…_ Robin thought, knowing exactly what Chrom’s reaction would be.

“Cannot?” Chrom asked. “Or will not?”

“Watch your tone, Prince,” Liung snapped. “I have agreed to see you out of respect for Say’ri’s brother, but I will not tolerate disrespect in my presence.”

 “Yen’fay serves Walhart,” Chrom reminded the other man.

“As do I,” Liung said distastefully, as if he were trying to convince himself of the fact.

“Lord, please,” Say’ri said in the same tone she had used during the war council when they had first met her. “We can defeat Walhart and return peace to our lands if only you grant us your aid. We know that the bulk of your army remains here in Chéngshì and not under the Conqueror’s sway.”

“They remain here to defend our borders,” Liung replied. “If you take them for your war we are defenceless against Walhart’s forces, and it will be my citizens that suffer.”

“Walhart will be too busy trying to fight us to assault Chéngshì,” Chrom assured him. “My tactician has drafted plans that see us engaging his forces in hit and run tactics, striking where he is weakest and unprepared. His generals will be stumbling over themselves trying to deal with us, let alone invading other regions.”

Liung sat resting his chin on his fist for a time, deep in thought.

“Return to the chamber you entered from,” Liung said finally. “I would speak to your tactician. He will deliver my final answer.”

Chrom and Say’ri bowed again, and the blue haired prince clapped a reassuring hand on Robin’s shoulder as he passed. Say’ri nodded assurance, too, before Robin found himself standing alone.

Robin stood tall, meeting the Lord’s eyes.

_Ohcrapohcrapohcrapohcrapohcrap,_ he thought contrary to his outer calm.

“I have heard stories,” Liung said, glaring down at Robin. “And rumours of the Ylissean League’s master tactician. But you stand before me, little more than a child, and your Prince has the nerve to tell me you have crafted plans to defeat an army with no limit?”

Robin bristled, quickly forgetting his nerves as irritation replaced them.

“There is no such thing as an endless army, Lord Liung,” Robin said. “And yes, I have crafted strategies that make use of our superior mobility through rough terrain; that take advantage of our superior magical and aerial presence; I have faith that we will not be defeated.”

“And here you stand, begging me for your help anyway,” Liung pointed out.

“My lord, the plans count on the other dynasts’ armies joining us,” Robin explained. “The plans count on you joining us.”

Liung took a deep breath through his nose, the sound echoing in the empty room.

“Presumptuous, to already include my army in your plans,” he said.

“I have contingency plans, also,” Robin said with a shrug. “Plans that see the Ylissean forces engaging Walhart’s without aid from any dynasts. They are high risk, high fatality-rate plans though. I would not see lives spent needlessly.”

“You fight a man that is inexorable as the tides,” Liung said. “You fight a man that is immovable as the mountains. He is unshakable. We do not hide behind ranks of warriors, shouting orders from the rear of our armies in Valm, tactician; our leaders stand shoulder to shoulder with their men at the frontlines.”

“As do we,” Robin said proudly. “Prince Chrom and the Feroxi Khans have been at the forefront of this war since the very beginning.”

Liung went quiet again.

“You cannot defeat Walhart through strength of arms alone,” he said softly. “You cannot hope to defeat him at all. You and your army will be swept aside like all others, as will mine if I join with your cause.”

“My lord, a great man once said ‘we must all hang together, or we shall all surely hang separately’.”

Liung barked out a harsh laugh.

“Truer words are rarely spoken,” the lord said, rising and descending, this time coming to rest on the ground level before Robin.

Liung stared into Robin’s eyes, looking for any weakness, any reason to tell him that no alliance would be forged.

“They say that men do not go to hell,” Liung said, finally breaking eye contact. “But they carry their hell with them… Tell me, tactician; how do you feel, holding the lives of so many in the palm of your hands?”

Robin took a breath, unaware he had been holding it as Liung had stared at him, before his thoughts flashed to Gregor’s easy smile.

“It is a terrible burden,” Robin answered truthfully. “I feel every death keenly. Every life lost was a friend, an acquaintance. I know that every man that dies under my tactics leaves behind families that will mourn their passing and hate me for the remainder of their lives. That is my hell, Lord Liung, but I would not pass it to any other; not when I can do so much good, save so many lives and protect so many innocents with my position.”

Liung turned away from Robin, staring into space for a moment.

“Yours is a burden I would not wish on any man,” Liung said sympathetically as he climbed back to his throne.

“Go now. Tell your prince not to leave the city until he hears from me on the morrow. You have given me much to think about, Sir Robin.”

Robin bowed low again, retreating from the chamber as relief flooded him.

*

“Well, that went well,” Chrom said sarcastically as Robin flopped down on the bed opposite his own.

To save on their limited funds the Shepherds had been forced to rent three rooms, with two occupants to a room. Chrom and Robin were in theirs, discussing the meeting. Chrom was trying, anyway; all Robin cared about was resting his aching legs.

“Stairs…” Robin groaned, drawing the word out like a curse.

“Robin, please focus,” Chrom pleaded, sitting on the edge of his own bed.

On the journey to the commercial tier of Chéngshì, the second from the bottom where all the stores and inns were located, Robin had recounted word for word his conversation with Liung, leaving out no detail.

“I think it went quite well,” Robin said, sitting up. “I’d say we’ve got him; he just didn’t want to lose face by accepting straight away.”

A knock at the door revealed Libra, now wearing only his light priests robes rather than the plain steel armour he wore over them for travel and combat.

“Lady Say’ri has suggested we might find someplace to eat dinner before dark,” Libra said, standing in the doorway.

“Good,” Chrom said, rising and putting his sword belt back on. “I’m starving. Are you coming, Robin?”

The tactician shook his head, flopping back down.

“I think I’m just going to relax a little. I’ll eat some of the leftover provisions later.”

Chrom chuckled. “Who are you and what have you done with our Robin?”

Robin groaned, rolling onto his side and presenting his back to the Prince.

“Stairs… so many stairs…” Robin muttered, loud enough that he knew Chrom would hear.

*

The tactician awoke some time later, shooting upright and running a hand through his hair as he yawned wide.

_How long was I out?_ He wondered, realizing it was dark in the room.

Casting a small fire spell that saw a tiny flame floating above his index finger Robin rose, pointing his finger at the oil lamp on the small desk between the two beds and extinguishing his magical flame as the lamp lit itself.

Robin began rummaging around in his pack, moaning when he realized all he had left was a bag of dried fruit and nuts.

_I think Lucina had some jerky left_ , he thought, rising and cramming some nuts into his mouth for good measure. _I’ll just go and pull a Gaius; pilfer it while she’s not here… It’s not stealing if I replace it tomorrow._

The tactician strapped on the belt with his pouch and spellbook, but hesitated when he reached for his coat and rapier.

_Ah bugger it, I’m just going up the hallway_ , he reasoned.

Robin stretched, yawning again as he exited the room and swallowed the mouthful of nuts he had been chewing on, bouncing the bag lightly in his hand as he walked.

He hesitated before barging in to the girls’ room, noticing the flickering light from a lamp coming out from under the door.

Robin knocked, tossing a few more nuts into his mouth for good measure as he waited for someone to answer.

The door cracked open a little, a blue eye with the brand of Ylisse in it staring at Robin a second before Lucina opened the door fully.

“What can I do for you, Robin?” she asked, moving to invite him in.

Robin stepped into the room, glancing around curiously. Lucina was out of her armour, wearing the tight blue clothes she usually wore beneath it. Her long hair was down, too, and judging from the comb in her hand she had been preparing for bed.

“Honestly, I was coming to steal your leftover jerky. But now that I see you’re actually here I feel kinda guilty about it.”

Lucina let out a low chuckle as Robin crossed to the window.

“You’re out of luck,” she said as the tactician stared intently out of the window. “I ate it myself after the others left. We could go down stairs and see if the innkeeper… Robin what are you staring at?”

Robin didn’t answer, currently locked in a battle of wills with the crow perched on the windowsill.

_I will not blink first_ , Robin swore in his head as the large black bird quirked its head at him.

Another thought occurred to Robin as he looked away triumphant, the bird blinking first.

“Hasn’t this thing been following us around all week?” he asked, turning back to Lucina. “Do I really need to bathe that bad it thinks I’m about to drop dead?”

Lucina burst into laughter as Robin turned back to the bird, leaning on the windowsill and staring at it.

“I would say we all need a good bath,” Lucina admitted.

Robin heard a bed creak, the princess no doubt sitting down on it.

His response died in his throat as movement on the street bellow caught his attention; a flash of white armour in the darkness followed by a trail of dark hair rounding the corner.

“Didn’t you say that Say’ri was with your father and the others?” Robin asked suspiciously, opening the window and trying to get a better look.

The crow cawed irritatedly as Robin opened the window, forcing the bird to take flight as he stuck his head out.

“Yes,” Lucina said hesitantly, standing.

“Well she just ducked around the corner there,” Robin said, leaning back into the room.

The crow perched on the awning of the building across from the inn, still watching the tactician and Princess.

_Creepy-ass bird…_ Robin thought irritatedly.

“Perhaps we should investigate,” Lucina suggested, strapping her sword to her hip. “On the farm I thought that I heard her talking to someone at night, but it was dark, and…”

Lucina trailed off, her eyes meeting Robin’s.

“I do not trust her.”

Robin chuckled as he headed for the door.

“Yeah, but you don’t trust anyone,” the tactician said lightly. “Still, it couldn’t hurt to check out what’s up; maybe get some food if it isn’t too late.”

Lucina nodded, following him out onto the landing but hesitating as he went to descend the stairs.

“Shouldn’t you grab your sword?” she asked.

Robin shrugged, patting the pouch on his hip holding his spellbook.

Lucina nodded satisfied, and the duo descended to street level being extra careful not to make any sound as they passed through the inn’s dark lobby. Robin looked around cautiously as they stepped onto the dark street, the light from the paper lanterns hanging at regular intervals along the awnings of buildings and stores not providing a spectacular amount of illumination.

He led Lucina around the corner he had seen Say’ri take, finding it empty save for the crow hopping up and down near the end of the street, cawing softly to them.

“I think the bird wants us to follow it,” Robin said thoughtfully, crossing his arms and eying the animal.

“In the time I have known you I have heard you say some very strange things,” Lucina admitted, shaking her head and following Robin as he started walking again. “But that one tops the list.”

“Hey, eccentricity is part of my charm,” Robin said with a shrug.

When they got closer the bird squawked, taking flight and resting on an awning further up the next street.

“Are we really going to follow it?” Lucina asked, her voice disapproving.

“Hey, his guess is as good as ours,” Robin said, grinning over his shoulder. “Besides, something about it feels almost familiar.”

Lucina sighed and shook her head as they followed the bird at a brisk pace; every time they drew near to it the sleek black creature cawed and flew further away, leading them through the labyrinthine maze of back-streets and alleyways.

Robin rounded yet another corner, beginning to question the validity of his plan to follow a creature probably no more intelligent than Vaike before he drew back, throwing out an arm to stop Lucina and forcing them both back around the corner.

Standing at the end of the alleyway was Say’ri, speaking with a shade in dark stealth gear.

Words were exchanged in the language of Chon’sin, and Robin shook his head.

“I wish I could understand what they’re saying,” Robin said under his breath.

“Then let us ask them,” Lucina answered, her tone dangerous as she walked around the corner, skinning Falchion and resting it on her shoulder.

_About as good at stealth-ops as her father_ , Robin thought rolling his eyes before following her.

“Good evening, Lady Say’ri,” Lucina called, her voice taking on an icy quality. “I do not believe we have been introduced to your friend.”

“Evening,” Robin said in a much lighter tone, offering the woman a light wave.

Say’ri and the other person both froze as they realized they had been caught, Say’ri’s own hand dropping to the hilt of her sword when she saw Falchion glinting in the low moonlight.

“I know how this must look,” Say’ri said quickly. “But you must trust me; we are all in terrible da-”

Her words were cut off as the figure next to her dived to the side, dragging her to the ground. Robin saw flashes of steel passing through where Say’ri had been moments ago before he too dragged Lucina beneath the awning of the building next to them, scanning the rooftops.

“Robin, what…?” Lucina asked, her eyes wide as she scanned the area for enemies.

“It has already started!” the figure that had saved Say’ri shouted; judging from her voice she was a woman not much older than Robin or the others.

More figures wearing dark body-suits dropped from the awnings wielding short swords similar to Say’ri’s and wicked looking scythes attached to weighted chains.

Robin had a split second to take the scene in before chaos broke out, fifteen dark-shrouded forms charging at both him and Lucina and Say’ri and her mysterious saviour.

Lucina leapt forward with Falchion held out, shouting a battle cry as steel met steel, clanging loudly in the quiet night.

The tactician watched as the assassins turned their blades against Lucina, and something inside of him snapped.

Robin’s eyes glowed bright as he gathered mana quicker than he ever had before, electricity dancing on exposed surfaces and along the ground as he cast, more dancing up and down his arms, scorching his shirt in places.

“Don’t know who you guys are,” Robin said, stepping to the side as one of the obvious assassins lunged for him.

“Don’t really care,” Robin added, his hand flying out to grip the assassin’s neck.

Before the assassin could react Robin released the spell he was charging, violently shearing through the assassin’s neck and separating his head from his body with a wet splatter on the wall beside him.

The other assassins, and indeed Lucina, Say’ri and her mysterious saviour, all stopped to stare at Robin, eyes still blazing incandescently in the dark alleyway.

“But you’d best get the hell away from my friends,” Robin growled, gesturing upwards with both hands.

Energy coalesced beneath the feet of all the assassins, before exploding upwards and making a bloody mess out of the twelve that still stood, bits of assassin and stonework flying in all directions.

Frowning, Robin looked around at the destruction he had wrought as the smoke cleared. Dismembered corpses lay strewn about, and the stone alleyway was shattered and broken where his spell had formed.

“That was…” Lucina started, her eyes still wide with disbelief at Robin’s spell as she stared at the tactician.

“Totetsumonai,” Say’ri breathed, looking around the ruined alleyway.

“Messy,” the other woman, for such she had to be with a voice like hers, said as she drew back the hood obscuring her features. “But effective.”

Robin glared at her and Say’ri.

“Explain,” he growled, his voice dropping to an unmistakably threatening tone as he held up his hand, more magical lightning dancing between his fingers. “And do it fast.”

“Sir Robin we have no time,” Say’ri pleaded. “Seiko will find the others and ensure their safety; we must hurry to the palace; Lord Liung’s life is in danger!”

“Then explain as we run,” Robin said, leaning down to retrieve one of the fallen assassin’s swords.

As an afterthought he grabbed a second, realizing they were short enough to wield one in each hand.

The other woman wearing a black cat-suit, Seiko Say’ri had called her, was also taking weapons and quickly and efficiently strapping them to her person.

“I will be like the wind,” the woman promised. “My men and I will protect the Prince and your allies.”

Then with surprising agility she leapt, swinging herself up to the rooftop with her fingertips and was gone, not even creating footsteps as she raced lithely across the roofs.

“Come,” Say’ri urged, weaving through the corpses of the assassins to where Robin and a still awestruck Lucina stood. “We must make haste.”

“Start talking,” Robin ordered as the trio started running.

“There was a planned coup to seize power from Lord Liung, but our arrival made for an opportunity the conspirators could not pass,” Say’ri explained. “They hope to destroy both the leadership of Chéngshì and the Ylissean League in one fell swoop, securing positions high in Walhart’s army. But they were not fully prepared yet; we may still yet prevent this.”

They vaulted the steps two at a time, Robin’s earlier fatigue forgotten as facts began to cloud his mind.

“Then we save Liung and stop the coup, and he’s indebted to us,” Robin said.

“Twas my thinking, sir,” Say’ri said from next to him.

Lucina followed them silently, the only reminder that she was with them her laboured breathing as the trio climbed to the palace.

They reached the palace, all gasping and out of breath, in a fraction of the time it took them earlier in the day. Robin caught sight of the guards he had seen earlier lying face-down near their posts, their weapons not even drawn, while the castle’s gates and main entrance sat wide open.

They raced forward, keeping their eyes peeled at the rooftops as they did so; they spotted no more assassins, but Robin did see the crow following them again, whirling high above the three Shepherds.

_That bird is just getting on my nerves now_ , Robin thought, shaking his head slightly as they passed into the entryway for the castle.

They ran heavily through the hallway, jumping at every shadow in the flickering light from the braziers.

The sounds of battle echoed from the throne room; shouting and the clash of steel on steel.

Robin skidded to a halt at the doorway to the throne room, the massive wooden doors hanging off their hinges. The tactician threw himself backwards as pointed throwing stars flashed by his face, embedding themselves in the doorway next to his head.

“Down!” Robin called, barrelling into the two women and bringing the three of them crashing to the floor as a hail of throwing knives and stars embedded themselves in the doorway.

In the brief second he had actually been in the throne room Robin had managed to catch a glimpse of Liung dancing between a horde of assassins, his sword running red with their blood while corpses piled up around him. He had been wounded, though, and fighting one-handed, clutching the other one close to his side; they had to act fast.

Robin frowned as the three Shepherds climbed back to their feet.

“Okay, this is a bust,” he ground out between clenched teeth, realizing one of the throwing knives had found its target in his shoulder.

Grunting he pulled the knife out and dropped it to the floor disdainfully.

_I say it every time, but I’m never going anywhere without my coat again…_

“Say’ri, go back around the outside and through the side entrance we used today; you’re the only one in armour right now, make us a distraction.”

“I shall not fail you,” she promised, ducking back the way they had come.

Robin experimentally flexed his arm, finding that the pain was bearable.

“So what do we do now?” Lucina asked, kneading the grip on her sword. “Just wait for Say’ri?”

“You could say that,” Robin said, glancing back around the doors as magical fire began burning at his fingertips.

He ducked back a moment, counting to three in his head before he slipped into the throne room, tossing fireballs in the general direction of the assassins; a few managed to return fire with throwing implements, but Robin dove back behind the great door, rolling and coming up beside Lucina’s knees.

“Not fun,” Robin lamented, eyes wide and his heart racing as he registered the new holes in his shirt from near misses.

Lucina chuckled a little as she leaned out to take a look, ducking back quickly as more throwing stars zoomed by.

“At least you managed to distract the ones attacking Liung,” she said, grinning a little as Robin hefted his borrowed sword, preparing to charge out at Say’ri’s distraction.

As if knowing they were prepared in advance Say’ri screamed a harsh battle cry and the sounds of fighting intensified.

“That would be our cue,” Robin said, charging around the corner with Lucina in tow, swords held ready.

Robin sprinted, swords held out from his body as he charged, shouting wordlessly and ignoring the projectiles flying by him.

Then he was in amongst the assassins, striking high and fast with both swords as Lucina plowed into the press beside him. Robin utilized his superior strength and doubled weapons, holding an assassin’s blade away from his body and lunging with his second short sword. The mad dropped as Robin spun, flicking a trail of viscera on the carefully mosaicked tiles of the throne room as he cut through the stomach of another assassin with both blades. Robin continued his spin, striking high with a kick that Lon’qu had taught him, flipping over his leg and burying his sword in the chest of a fourth assassin.

Lucina was carving a trail of destruction next to him; less acrobatically but no less devastatingly; fighting with her father’s brutal style she kicked out at knees and headbutted every opportunity she got, throwing Falchion’s bulk and heavier weight around, clearing space around her and Robin.

His heart sped up as he realized they were winning, battle euphoria taking hold as he and Lucina fought back to back, whirling and spinning like they had trained at it their entire lives.

Lucina ducked low and Robin spun, striking above her head and slicing deep into an assassin’s throat; Robin slid on his knees, freeing Lucina’s aim to run another shrouded man through the chest oh her long sword.

Finally they stood next to each other, covered in blood and breathing heavily, surrounded by the bodies of the assassins. Robin looked up, seeing Liung spin gracefully and decapitate the last assassin, the head bouncing and rolling to a stop near Say’ri’s feet.

“Now we really need baths,” Robin muttered, making Lucina grin and laugh tiredly.

There was a freedom to the Lucina that Robin only saw in battle; when all the walls came down and she was truly herself as her attention focused solely on the foes before her. Her laughter at that point was intoxicating to Robin.

The tactician’s musings were cut short when Liung roared; frustratedly hacking again at the body of the would-be assassin he had just killed.

“This outrage will not stand!” the man roared. “I will ram Walhart’s head on a pike and display it from my city’s gates!”

“I am glad you are unharmed, Lord,” Say’ri said, flicking her blade clean and sheathing it.

Liung glanced up at her, his gaze travelling to Robin and Lucina. All four of them were coated in blood, and his throne room was a disaster.

“Your timing was impeccable,” he said to Robin, calming a little.

“It’s kind of what we do,” Robin said with a tired shrug.

“I was going to tell you that there would be no alliance,” Liung admitted, glaring balefully at the corpses littered around his throne room. “But now I must answer this transgression with force. Chéngshì marches with you and your Prince, Sir Robin.”

“That’s just too bad, Lord Liung,” a new voice said mockingly. “After all, you know what we do with traitors…”

The four warriors spun to face Liung’s throne, upon which was perched a portly, toad faced man with a mop greasy purple hair, grinning down at the group as he reclined on the gilded seat.

“How dare you…” Liung whispered, outraged.

“Excellus,” Say’ri spat. “I will kill you with my bare hands, toad!”

The man, Excellus, laughed a high-pitched cackle, sitting up in the throne and waving a hand dismissively.

“How dare I?” he asked, his voice like nails on a chalkboard. “It is you that betrayed our Empire, Liung; and after I came all this way to… rescue you.”

Excellus said the last part softly, grinning down at Liung and licking his fat lips with delight.

“Oh how Emperor Walhart will be disappointed with you,” Excellus went on, standing and sauntering to the edge of the raised dais. “And we both know what he does with disappointments, do we not?”

Liung roared with outrage, charging forward with his sword held high.

There was a flash, and suddenly Excellus was behind Say’ri, a dagger pressed to the side of her throat.

“And you, Princess,” the fat man purred. “How will your brother react when I tell him that his traitorous bitch of a sister turned on one of his oldest friends and allies, hrm?”

Say’ri grimaced, trembling with rage.

“I will end you, Excellus,” she growled dangerously.

“Why not simply fall on your own sword?” Excellus asked mockingly, suddenly across the room again. “That is what your disgraced warriors do, yes?”

Say’ri roared wordlessly, brandishing her sword and making to charge at Excellus. She stopped short, though, as he raised his hands, powerful magic crackling at the end of his fingertips.

“Ah-ah-ah!” the man chided. “Let’s not have any of that now, hrm? I promise to make your ends quick and painless as long as you just-”

The rest of his sentence was cut off when a black shape dropped from the ceiling and landed on Excellus’ face.

“Argh! What the!? Get it off!” the toad of a man screamed, his voice shrill as the crow that had been following the Shepherds tore at his face with beak and talons.

With a wordless shriek Excellus slapped the bird away hard, the crow flying across the throne room before landing in a heap of feathers and lying still.

Robin didn’t waste the opportunity, throwing one of his short swords the way Cordelia had taught him to throw a javelin. Excellus’ face went pale, and his disappeared just as the sword pierced where his head had been a moment ago.

“Damn you, craven!” Liung shouted. “Come and die like a man!”

“Do not waste your breath, Lord,” Say’ri instructed, glaring at where Excellus had just been. “He is long gone.”

“How does he do that?” Lucina asked. “I have never seen anyone or anything move like that before.”

“He wears an ancient ring, imbued with old magic,” Say’ri explained, sheathing her sword.

“Who is he?” Robin asked, crossing the room to kneel by the crow.

The bird cawed weakly as Robin gently picked it up, holding it close to his chest.

“He is Walhart’s chief tactician,” Say’ri answered, watching Robin curiously.

“What are you going to do with it?” she asked as he cradled the bird. “T’would be a mercy to the creature to put it out of its pain.”

“It rescued us,” Robin said, looking up sharply and frowning. “If it can hold on, I’m going to see if Libra can heal it.”

Liung chuckled. “Such devotion to your allies speaks well of you, tactician. Go to your healer. Princess Say’ri and I will discuss the movement of my armies.”

Robin bowed low, careful not to move the wounded crow too much.

“Thank you, Lord Liung. I’ll send Prince Chrom to join you as soon as I see him.”

*

Libra leaned over the bird, brushing a lock of golden hair behind his ear as it fell free.

“I have never used my magic on a beast before,” he admitted, looking back up to Robin.

The tactician leaned against the wall in the room he shared with Chrom, arms crossed and watching the monk’s progress. With them were Chrom, Lon’qu, Lucina, Say’ri’s spy Seiko and four of her men. To say it was crowded would have been an understatement.

“I would still like you to try,” Robin asked gently. “It saved our lives. It deserves our aid, at the very least.”

“It’s a bird, Robin,” Chrom said gently.

“He is right, Father,” Lucina said from her spot perched on the corner of Robin’s bed. “The bird did save our lives.”

Libra sighed.

“I will do my best, but I make no promises.”

The monk began casting, and with a bright flash of blue-white light the spell finished.

Robin held his breath, watching for any change in the creature’s laboured breathing.

With a loud squawk the crow hopped up, rustling its feathers and looking around before taking flight and perching on Robin’s shoulder, nestling up against his neck and jaw.

“Well, it looks like someone’s made a new friend,” Chrom laughed.

Robin rolled his eyes.

“If it craps on my coat, _I’ll_ kill it,” he said, glaring at the large black bird out of the corner of his eye.

Libra chuckled as he rose.

“I think after all the excitement of this evening I shall take rest,” he said quietly. “Good night, my friends.”

Libra left and Lon’qu stood, rolling his shoulders out a little.

“I will take first watch,” Lon’qu said stiffly before following the monk out of the room.

“My men are already on the lookout, Sir Lon’qu,” Seiko called after him.

Robin heard the stoic swordsman huff as he took up a position on the landing, not trusting anyone else to watch over his friends.

Robin glanced at the spy in the corner, no longer surrounded by her men; in fact, the four other spies had all disappeared.

“I would like to point out that it’s really creepy how you guys do that,” Robin said to Seiko.

The woman chuckled a little as Chrom stood, stretching out his back before strapping his Falchion back to his waist.

“I am going to go to the palace and see that Say’ri and Liung aren’t making plans behind my back. Will you be okay here, Robin?”

Robin nodded, waving dismissively at the Price as he glared at the bird out of the corner of his eye.

_You’d best not get comfy; I am not a horse_ , the tactician thought as the bird ruffled its feathers again before nestling deeper into his shoulder.

Seiko fell into step with the Prince as he walked to the door.

“It would be my honour to accompany you, Prince Chrom,” she said softly, tugging her hood back into place as they exited the room, leaving Robin alone with Lucina.

From the tale Chrom had told while Libra was fetching his staff they had had a much easier time with the assassination attempt than his group had; Seiko and her men had arrived very soon after the attack began, carrying the Shepherds’ weapons and turned the tide against the assassins. It had almost been boring to hear Chrom speak of so mundane an encounter.

Robin absently ran a hand through his hair, thinking about the spells he had used in the alleyway.

They had both been variations on a standard Arcthunder spell, but Robin had twisted the spells and overpowered them, turning them into a destructive force he hadn’t meant to. But when he saw Lucina and Say’ri being threatened he had lost control momentarily, and something darker had been brought to the fore.

His thoughts were interrupted when he realized Lucina was still sitting on his bed, staring at him.

“Oh, sorry Princess,” Robin said, perking up quickly. “Did you need something else?”

Lucina jerked slightly, realizing she was still sitting on Robin’s bed.

“N-no,” she said quickly, rising to her feet and making for the exit.

Hesitating at the door Lucina turned, looking back at Robin as he reached up and stroked the crow’s neck.

“Earlier tonight,” she said hesitantly.

Robin glanced over at her as she stalled again, looking away from him.

“Earlier tonight, you said I didn’t trust anyone,” she said quickly. “That’s not true. I trust you.”

Then she was gone, closing the door quickly behind her.

The crow cawed quietly, and Robin nodded.

“You can say that again,” he muttered. “That girl needs to learn how to express herself.”

Robin stood, stretching and yawning; it was beginning to get really late.

“Go sleep on the headboard,” Robin said to the bird, who dutifully flapped his way over to the end of the bed.

_I think I could get to like this bird_ , Robin thought absently as he pulled his ruined shirt off, wiggling a finger through one of the many holes in it.

With a sigh he tossed the garment onto his pack in the corner; he would have to find a new one in the morning, but right now his thoughts were scattered and confused by the evening’s events.

The thought that kept coming back to him was the image of Lucina’s blood-smeared face, smiling at him as she panted after their fight in the throne room. He had never seen her look so alive; so vibrant.

Robin shook his head, giving himself a light slap on the side of his head for good measure.

_She’s Chrom’s daughter_ , he thought stubbornly. _Bad train of thought. Bad!_

He couldn’t deny his attraction, though, for such he recognized it as now. She was a bright and vibrant woman when her barriers dropped, and he couldn’t help but want to see more of her like that.

Or more of her, period, he thought, recalling the way that the tight clothes she wore beneath her armour hugged her slim figure, accentuating her curves perfectly…

“Waugh!” Robin yelped, blushing and slapping the side of his head much harder this time. “No! Bad brain! Behave yourself!”

The crow cawed softly from his headboard, sounding irritated.

Robin shook his head again, beginning to clean himself with the tub of water and rag that the innkeeper had been kind enough to provide him with.

She was his best friend’s daughter, not to mention from a completely different time period. Nothing could happen, end of story.

_Thank the gods that this water is cold…_ Robin thought, splashing some of the icy liquid on his face and shivering. _I may need to go and just jump into a lake at this rate._

Robin stared at his reflection in the tub of water as ripples on the surface distorted it, brushing the strands of hair away from his face.

“I really, really need a haircut,” he moaned, falling backwards into the chair behind him.


	28. Chapter 28

The trek back to Valm Harbour had been uneventful; Chrom and Robin had joked around the entire time, and it had seemingly passed much quicker as spirits were high from their success. Liung's army would assemble in the forest near their next destination, an important shrine to Naga called the Mila Tree that Say'ri insisted they liberate before starting the campaign proper.

"It would demoralize the Imperial forces," she had explained, "As well as increasing morale among our own, and acting as a further bargaining chip to ensure to cooperation of the other dynasts."

So Chrom had acquiesced, and Robin had begun thinking up some very preliminary tactics in his head.

Even better, with all the reinforcements Liung had provided, a staggering hundred and fifty thousand men-at-arms, Robin didn't feel nearly as bad about leaving a garrison force behind to hold the port town.

_Where the hell was he hiding all of those men, anyway?_ Robin wondered, swatting the crow away from his ear.

Robin smiled contentedly to himself as the group of Shepherds climbed back onto the road outside Valm Harbour; another few hours and he could rest in the comfort of his own bed.

_I wonder if Seiko beat us there already_ , Robin thought absently, looking at the length of the walls.

Say'ri had come clean about her spy network after the failed coup, the leader of which was Seiko. The talkative woman was the exact opposite of Say'ri; Seiko was bubbly and chatty, admittedly strange qualities for a master spy, and while she had travelled part of the way with the Shepherds they had talked at length about her duties as chief spy. Robin liked her, but that wasn't saying much; he liked everyone.

The crow cawed loudly in his ear, the bird reminding him of its presence.

"What?" Robin asked frustratedly. "If you're hungry go and eat something; I'm not feeding you any more, you already ate all of my jerky yesterday!"

The bird nipped lightly at Robin's ear, a sign of affection apparently, before taking to the sky and diving into the trees. It never went far, though, and always returned after a short period of time. He had considered calling it 'Tharja Jr' for a time, considering all the times he had tried to scare it off, but decided against it, mostly because the bird's aura was one of a male.

Robin looked up as Chrom chuckled from next to him.

"And here's me having used up all my pirate jokes on the voyage," the Prince said with a grin.

Robin rolled his eyes.

"You just wait until I have something to rub your nose in," the tactician warned. "Just wait… I shall be relentless."

Robin paused a moment, musing that Valm Harbour looked just as they had left it as they approached the high walls. The only difference now was the Ylissean and Feroxi soldiers manning them. The gates creaked open as the six Shepherds approached, and the crow took to the air again.

Robin took his eyes off the gates for all of two seconds to watch the bird; in that time he found himself firmly planted on his rear, Morgan wrapped around his chest.

"Daaaaaaaaaaad!" she squealed with delight, gripping him even tighter. "When'd you get a new shirt?"

Robin gasped, finally regaining the use of his lungs as he pushed his daughter off.

_Grip like a vice, that girl…_ Robin thought, regaining his feet as Frederick strode out to meet them.

"Tactician Morgan, please show adequate decorum for one of your station," Frederick said exasperatedly.

Morgan blew the Knight-Commander a raspberry before turning back to her father.

"I kept everything running smoothly while you were gone," she said quickly as the group, all chuckling at the girl's overexcitedness, walked into the city, heading in the direction of the inn near the harbour. "I got all the paperwork done, I got the troop rosters finished and approved, I-"

"Okay, okay," Robin said, clamping a hand on his daughter's mouth. "You can give me your full reports during the mission debrief. But the town hasn't burned down, and Frederick hasn't torn out his hair in frustration; I'm proud of you, Morgan. You did a good job."

Morgan stopped dead, her eyes lighting up as tears began to gather in their corners.

"I'm so happy you're back!" she shouted, throwing herself around Robin again in another bone-crushing hug.

"Oh _gods_!" Robin groaned, surprised he had managed to get enough air into his lungs for that. "Morgan, please! I was only gone for two weeks! You're going to crack my ribs!"

The girl's grip slackened and she glanced up as the crow perched on his shoulder again.

The bird leaned forward, cawing loudly in her face, almost as if it were claiming Robin as its territory.

Morgan glared back, her grip around Robin's chest tightening reflexively.

Both the girl and the bird jumped as Chrom clapped Robin on the back, laughing heartily.

"You've got quite the fan-club going on," the Prince joked.

Robin grinned over his daughter's head.

"Oh I can't wait until Sumia catches your scent."

*

Robin chuckled into his hand as Sumia clung to Chrom's chest in much the same way Morgan had clung to his; much to his disappointment, though, she hadn't bowled the prince off his feet like Morgan had for him.

"Alright, dear," Chrom said, rubbing her back gently and smiling. "I was only gone two weeks."

The others had all drifted off at some point during the walk through the city; Olivia was one of the few staying on the _Dragon's Claw_ , so no doubt Libra would be beelining for the vessel; while Lon'qu, having to always play it so cool, had slunk of with Say'ri, no doubt to take the circuitous route back to the inn and slip in the back door.

Say'ri had said she would be returning to the dwelling she was using in the city, a safe house utilized by her network of spies, leaving Robin, Chrom and Lucina standing in the lobby of the inn with a hysterical Sumia and Morgan still staring balefully at the crow perched on her father's shoulder.

The crow let out a soft caw as it suddenly flew out the open door, right past Morgan's head; the girl flinched and ducked, and Robin had no doubt she was debating casting some form of curse she'd learned from Tharja since he was gone.

_Speak of the devil_ … Robin thought as Tharja walked in through the door, Henry at her heels and the crow perched on her hand.

"Welcome back," she said to Robin, completely ignoring everyone else in the room.

"Thanks," Robin said. "I see you've met my new friend."

Tharja chuckled a little as Henry walked past her, waving a cheerful hello to Chrom and the other three women in the room before he disappeared up the staircase to one side of the room.

"Of course I've met him," she said stroking the back of the bird's head. "I sent him to keep an eye on you. Didn't I, Huginn?"

_That explains the familiar resonance,_ Robin thought, snapping his fingers as the final pieces of the puzzle fell into place. _And why it was so possessive of me._

Robin stopped for a moment, his brain catching up with his thought process as he translated the word Tharja had said.

_She named it 'thought'?_

"So Henry's teaching you bad habits now?" Robin asked slyly, watching the Dark Mage become flustered and blush.

They walked to the small sitting room at the back of the lobby as Chrom, Lucina and Sumia made plans to eat lunch together. Morgan followed, still staring at the bird.

"Perhaps," she said, not meeting Robin's eyes.

Robin glanced over at Chrom and his family intending to say goodbye, but his eyes caught Lucina's and the farewell was lost on his tongue as she looked away, blushing a little.

Huginn cawed from Tharja's hand.

"Oh shush, you," she snapped at the bird.

The tactician burst into laughter as he and Tharja sat on the low sofas at one end of the room, a low table between them.

"I'll get us all something to drink," Morgan suggested with a small smile, her look dropping as she turned to cast a glare at the bird again before she turned around.

Morgan stopped as a fourth figure posed dashingly in the doorway to the room, a basket with a tea-set inside of it in one hand as the other swept the long hair away from his face.

"Please, dearest Morgan," Virion said, his teeth practically glinting as he smiled at the assembled group, "Allow me, noblest Virion, to prepare your fine party some tea."

Tharja rolled her eyes as Robin burst out laughing.

"It's just like old times now, eh?" Robin asked as his laughter subsided.

"Perhaps not exactly," Cherche said, walking into the room behind the archer.

Morgan grinned at the other woman as she sat down next to her father, bouncing up and down with excitement.

"Show him the ring! Show him the ring!"

Cherche blushed and held out her hand, displaying an engagement ring that no doubt cost more than the _Dragon's Claw_.

Robin was speechless as Cherche sat next to Tharja, Virion pulling up a chair and perching at the head of the table, grinning at Robin.

His eyes flicked between Virion and Cherche a few times, the tactician lost for words.

"Uh…" Robin mumbled, before breaking out into a happy smile as his brain caught up.

"Congratulations," he said finally.

"Yes, it is such a loss to all the precious flowers of the world," Virion said with dramatic flair as he began pouring the tea. "But I have chosen to limit myself to a single garden for the remainder of my days."

Tharja's crow cawed loudly, taking flight and disappearing out the window.

Robin chuckled at the three surprised faces around the table, his eyes meeting Tharja's and sharing a grin with her as he lifted his cup.

"You get used to the bird. I can't help but feel this is all a bit sudden, though," Robin said as way of conversation.

"Virion and I have actually known each other a very long time," Cherche said. "I was one of his vassals during his rule in Rosanne, you see."

"She tried to deny her love, but alack, once the archest of archers sets his sights on a woman there is little she can do but accept his warm and gentle embrace!" Virion recited, leaning back and stirring his tea.

"I pity you," Tharja said, returning to her usual cold tone as she spoke to Cherche. "If he ever does something just say the word and I'll have him hexed to the point he can't tell up from down."

Cherche giggled as Virion's face dropped and became pale.

"Thank you my dear," Cherche said pleasantly. "But I've already promised that particular duty to Minerva."

Tharja shrugged, sipping from her tea.

"We sure do have a lot of scary ladies in our lives," Robin muttered sympathetically to Virion as the three women at the low table began to discuss the feeding habits of a wyvern Minerva's size.

The archer nodded, brushing back a stray lock of silver-blue hair as Cherche laughed at something Morgan said.

"Of course Minerva could eat something the size of a full-grown man," she said with an easy smile.

"That gives me… ideas…" Tharja said with a particularly evil grin.

Robin and Virion shared a pale glance before both sighing in unison. The tactician reached over and clapped the archer on the shoulder.

"That over-grown lizard will be the death of me," the archer muttered worriedly.

Robin snorted with barely contained laughter a second before Virion joined him.

*

Robin sighed, his chin resting on his hand while his other one drummed idly on the small table in front of him. Morgan had returned with Frederick to the command post, to go over the new troop rosters with Chrom and make sure he was okay with them. The pile of paperwork Robin was supposed to be working on went ignored as his mind wandered.

_At least I don't have to worry about getting my ass kicked rescuing him from bar-room brawls any more…_

The surprising news about Virion and Cherche, while definitely not a bad thing, had him doing something he had never done before.

He was dwelling on his future.

_Never really thought about it_ , Robin said in his head. _I was always more hung up about not having a past. But I don't really need one to have a future, do I?_

He sighed, running a hand through his increasingly frustratingly-lengthed hair.

_What do I do after this war, anyway?_ Robin continued. _I mean, Lucina said I was supposed to join the military officially, but I'd really rather not. I don't regret gallivanting around the continent with Tharja and Virion, not in the slightest, but…_

Robin groaned, realizing he had been chewing the end of his pen again and setting it down before he ruined it.

_Why am I thinking about this now?_ He wondered silently.

" _Well, that's an easy question to answer,"_ his subconscious said to him.

_What did Virion put in that tea? I'm not about to open a dialogue inside my head._

" _Sure you are,"_ his mind assured him flippantly. _"Because one; it's the best way to get intelligent conversation and two; I know the answer to the question you just asked."_

_Alright, I'll bite. What's the answer?_

" _Simple,"_ he said to himself. _"You're imagining a future with a certain blue-haired Princess."_

Robin groaned, his head thumping the table as he fell forward.

_I should have just told you to shut up._

" _But I'm right, aren't I?"_ his interior voice pressed, sounding insufferably pleased with itself.

_Any thoughts I have are just a perverted fantasy_ , Robin told himself sternly. _Not only because she has her heart set on returning to her own timeline at the end of this whole Grima-apocalypse crap, but for the love of gods she's my best friend's daughter! Chrom's been so kind to me; it would gut him if I did anything with his daughter… And he would then proceed to gut me. Literally. With the big sword he carries around everywhere. Like a fish._

" _So why the fantasies?"_

_I'm only human,_ Robin thought truthfully, groaning as he rose and stretched his back. _You'd have to be dead not to be attracted to her. But… nothing can happen. Ever._

" _But you love her."_

… _I do_ , Robin admitted to himself. _I really do. But nothing can ever happen between us._

" _Well then you, good sir, are utterly screwed."_

"Gee," Robin groaned sarcastically as he pulled on his coat. "Thanks."

" _Where're we going?"_

"Don't know, don't care, but sitting in my room alone is making me begin to question my own sanity. We… dammit, _I_ need a distraction."

" _Don't start doing that,"_ the internal voice said with a light chuckle. _"It'll drive you nuts."_

"Oh gods, do I ever shut up?" Robin muttered as he closed his door softly, heading for the stairs.

*

Robin sighed, leaning against the railing above the harbour again, letting the wind run through his hair.

Thankfully his interior voice had grown silent of late.

_I don't think I'm going to join the others for dinner_ , Robin thought with a sigh. _Too much going on in my head right now… We're supposed to be marching tomorrow, and I'd really like to do so with a clear head._

Robin glanced at the _Dragon's Claw_ , floating alone and monolithic off in its own little corner of the harbour, and once again his thoughts turned to Gregor.

Despite his promises, despite his efforts, he still blamed himself for the older man's death, and staring at the ship just reminded him about it. He'd agonized over it every day since, and had simply hid the fact from everyone.

If he had just made a better plan… thought ahead to the speed of the boats… thought more coherently about the strengths of the Valmese soldiers versus the Shepherds… Instead, he'd been caught up in the excitement of playing pirate; he'd taken his eye off of the big picture and he'd paid for it in blood with the life of a friend, and he would never be able to forgive himself.

_Dammit, Gregor_ , Robin groaned in his head. _I know I didn't listen to your advice often, but I could sure as hell use some now…_

Robin ran a hand through his hair, trying in vain to dispel such thoughts. They were officially marching back into battle tomorrow. It wouldn't do anyone any good if the tactician got cold feet.

A strand of Robin's long brown hair escaped its position behind his ear in a particularly strong gust of wind, reminding Robin what he had travelled down to the docks for.

He had initially thought to finally go and ask Olivia to cut his hair, but the breeze was too good to pass up. The harbour had grown quiet again, and without the large Plegian ships taking up space the local fishing and charter boats had returned. Life went on, as it always did, war or not.

He watched some fishermen unloading their cargo from a day's hard work, sweating and hauling nets full of fresh fish up the harbour to where the evening market merchants' apprentices were waiting for their pick.

Robin had to supress a grin as a squabble broke out between two of the younger apprentices over a particularly large tuna.

_Is that what Morgan is now?_ Robin wondered idly. _Is she my apprentice? She sure acts like it; and she'd probably have an aneurism from happiness-overload if I made it official…_

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of wooden sandals on the stone walkway behind him.

Turning, Robin beheld Say'ri in her casual clothes for the first time. They were similar to the disguise she had been wearing during their first meeting; she had called the outfit a 'kimono', if memory served; although this one was of a markedly higher quality, and had a much more regal air to it. The dark purple fabric was decorated with bright flowers, and Robin had to force his eyes not to linger on the way it outlined her figure.

However, Robin being who he was, he couldn't resist teasing her.

"Nice bathrobe," he said lightly, turning back to leaning on the railing.

Say'ri laughed lightly as she joined him.

"Fie, tactician," she said. "I know for a fact we have spoken of the traditional garments of my homeland."

"Yeah," Robin said cheekily. "But it's fun to tease everyone in the Shepherds."

"So I am a Shepherd now?" Say'ri asked curiously. "I do not have to go through an initiation? A rite of passage?"

"Are you kidding?" Robin laughed. "Chrom found me passed out in a field and asked me to join after our second battle! Just about everyone in the Shepherds right now kinda got sucked in accidentally; just like you did."

Say'ri grinned for a moment.

"Then I accept this prestigious honour," she said solemnly, still grinning.

They stood in silence a while after that, Robin simply watching the monotony of daily life in the harbour town with his mind blank.

Say'ri sighed contentedly as the ocean breeze washed over them, the scent of fish and salt almost overpowering. Robin found that he didn't mind, though; he was too busy watching the woman next to him relax for the first time since he had met her.

_Okay, her I don't feel guilty over being attracted to_ , Robin thought as he watched the woman out of the corner of his eye as she brushed a lock of hair out of her face, smiling lightly as she looked out over the water.

"Tell me, Sir Robin," Say'ri asked, breaking his train of thought with a light hand on his elbow. "Have you taken supper yet?"

Robin started, realizing the sun was beginning to go down over the ocean, the sky having turned a deep shade of orange.

"I have not," Robin admitted. In fact, all he had eaten was the cold breakfast they had had while hiking, and then the tea Virion had served around noon.

"Perhaps you would wish to dine with me?" Say'ri offered. "I am eating traditional foods of my homeland tonight, prepared by a master chef to celebrate our success in Chengshi."

Robin felt his stomach tighten at the mere mention of food, his mind made up instantly.

_That would solve the whole problem of me wanting to eat away from the others and…_

"Alright, but on one condition," he said, pushing himself up and doing a little turn, forcing himself not to think about princesses. "You promise to stop calling me sir; I renounced my military commission years ago, despite how Chrom seems to keep piling work at my feet."

Say'ri laughed, a warm pleasant sound Robin found himself enjoying a little more than he probably should have.

"Very well, Robin," she said with a mock bow. "I shall endeavour to treat you with the same disrespect you show to everyone else."

"See? That's all I ask," Robin replied with a grin as he played along, spreading his hands out in front of him.

Say'ri, still smiling, led the tactician back towards the shrine she had taken him to before their journey to Chengshi; at least he assumed that was the direction she was leading him. His sense of direction in cramped backstreets had never been particularly good; even in Ylisstol, where he had spent a good portion of his time between travels, he still occasionally got lost.

"We have arrived," Say'ri announced, stopping in front of a random door and knocking on it three times.

Robin looked around. The door looked exactly like every other one on the street; obviously Say'ri was much better with city navigation than Robin was…

The door slid to one side, revealing Seiko in a kimono similar to Say'ri's, her long dark hair tied up in a tight bun.

"Good evening, Lady Say'ri," she said, her eyes resting on Robin. "And good evening to you, Lord Tactician Robin."

"It's just Robin," the tactician said with a sigh as Say'ri led him into a small entryway, Seiko closing the door quietly behind them.

"You will need to remove your boots here," Say'ri announced, kicking off her own sandals and stepping up onto a raised wooden floor.

Robin shrugged and did as he was told, struggling a moment before managing to pry his boots off.

"I apologize if my feet stink," he mumbled, blushing a little as he handed his coat to a waiting Seiko.

Seiko made a show of leaning forward and sniffing a little over his shoulder.

"Do not worry, Robin-chan," she said with a light grin as she brushed by him and Say'ri, disappearing back into the hallway beyond the entrance. "You are fine."

Say'ri shook her head, motioning Robin to follow her.

She led him down a wooden-floored hallway and into a room with what looked like straw thatching for a floor. Say'ri didn't hesitate to step onto it, so Robin assumed it would hold his weight and followed, feeling his feet sink into the soft material before hitting wood beneath.

_I honestly don't know what I was worried about…_

The room itself was empty; plain panelled, paper-covered walls surrounding him as Say'ri closed the door behind him.

She crossed the room, and with a swish of her kimono she opened the sliding doors, revealing a small and exotic walled garden, the likes of which Robin had never seen before. Small bushes were surrounded by small, carefully levelled white stones. A small fountain sat in one corner of the yard, water running down the wall in a light cascade between thin looking trees.

"Place seems a little ostentatious for a safe-house," Robin pointed out as she sat down next to him, again perching with her legs folded beneath her.

Robin decided that he wasn't willing to endure the pain, and simply sat cross-legged as they watched the shadows in the garden slowly grow longer.

"Our war for liberation spilled over long ago," she explained sadly. "Many of the citizens of Chon'sin that disagreed with my br… with Yen'fay's decision to ally with Walhart left, making homes for themselves elsewhere. Most of those people have been kind enough to offer them to our cause."

Robin nodded, not knowing how to respond.

"But fie, we are not here to speak of the war tonight," Say'ri said, turning to the tactician and lightly touching his arm.

"I trust that your reunion with your apprentice was a happy one?" she asked in an obvious attempt to steer the conversation a new direction.

_Oh crap,_ Robin thought, shock setting in. _We never explained the whole time travel thing to her. Er… now may not be the best time, though… I'll do it… after dinner? Yeah, after dinner._

"Yeah," Robin said, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. "Although my ribs still hurt. She gets… a little overexcited."

Say'ri chuckled. "Many apprentices grow strong bonds with their masters in Chon'sin, too; though ours is a more reserved culture, not as prone to displays of affection the likes of which I have seen from your Shepherds."

"We're very free with the love," Robin joked with a lopsided grin.

Say'ri smiled, but her response was cut off when a sliding door on the side of the room opened, admitting Seiko and another woman, both holding trays of strange looking food.

_Okay, be cool Robin_ , he said to himself. _I'm sure it's not all going to be raw. Oh gods I hope it's not all raw…_

*

"You know what's awesome? This saké," Robin slurred, sloshing the small saké cup around. "So was dinner. Your whole homeland is awesome… everything about it. How else could someone as awesome as you come out of it?"

Dinner had been surprisingly good. There had been no uncooked fish, but noodles and fried chicken and all kinds of other goodies Robin had no idea what they were. He thought there had been shellfish in there at one point, but he was horrible with identifying exotic foods.

They had talked at length of Chon'sin, which Say'ri had seemed to enjoy; Robin was enthralled by the idea of a land so different to the ones he had seen, so he had enjoyed himself immensely. They had spent most of the evening smiling and laughing, and that was before the saké had started flowing.

"Awesome…" Robin muttered, swaying before catching himself in an attempt to not spill his cup.

_This saké stuff really sneaks up on you, doesn't it?_ Robin thought, draining the rest of the small cup.

"Your kind words mean much to me, Robin," Say'ri admitted.

Her cheeks had been rosy ever since the rice-wine had started flowing, but with her inhibitions cut because of the alcohol Robin could swear he was watching the woman blush at his compliment.

"I'm serious," Robin slurred. "You're going to have to take me one day. I've gotta see the… the… the home of this much _awesome_!"

Say'ri burst into laughter, attempting to stifle it with her hand and failing miserably.

"What?" Robin asked, reaching for the short saké bottle, torn between enjoying the sound and feeling offended. "I was being serious!"

"I think perhaps you have had enough of that," Say'ri said as he poured them both another cup.

"No such thing," Robin muttered, raising his cup.

"To new friends from awesome places!" he toasted.

"To new friends," Say'ri echoed, before sighing wistfully.

"I wish you could see Chon'sin right now," she said, her voice taking on a far-away quality. "The cherry-blossom trees would be blooming at this time of year… they bloom but briefly once a year, and it has been many years since I have been home to see it."

"Sounds beautiful," Robin muttered, looking out into the garden and watching the water from the fountain trickle down the wall. "I bet that would be a great memory to add to the tiny little… little, ah… group. Of memories I have. Because I don't have many."

_Damn this wine…_ Robin thought, casting a baleful glance at the bottle.

"Oh, fie Robin," Say'ri said quickly. "I did not mean to remind you of your own predicament!"

Robin chuckled as he leaned back, gently swirling the clear alcohol in his cup and watching it spin as he rested his weight on his other hand.

"Don't worry about it," he said, fascinated by the saké. "Home isn't one place for me; home is where the rump rests."

"Tis a good philosophy to have," Say'ri chuckled before growing sombre. "Of late I find that my mind lingers on thoughts of my homeland…"

"Was it my constant questions that brought this homesickness on?" Robin asked apologetically, head spinning with drunken guilt. "Because I was just curious… I didn't mean to upset you."

"No, no. It's quite all right. Better than all right, in fact... Because in looking to the past, I've found my way forward..." Say'ri said, growing quiet.

"Well, I aim to please," Robin chuckled, letting himself fall backwards onto the floor with a dull thump. "Let me know if there's any other way I can help. You may have to wait for me to sober up, though…"

Say'ri smiled at his offer.

"Thank you, Robin," she said. "It is a fine change, dealing with people as open about their emotions as you and your comrades. My people are very… proper. They are very cold, and do not often express their true feelings. It is refreshing to see the other cultures of this world do not share this failing."

"It can't be a failing if it produced someone awesome like you," Robin said truthfully, staring upwards as the room swam before him.

_Okay, I regret that last cup_ , he thought ruefully. _And I regret using the word awesome so many times tonight… Curse you, drunken-Robin-speak!_

"Besides, people like me, we've got a lot of love to give," he added in a low mumble, closing his eyes contentedly.

"Tis one of the things I love about you," Say'ri muttered.

Robin registered the sound of movement to his side before something soft and warm was pressed to his lips. It took his drunken brain a second to realize they were another set of lips, and that Say'ri was kissing him.

_Holy shit!_ He cried in his mind. _I… what… where did this come from!?_

Robin realized with a start that he had begun kissing her back as Say'ri's hands came to rest on his shoulders.

_Well… why am I freaking out about this?_ He rationalized. _This isn't a bad thing; I'm allowed to be with Say'ri aren't I? I really like her, and… gah! It's getting so hard to think straight right now!_

Without breaking their kiss Say'ri laid herself against Robin, and the tactician could feel the heat of her body through the thin kimono she was wearing.

Robin let out a startled grunt as his shirt was torn open and pulled off.

_I like Say'ri… so why do I feel guilty about this?_

Say'ri let out a small gasp as Robin broke their kiss, moving his lips down Say'ri's neck to her collarbone. He found his hands travelling further down her back of their own accord.

One of Robin's hands began to travel up Say'ri's toned thigh, making the woman gasp again as he slipped it around to her rear.

_I don't feel guilty about this…_

The tactician moved slowly, rolling Say'ri onto her back and lying on top of her, the passionate kissing resuming with a fevered pitch as Robin's hands travelled back up the woman's body.

_I do not… do not feel guilty…_

Say'ri sucked in a breath as her kimono was pulled open, and Robin's hands travelled the length of her bare flesh again.

_I do not feel guilty about this_ , Robin repeated to himself one last time as the two people lost themselves to each other.

*

When Robin woke it was to the familiar weight of a hangover in his head; and the very unfamiliar weight of Say'ri using his chest like a pillow.

_Oh gods,_ Robin thought in confusion, letting his head fall back onto the pillow with a low groan. _I didn't… did I? Ohgods, I did! Oh gods!_

Last night was a hazy blur; he didn't even remember making it to a bed… Or a bedroll, or whatever the thing he was lying on was called in Chon'sin. He sure as hell remembered what they had done before that though, and the thoughts made him blush heavily.

"Good morning," Say'ri mumbled into his chest.

"Er… sorry," Robin said, starting a little. "Did I wake you?"

_What the hell was that!? 'Did I wake you'!? You should be getting far the hell away from here!_

" _But… why?"_

"No," Say'ri sighed happily, nuzzling her cheek against his chest. "I fear I have been lying here for some time, unable to break myself away from you."

Robin nodded, dumbstruck.

_Oh crap… ohcrapohcrapohcrap. This is… this is SO bad. I am NEVER drinking again! What am I supposed to… we're still naked, for gods' sake! Oh this is bad on so many levels._

"I am glad I could tell you how I felt before we marched today," Say'ri said, shifting a little. "As I said, my people are not exactly experts at expressing ourselves. I am… I hope I was not too forward."

Resting one hand on Robin's chest to steady herself Say'ri sat up she brushed the hair out of her face, not bothering to cover herself as she did.

Robin couldn't help it; cursing his weakness, he let his eyes wander.

Say'ri giggled, reaching up and gently forcing Robin's gaze back up with a hand on his cheek.

"Do not stare," she said, her tone low and sultry as she leaned in to kiss him.

"No," Robin murmured, pulling his head away and trying to ease himself away from the woman.

"Last night… shouldn't have happened," he added, scooting further away as she drew back like he had struck her.

" _Idiot! Stop pining for a woman we can't have and get a hold of yourself! Or better yet, get a hold of her!"_

The look of shock and hurt on Say'ri's face broke Robin's heart, but he knew that it would be less painful now than if he dragged her along.

"I… uh… we," Robin stammered, reaching for his pants. "That is, we were both rather drunk and… uh…"

"That doesn't change my feelings for you," Say'ri said in a small voice, holding the sheet tightly to her chest.

_And I felt guilty before!?_

"Say'ri, we're friends, right? Well, I need you to understand that I can't afford distractions of a romantic variety in the middle of a campaign," Robin reasoned, slipping on his pants and hopping up.

"Don't get me wrong, I don't dislikeyou or anything," the tactician added lamely as he searched among the discarded clothing for his shirt.

"It's just that-"

"You have said your piece and made your intentions clear," Say'ri said in a cold voice, turning away.

"Now get out."

Robin shuddered as Say'ri rose, the sheet from the bedding wrapped around her perfect figure, and walked calmly into the next room, sliding the door closed with a resounding snap.

The tactician stood perfectly still for a moment, his mind working in overtime. Inside the small room Say'ri had just entered was a sword on a rack; a sword that he had never paid much attention to in the past, Say'ri's sword.

It looked exactly like Morgan's.

_Could this get any worse!?_ Robin shouted in his head.

" _Well the house is full of dangerous spies and assassins that could kill you without even breaking a sweat, so yes. Yes it could,"_ his inner voice responded.

_Oh shut up already_ , Robin told the voice, stepping out of the room into the hallway and angling for the entryway.

His sword and coat were already waiting for him in the small foyer. No doubt Seiko had heard the entire exchange and prepared accordingly.

Thoughts whirled around the tactician's head faster than they ever had before, adding to the overall feeling of nausea he was struggling with. Pulling on his boots, Robin had to ask himself what was wrong with him. He had just slept with a beautiful woman, and then panicked and run like she was secretly a Risen. He ran a hand down his face, doing his best not to vomit all over the foyer, _because that would make things so much better_ , and stood, reaching for the door.

He hesitated as his hand reached the latch, and the tactician looked back.

Say'ri was no doubt furious at him, but he had to go back in; he had to tell her about the possibility that she was Morgan's…

He shook the thoughts from his head, bundling himself closer into his coat and stepping out onto the street, thinking thoughts of highly trained assassins. He'd made his decision, now he had to live with it. He'd just explain the Morgan situation in a few days… once Say'ri calmed down. She did have a right to know, even if he wound up impaled because of it.

As Robin stepped out onto the street he reflexively ducked as a black form flew at his head, cawing excitedly.

*

The raven had decided not to leave Robin's side as he made his way to the War Council after forcing himself to stand.

"Can't you tell I'm hung-over?" he muttered to the bird squatting happily on his shoulder.

Huginn responded by cawing loudly, making Robin cringe.

"I'll take that as a no…"

_This is just great,_ Robin mumbled internally. _How exactly do I tell Say'ri that she could potentially be the mother of mytime-travelling daughter after that?_

Fortunately Chrom's command tent was still near the initial beach-head they had won in the harbour, close to the warehouses that the majority of the army was still billeted in.

The normally short walk from the _Dragon Claw_ 's berth where Robin emerged from the tightly packed tenements took Robin twice as long in his current shuffling, hangover-induced stupor.

By the time he had arrived the entire command staff of the army was present, all looking up when he entered. Robin hastily waved an irritated Huginn off his shoulder as he entered the tent, the angry bird making much more of a scene than he would have liked.

"Yeesh," Chrom said sympathetically. "Where did you sleep last night? The beach?"

"Don't ask," Robin groaned, shuffling past the others and taking his place at the head of the table next to Chrom.

Frederick glared at the tactician from across the table at his position on Chrom's right hand.

Say'ri glared at him, again wearing her full battle kit, from further down the table.

"Tactician Robin you are an essential member of this War Council and the command staff of the army. Your punctuality is not merely requested, but required. Furthermore-" Frederick started, before the tactician cut him off.

"Furthermore I quit two-and-a-half years ago and am currently volunteering," Robin snapped. "So lay off."

Chrom cleared his throat, attempting to diffuse the tension and get the meeting started.

_This is going to be a long three hours,_ Robin groaned internally, noticing Lucina and Severa both now staring at him with some concern.

And ignoring the fact that Frederick was still glaring silently at him.

*

Robin walked quickly, heading for the Shepherds' supply wagon holding his armour.

The War Council had gone well after the little Frederick incident; everything was ready, and everyone was itching to get the war underway.

Say'ri had revealed the true reason they needed to capture the Mila Tree during the meeting; an incredibly old, incredibly powerful Manakete slept atop the tree in the shrine, known as the Voice of Naga. Robin was already beginning to come up with plans to utilize someone so apparently powerful as the meeting ended in a desperate attempt to get his tired mind to focus on important things, rather than his incredibly confusing personal life.

_What's confusing about it though?_ He wondered. _I can't be with Lucina. I can be with Say'ri. I like Say'ri. I do… Plus, what if she's actually Morgan's mother? There's no possible way that Lucina could be… I already burned that bridge pretty thoroughly, though._

He felt a little bad about saddling Morgan with all of the boring clerical work that he didn't want to be doing, but the girl had seemed ecstatic about getting to do more 'tactician stuff' as she called it, leaving Robin open to focus solely on the battlefield tactics; the thing he was best at.

_So if everything's going so well this morning, why do I feel this awful sense of foreboding?_

"Robin! There you are!" Lucina called out happily from behind him.

_Oh, right. That._

"Good… good morning, Princess," Robin said hesitantly as Lucina drew alongside him. "Are you ready for today's march?"

Lucina smiled as she fell into step with Robin, already in her full battle kit.

"I am," she said. "And please, Robin; you of all people can call me by name."

"Of course, Lucina," he managed to say around the lingering hangover.

"Is everything alright?" she asked a little worriedly. "You seemed distracted during the war council, and you seem a little… off right now."

_Well, I had sex with Say'ri last night and feel wretchedly guilty because I'm actually in love with you. How are you this morning?_ Robin said sarcastically in his head.

" _I will never speak another peep if you actually say that,"_ his interior voice pressured.

"I'm fine," the tactician lied. "Just… duelling with some unpleasant thoughts. Nothing worth worrying about. Plus I'm really hung-over, if someone offers you something called sake, for the love of Naga, tell them no."

They had reached the wagon, and Lucina leaned against it, looking at Robin curiously.

"If you say so," she giggled, before adding in a more serious tone, "If you want someone to talk to, you know where I am."

_I honestly think talking to you might make things more confusing for me right now…_

"Yeah, hovering around your father like always," Robin said with a slight grin. "Thank you Lucina, but I'm fine."

"Okay," she said disappointedly as Robin crawled into the wagon in search of his armour. "I need to go and find Father; I'm marching at his side today. I'll see you on the field, Robin. Good luck today."

"You too," Robin called from in the wagon.

He stuck his head out, looking around. When he noticed that Lucina was gone the tactician let out a tired sigh and dropped his head onto the lip of the wagon's side, instantly regretting it as pain blossomed behind his eyes.

He looked up when a familiar cawing caught his attention as Huginn landed near his head.

"I suppose you have something witty to add?" Robin asked the bird.

Huginn's answer was to cock his head, looking sideways at the tactician as he climbed out of the wagon.

*

Robin watched as the Shepherds charged forward up the roots of the massive Mila Tree, moving to engage the red-armoured Imperial Valm forces stationed at its base.

_This, I can do_ , Robin thought confidently, his usual smirk returning to his face. _This is my element. No irritating personal drama, no questions about people's parentage, nothing like that… Just me and the battlefield._

The giant Mila tree stretched out above them; they had been marching in the shade for nearly an hour, all from one tree. It was incomprehensibly tall; a tree the height of a mountain.

Robin watched carefully as the three aerial Shepherds struck low and fast at the Valmese forces, Cordelia, Cherche and Sumia raining down lances and spears as Nowi and Nah breathed dragon-fire on the ranks of soldiers before withdrawing, providing cover for the mounted division's assault.

Frederick, Sully, Stahl and the ten other Ylissean knights that had accompanied the Shepherds crashed into the disrupted Valmese line, cutting deep before whirling and withdrawing.

The Valmese forces numbered just over two-hundred men; pretty good odds considering the veteran status of the Shepherds. According to Say'ri's handy spy network the man in charge of the garrison at the moment was actually a General visiting from the capital; General Cervantes, one of the triad of Generals that led Walhart's forces.

He had vastly underestimated the Shepherds, though, and chosen to deploy all of his troops rather than form up and hold the small fort carved into the base of the great tree; Robin swore that the man would not live to regret his decision.

_A tree so big that an entire fort can be carved into its base and still barely make a dent,_ the tactician marvelled again. _It's stuff like this that I keep travelling to see._

"Team two needs to move up," Robin said to Chrom, giving the Prince the opening he needed to order the advance.

It was his army, after all; Robin couldn't give all the orders.

"Team two, assault formation!" Chrom called, moving to the front of the group of Shepherds. "On me! Charge!"

The Prince leapt forward, Lucina and the rest of team two, the heaviest armed and armoured of the Shepherds, hot on his heels.

"They'll engage the front while the Knights and fliers circle back around and head to the right flank," Robin explained to Morgan. "We'll strike the left flank; it seems to be mostly light assault units, nothing too heavily armoured."

Morgan nodded excitedly from next to him. She hadn't been able to attend their usual 'planning session', having been too busy making last minute checks her troop dispositions among the regular army under Roark's care before they departed.

His team, team three, consisted of Morgan, Say'ri, Lon'qu, Severa, Gaius, Virion, Tharja and Panne, Anna, and Severa. The others, with the exception of Lissa, Maribelle and Olivia were all in the other two teams.

Morgan had no idea, when she had drafted the roster for the day, about her Father and possibly-mother's little spat that morning. Say'ri wouldn't even meet his eyes, and had acknowledged his orders tersely and monosyllabically.

"Alright," Robin shouted, focusing on the task at hand. "Team three on me! Let's get this done and get everyone home safe!"

They charged forward, Robin leading with his sword in hand, eager to finally let some stress off.

"Tharja, Virion, Morgan!" Robin called. "Peel off and begin your assault!"

The two mages and the archer Robin referred to stopped dead as the other Shepherds streamed around them, and began to cast and shoot around the charging group.

Robin didn't even twitch any more as arrows flew past his head and the ground shook from the detonation of spells among the Valmese; there was a time he would wince and reflexively duck, but he had grown used to a life of constant battle.

The Valmese desperately tried to reform a line, the lighter armoured mages, archers and soldiers they were attacking beginning to panic.

Robin swept aside the sword of the first man before him, and lost himself to the melee.

Severa fell in beside him, the two of them leading as the vanguard; she was the only one wearing steel armour, and Robin's coat was pretty much impenetrable.

Robin had noticed Cordelia's future daughter had been keeping a close eye on him since the debacle on the voyage over where he had wound up stabbed trying to protect her. Normally Robin would appreciate it, but Severa's abrasive personality got on his nerves at the best of times, and he hadn't been at his best lately.

With little effort they broke through the front line of Valmese soldiers, emerging onto a system of walkways strung up between the roots of the great tree.

"This is…" Robin muttered, lost for words as he glanced at the massive roots beneath his feet.

They had been expanded by carefully laying wooden planks from other smaller trees, making a large flat surface that was easily the size of the parade ground in Ylisstol. Some of the roots had been hacked away and levelled off closer to the tree, and it was at the end of one of these that Robin spotted a moustache wearing armour.

"There!" Say'ri exclaimed, pointing to the moustache. "General Cervantes!"

Robin watched as Chrom and Lucina charged the man and his honour guard, beginning to lay into them with their twin swords.

"Let the Prince and Princess handle him," Robin said dismissively. "We'll secure the fort. Team three, form up! We're clearing the fort!"

*

"Marry! What fighting!" Say'ri said excitedly as the Shepherd regrouped at the base of the staircase leading to the shrine atop the tree. "I almost pity the enemies of Ylisse!"

"Yes, we fought well today," Chrom agreed. "But the General escaped."

"General Cervantes is the left hand of the Conqueror," Say'ri said, spitting the man's name out. "We will see him again."

Robin was barely listening, staring with dread at the staircase ascending around the massive trunk of the tree.

"Stairs…" Robin muttered darkly.

A loud caw in his ear reminded him that at some point Huginn had caught up with him again.

"Why don't I make you walk all those stairs?" Robin muttered to the bird.

"Alright, form up and hold this position!" Chrom called to the Shepherds. "Frederick, you're in charge! Keep any enemies off the tree, but remember we're expecting to be met by Liung's force soon."

Frederick saluted smartly, turning and beginning to shout orders.

"Stay here with him in case something happens," Robin muttered to Morgan. "He's a good fighter, but he's not tactically minded."

"Sure," Morgan said breezily. "Have fun with the stairs."

Robin groaned, turning back to the staircase.

_What is it with people on this continent and staircases!?_ He thought melodramatically.

The climb was just as bad as Robin had feared; no one spoke after the first few minutes, focused solely on the stairs beneath their feet. Chrom led the way with Lucina at his side, Lissa and Lon'qu following while Robin and Say'ri brought up the rear.

By the time they reached the top Robin could barely stand, let alone talk; his legs felt like they were made of pudding, and he felt no shame when he collapsed on his face next to Lissa.

"Kill me," Robin groaned.

"Only if you kill me first," Lissa moaned, falling backwards and panting.

Huginn cawed from Robin's back, and the tactician swatted at the bird irritatedly.

"Off! Off I say! I am not a horse! Go bother Tharja!"

"The Voice truly lives all the way up here?" Lucina asked between gasps for breath.

Lon'qu just looked around and panted, standing close to Lissa.

Robin dragged himself back to his feet, leaning heavily on Chrom who was also panting and out of breath.

Now that he was vertical again Robin took the opportunity to look around the tree-top; it was as if someone had carved a section of earth or lifted an island out of the ocean, and placed it atop the tree. Smaller plants, mostly ferns and grasses, grew scattered around a central shrine, swaying lazily in the wind. If Robin hadn't been able to see the leaves and branches of the great tree in the distance he would have sworn he was still on the ground.

"Lady Tiki!" Say'ri called suddenly as they walked inward from the staircase. "Are you here!? Prithee answer!"

Robin and Chrom both jumped a little at the volume of the woman's voice.

They continued forward, coming upon a small shrine that looked somewhere between the one Say'ri had shown Robin in Valm Harbour and the ruins he had seen in Plegia during his travels.

And of course, sitting in the middle of an altar was another young-looking green-haired Manakete woman.

"Lady Tiki!" Say'ri called again.

The Manakete woman, Tiki, sat up and stretched, yawning as if awakening from a deep slumber. She was wearing tight red clothes that showed off her bare arms and legs, with a short pink cape thrown over one shoulder, all of which were rumpled from sleeping in them.

"Ah, my lady," Say'ri said with relief. "I am so glad to see you are alright."

Tiki blinked a few times, looking around at the people arrayed before her as she yawned again.

Lucina was the first to approach her, hesitantly as if she did not want to offend the woman.

"You are Lady Tiki? She who speaks for the Divine Dragon?" Lucina asked.

Tiki blinked a few more times, obviously still groggy with sleep.

_Sheesh, she barely looks older than Morgan_ , Robin thought, looking at the manakete still sitting on the altar. _Cute though…_

"Marth?" she asked, shock making her eyes wide. "Oh Mar-Mar, is that really you!?"

Lucina took an involuntary step back as Tiki rose quickly to her feet.

"My name is Lucina, milady," she said quickly. "Though I did go by the name Marth for a time. Might we have met?"

Tiki sagged disappointedly, leaning back against the altar she had been resting on.

"Alas, no," Tiki said apologetically. "I'm sorry, but you reminded me of someone I used to know. But he is gone now; lost during my endless sleep."

Lucina looked at a loss for words, glancing at Robin and her father for guidance before the woman spoke again.

"You and your father are of the Exalted bloodline, are you not?" she asked, her face going hard and serious.

"We are, milady," Chrom said, stepping forward and brushing Robin off his shoulder.

The tactician stumbled, righting himself quickly.

"Do you yet possess the Fire Emblem?" Tiki asked, switching tracks suddenly. "It should have been passed down through your family…"

"I… yes, I have it," Chrom said, hesitantly reaching into the pouch at his hip he kept the Emblem in at all times.

Tiki sagged, suddenly smiling again with relief.

"Ah! What relief to know it has not been lost," she sighed. "But where are the gemstones? I see only Argent."

"Er… gemstones?" Chrom asked in confusion.

"Yes, there are five of them," Tiki explained. "Argent, Sable, Gules, Azure and Vert. Each holds a portion of Naga's power. When mounted on the Emblem they allow one to perform the Awakening."

"The rite by which the first Exalt channelled the Divine Dragon's power," Lucina said, understanding dawning on her features.

"Sounds fancy," Robin muttered, feeling left out of the conversation.

"The very same. And it is fancy," Tiki said, smiling at Robin. "With the Fire Emblem's power the first Exalt was able to defeat Grima, but such power was too much for men, and the gemstones were scattered."

Tiki reached behind the altar a moment, remerging holding a small blue orb.

"I kept Azure here with me," she said, holding the gemstone out to Chrom.

"My kingdom has safeguarded Vert for generations," Say'ri added helpfully. "But the gem was recently stolen by Walhart's men."

"Milady, do you know where the other two gemstones might be?" Lucina asked Tiki.

The dragon woman seemed to be falling asleep where she stood, but perked up when Lucina spoke.

"The remaining two gemstones, Sable and Gules, are no longer known to me," Tiki said sadly. "They may have been taken a long time ago, at the time of the Schism."

"Regna Ferox was founded during the Schism, right?" Robin asked, recalling something he had read in a book during his occupation of Chrom's library in Ylisstol. "As were all nations, come to think about it…"

"Wait, does that mean the Khans might have one of the gemstones?" Lissa asked hopefully.

"We'll ask when we see them at the base of the tree," Chrom said. "At least now we have two of the five."

Tiki nodded.

"You must find the other three and…" she broke off, a large yawn escaping her mouth. "And perform the Awakening. Our world must be defended from Grima at all costs!"

"Do you know when or where he will return?" Chrom asked hopefully.

"I cannot know these things," Tiki said sadly. "But I can feel his life-force growing stronger. I feel his presence, looming closer and closer."

Robin watched Lucina shift uncomfortably and look down at Tiki's words.

"It is a heavy burden, but as he of Exalted blood it must fall to you, Prince Chrom," Tiki said clearly, the sleep seeming to finally fade from her eyes.

"Thank you for your assistance, milady," Chrom said as he put Azure into its socket in the Fire Emblem before putting it back in his pouch.

"Yes, thank you milady," Robin added, still feeling left out.

Tiki's eyes went wide, seeming to notice Robin for the first time.

"You…" she gasped. "You have it…"

Robin took an involuntary step back, keenly aware of how fast an excited manakete could transform from experience with Nowi.

"Er… I have what exactly?"

"You have power… like mine," Tiki said, drawing closer to him.

"I do?" Robin asked, looking down at himself curiously.

He looked and felt the same as he always had; except for the fact he had been talking to himself more recently...

"I… ah, forgive me," Tiki said, swaying a little as she realized everyone was staring at them. "I am still groggy from my slumber. My words outpace my thoughts."

"Are you alright, my lady?" Say'ri asked concernedly, moving to stand at the manakete's elbow.

"I am fine," Tiki answered. "Just very tired. I haven't the strength to join you in the fray; not yet. But I can call the people together, in prayer, for an end to this conflict."

Say'ri nodded, helping Tiki in the direction of the staircase to the ground below.

"Allow me to assist you to somewhere you may sleep with a little more comfort, my lady."

Robin hesitated, taking a deep breath as he tried to summon up the courage to face the stairs again. Looking up he noticed that Lissa had coerced Lon'qu into carrying her back down, much to her husband's consternation.

"Do you think if we yelled really loudly Sumia and Cordelia would hear us and come get us?" Robin asked hopefully as the party began to head back to the staircase.

"From this high up?" Chrom asked with a rueful chuckle. "Not likely."

Robin groaned as his feet met the first of the stairs.

"And I thought I hated boats… Alright! Who's carrying me!?"

Chrom chuckled and shook his head as he descended, Lissa offering the tactician a wink over Lon'qu's shoulder as he carefully descended, carrying his small wife.

Say'ri was already some ways ahead with Tiki, leaving…

"Alright, Princess," Robin groaned piteously to Lucina as he threw one arm over her shoulders. "I'll lean on you for fifteen minutes and then we'll alternate. Alternatively, please feel free to throw me over the edge and end my torment."

Lucina stiffened at Robin's contact at first, but nodded silently as they began to walk.

_Okay. Now I just have to find the energy to carry her in fifteen minutes_ , the tactician thought, completely missing the subtle blush that had risen to the woman's cheeks, and the dirty look he was getting from Say'ri, who had turned back to track their progress.

*

Robin stood in the tent that had been set up for him at the base of the Mila Tree where they would be camping that evening, glaring at the cot that had been provided for him.

_I don't have the energy to climb back in if I fall out tonight_ , he thought as he picked the cot up, folded it up and set it outside his tent.

Robin ran a hand through his hair before spreading out his camping bedroll, replaying all the near misses from the day's battle in his head. Libra had almost taken an axe to his face; Lon'qu had taken a glancing blow to his shoulder; Miriel had nearly lit herself on fire, becoming distracted by her oafish husband as she was casting; Lucina had…

Robin gulped, running a hand down his face.

He had watched Lucina position herself in front of a blow meant for her father; fortunately Noire had seen the charging cavalier, and had responded accordingly with her bow, but…

Robin realized he couldn't be everywhere at once, and that his promise to the Princess might still wind up being broken.

_Avoiding a group situation at dinner was probably a good idea right now_ , Robin decided.

In fact he'd managed to avoid just about everyone all day; even during battle the only speaking he'd done besides giving orders was explaining his reasoning for them to Morgan.

Robin fell into the chair at the small camping table in one corner of his room, digging in his pouch for the provisions he'd acquired that morning.

_I'd rather not eat with the others_ , he repeated, popping some of the jerky into his mouth.

Just as he started to chew there was a light tapping against the canvas of his tent.

"Enter," Robin called wearily, leaning back against his table.

Tharja strode in, the Dark Mage holding a bowl of what had to have been dinner. A form of stew, no doubt, that was making Robin's stomach growl with its tantalizing scent.

"You weren't at dinner," Tharja said pointedly.

"Must've dozed off," Robin lied, eying the bowl.

Tharja followed his gaze and snickered as she handed the stew over.

"It's rare that I actually show up when Frederick rosters me on for cooking duty," she said, taking a seat on the second camping chair. "And I seem to recall someone being rather enamoured with my cooking."

Robin chuckled. "You cooked for me once, it was the best thing I'd ever eaten, and never cooked for me again. How was that fair?"

"So what's bothering you?" Tharja asked after a few moments of silence in which Robin inhaled half to bowl's contents.

The tactician glanced up, spoon still hanging from his mouth.

"Don't give me that look," Tharja said. "I may not watch you sleep anymore, but I can still tell when something is troubling you."

"It's your feathered spy ratting me out, isn't it?" Robin asked, looking over her shoulder to see if Huginn was anywhere nearby.

"I knew I couldn't trust him…"

"Actually, he respects your privacy and wouldn't tell me anything beyond you needing someone to talk to."

"Are you telling me you can talk to the bird?" Robin asked, desperately trying to change the subject.

"He's my familiar, so yes," Tharja explained. "Well, not exactly talk, but we can communicate. Now stop trying to distract me or I'll put a truth curse on you."

Robin heaved a deep sigh, placing the half-finished stew off to one side of the table, his appetite vanishing.

"I'm not getting out of this, am I?"

Tharja crossed her arms, leaning back and waiting.

"Fine," Robin growled. "I'm having girl troubles. Happy?"

Tharja shook her head, her perfect black hair swishing with the motion.

"Why would that make me happy?"

"It's a figure of speech," Robin groaned, leaning forward and resting his head in his hands.

"I'm torn between what my heart wants and what my head tells me is the right thing to do."

"Well, one thing I learned from stalking you for two years is that listening entirely to your heart can lead to trouble," Tharja said. "That being said, it's not worth being miserable by following your head; they were two of the happiest years of my life."

"It disturbs me a little that you can talk about stalking me so easily," Robin muttered.

"Do you want my advice or not?" Tharja huffed irritatedly.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," Robin apologized, looking back up. "So what should I do?"

Tharja shrugged.

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to be with-" Robin started irritatedly, before catching himself and glaring at the woman.

"Damn, nearly had you," Tharja chuckled evilly.

"You're not a nice lady," Robin muttered darkly.

Tharja laughed. "You have no idea. But seriously, though; do you know why I followed you around for so long? Because I wanted to. I don't regret my choices, and neither should you. Make sure you finish your dinner."

Tharja rose and made to exit, opening the tent flap and stopping.

"Oh, and if anyone breaks your heart let me know," she added lightly. "I've been working on a new instant death curse I want to try."

Robin paled, but before he could reply a ball of feathers, claws and beak flapped noisily into the tent, right into Robin's face.

"Argh! No! Bad bird! I didn't mean it when I called you a spy! Stop already! Bad bird! Away with you!"


	29. Chapter 29

Lucina woke to a peculiar flapping sound outside her tent; years of half-sleep waiting for the familiar groan of the Risen seeing her awake and alert in an instant, hand already reaching for Falchion's nearby hilt.

"Dammit, get off my head!" Robin's shadow cursed as he walked by her tent. "If you want to ride on me, you ride on the shoulder, got it?"

A loud squawk answered his complaints, followed by more flapping and cursing.

The princess let herself relax, releasing her held breath as the tactician's cursing grew distant.

_He's up early,_ she thought with a small flood of warmth as she glanced out the small slits at the top of the tent that allowed for airflow.

The light streaming in from outside had the peculiar grey-yellow tint of pre-dawn, so Lucina decided it wasn't worth going back to sleep, stretching her arms high above her head as she did with a light groan and yawn.

Being the daughter of the leader of the army, even if she wasn't from this particular time-line, still saw her treated with enough respect that she got her own tent. The small canvas prism had shocked her at first; in her time they had most often braved the elements and just slept outside; a tent was only used by the civilians and wounded, or during particularly bad winters when as many people as possible would crowd into the tiny spaces. But there were so many soldiers constantly keeping watch over them now; men from Ylisse, from Regna Ferox, and now the soldiers of the Valm dynasts that still valued their own freedom, the majority hailing from Chengshi that if she got up high enough all she would see as far as the horizon were tents.

Lucina sat for a moment, simply allowing her mind to go blank in the way Robin had insisted she continue trying every morning, even just for a few minutes. His 'slacking off' training turned out to be something very close to meditation; all she was supposed to do was sit and concentrate on her breathing, letting all of her other thoughts float away. She was surprised to admit that she found it enjoyable, and even more surprised that it was working and making her more relaxed.

Taking one final deep breath Lucina finally drew the covers completely off and set about pulling on her clothes, preparing for the day's marching and fighting.

*

An hour later Lucina panted, sheathing her sword, utterly spent.

"Good work," Chrom said, just as out of breath as she was after their sparring session.

She nodded numbly, not trusting her mouth to speak properly until she'd at least caught her breath a little.

Training with her father had also become a regular morning affair. She had felt guilty about it at first; her training with Chrom took him away from important duties he should have been doing, but she had justified it by saying to herself that it was in both of their best interests to train together and become stronger. That guilt had evaporated the moment she had found out that he saddled most of his work on Robin back in Port Ferox, anyway.

Still, it was nice to bond with the father she had lost, even if it was technically a 'different' Chrom. Her father had taught her how to use a sword and how to fight, but he hadn't nearly been the warrior that this Chrom was; not just because of the nearly two decade age gap. Her father had walked with a limp her entire life, a remnant of an assassination attempt before she had been born; the very one she had foiled in Ylisstol three years ago.

"Why don't you go get some breakfast?" her father suggested, wiping his face off with a towel. "I'm going to go make sure your mother's awake. We'll meet you there, okay Lucina?"

She nodded, smiling a little at the casual conversation as she made for the mess tent.

Academically she knew that the man she trained with and fought alongside wasn't really her father; he was the Lucina of this time-line's father. But knowing it did nothing to quash the selfish urge to get to know the man a little more.

She had reached the mess tent while lost in her thoughts and stepped inside, lifting the flap and instantly being struck by the sheer amount of movement and life in the early morning camp life.

The Shepherds were autonomous from the military proper, despite many of their members claiming to be part of both groups. As such they were responsible for their own upkeep; making and breaking their own camp every night and morning, cooking their own meals, caring for their own armour and weapons and everything in between.

The addition of the merchant Anna had apparently been a huge boon to the group; her contacts had seen a proper armourer, a man named Jake, join them; not to mention boosting the quality of the materials and provisions they had been getting.

Cooking duty was shared out among the Shepherds that didn't 'burn water' as Robin described his own skills in the field. Apparently her father wasn't much of a chef either, and she knew from experience just how bad Kjelle's cooking was. Robin had even set up a roster that saw those with lesser cooking skills paired with the more accomplished chefs so that they would learn; a stroke of genius that often went overlooked.

Fortunately it seemed that Olivia and Lady Cherche were in charge of the kitchen duty this morning, meaning decent food.

Lucina took her share, exchanging pleasantries with the two women before turning to look for a suitable place to sit, her eyes coming to rest on a familiar black and brown coat.

It was interesting to note, when she thought about it, the little things that Robin did or organized around the camp to make everyone's lives easier. It was he that had organized the chaos in the cargo trains almost single-handedly, even if he had passed the duty of maintaining them to Morgan; before Jake and Laurent had started on with the Shepherds Robin had personally been in charge of all quartermaster duties, keeping an eye on which weapons would need repairing or smithing himself; at least now the blacksmithing duties fell on Jake and the quartermaster duties on Laurent.

Many other numerous, nameless little things were taken care of by the tactician before he had realized he was drowning himself in his duties before they had set out from Port Ferox and he had started relying more on the tacticians from Ylisstol. Lucina had only known him properly a few months, but he was still a far-cry from the man that had been so kind to her during the war with Plegia.

Lucina realized she had been standing at the end of the serving counter for some time now and shook the thoughts from her head; most of the tables were full, either in space or in personality. She liked most of the Shepherds, but many of them were much more eccentric than the stories had suggested. Especially Vaike.

Well, mostly Vaike.

Lucina was surprised to see Robin sitting at one of the sparser populated tables with Lady Cordelia and Nowi, staring intently at the Manakete while she sat with an easy smile, staring right back. Lucina approached the table hesitantly, watching the strange spectacle unfold.

"Er… good morning, Robi-"

She was cut off when the tactician held up a finger, indicating she not speak to him for a moment.

With a tired sigh he looked away from Nowi, rubbing his eyes.

"I totally win again!" Nowi shouted, pumping a fist into the air before reaching over to Robin's plate and snatching at his bacon.

"And to the victor goes the spoils!" she giggled before running off, strips of bacon held above her head like little fried streamers.

Lucina took the dragon-girl's place at the table, grinning as Robin glared down at his plate.

"This was once a glorious meal of bacon and eggs," he groaned piteously. "Now it's just eggs on toast. Look what that girl's reduced me to!"

With another sigh, Robin looked back up.

"Sorry Lucina; good morning. Nowi doesn't leave me alone until I 'play' with her, and staring contests are quick and quiet. Usually."

Lucina chuckled a little, instantly put at ease by Robin's small grin as he greeted her. She almost missed Lady Cordelia's greeting, but responded in kind to the red-headed Wing Commander.

"It is alright," she replied to Robin. "I am still growing used to the various eccentricities of the army. This is a normal occurrence I take it?"

"Something like that," Robin groaned, poking at his eggs with a fork disinterestedly.

"You do know that Nowi has a clear membrane she drops over her eyes so she can see during flight," Cordelia said matter-of-factly over the table, spearing a small piece of diced fruit and bringing it to her smiling lips.

Lucina actually burst into laughter as the tactician's jaw dropped, his eyes widening.

"All this time?" he asked, shock and outrage tinging his voice. "We've been having staring contests for months! That little cheat! I am so ratting her out to Chrom for setting the camp on fire that one time!"

"What?" Cordelia laughed as Robin let his face fall forward onto the table with a soft thud.

"Never mind…" Robin groaned into the tabletop.

A thought occurred to Lucina as she watched the tactician's lamentation.

"Here," she said, nudging the strips of bacon off of her plate and onto his. "Maybe this will cheer you up. I don't really like bacon anyway."

Robin perked up instantly, his head snapping back up while Cordelia tried not to laugh at the expression of awe on his face.

"Okay, first," Robin said, holding a piece of the fried meat in front of his mouth and savouring the smell.

"How can you not like bacon? It's, like, an essential food group all of its own!"

"If one doesn't mind getting fat by eating nothing but," Cordelia muttered as Robin took a tiny bite from the strip.

Lucina shared a quiet laugh with the Pegasus Knight as Robin's face turned to one of rapture, his eyes rolling as he moaned with delight.

"And second…" the tactician said, downing the rest of the bacon in one bite before wiping his hands clean on his pants.

All of a sudden Robin was across the table, Lucina wrapped in a tight hug around her shoulders as the tactician shouted "thank you" over and over again, her head pressed to his chest.

The Princess' mind went blank as Cordelia dragged the tactician off of her and back across the table, trying not to laugh and to look suitably annoyed at the over-familiarity of the man at the same time.

"Breakfast has gotten strange since you started joining us again," Cordelia laughed, slapping Robin lightly in the back of the head once he was seated again.

"You all missed me and you know it," he responded, popping more of Lucina's gifted bacon into his mouth.

Lucina sat silently, poking at her breakfast as the other two laughed, doing her best not to blush at the casual contact and savouring the feeling of the tactician's brief closeness.

The conversation returned to something resembling normal after that, Robin and Cordelia talking about the scouting role that her Pegasus Knights were to play in the greater campaign.

Cordelia's Knights had a much higher range of movement than Frederick's or even the Feroxi trackers, and while Lady Say'ri's spy network could move unseen, there was always the risk of them being delayed or found out. The problem with spies was that they had to blend into their surroundings. If they were disguised as civilians and civilians weren't moving, they couldn't move either.

"We need to get a better idea of the enemy disposition," Robin was saying around a piece of toast.

He stopped for a moment to chew and swallow, before throwing the charred bread back onto his plate.

"Why are we talking about the war at breakfast time? This is supposed to be our downtime! Naga knows we could use more of it."

Cordelia chuckled a little.

"Well, we are soldiers," she said, sipping from her cup.

Lucina resisted the urge to sigh. For all of the zany eccentric behaviour around the Shepherd camp one glaring reality remained the same between the past and the future; no matter where Lucina went she was in the middle of conflict. In the future the entirety of the survivors had looked to her for leadership, just because she was of the blood of Naga's divine line of rulers; she had been thrust into an early position of power that she had never been prepared for. Now the Ylissean army relied on her as a sort of 'sounding board' for their tactical plans; the only tacticians that hadn't approached her for insight into the future were Robin and Morgan, and only because they knew she didn't know any specifics about the war with Valm.

Her mind began to wander, thinking of her lost family and friends, including those that had followed her to this timeline. Did her sister and cousin yet live? She had purposely omitted their existence from any talk with the present Shepherds to avoid getting their hopes up, Aunt Lissa and her Mother's especially. They were both so much more fragile than she remembered; perhaps the seemingly endless strength of will that the two women possessed came from age? If so, then how was she to compare? She was barely the same age as the Robin and Chrom of this timeline.

"Bleh," Robin groaned, snapping the Princess out of her maudlin thoughts. "Tell me about whatever trashy romance novel you're reading right now instead. That's always good for a laugh."

The Pegasus Knight Commander blushed the same colour of her hair, glancing embarrassedly at Lucina before hastily excusing herself, claiming the need to prepare her mount for the day's march before practically running out of the tent.

Robin chuckled victoriously, Lucina resisting the urge to join in.

"Works every time," he said under his breath, leaning back in his chair, resting his hands behind his head.

Lucina took the moment to observe the tactician as he relaxed.

He looked tired; no, he looked exhausted, as if he wasn't sleeping at night. His skin was pale beneath the thick stubble on his jaw, and there were huge dark rings around his eyes. She hadn't see him look this bad since before their little sojourn in Regna Ferox; only now he looked worse.

They were all tired; it was just one of the realities of marching and camping during a war. But the tactician seemed particularly out of sorts. He was hiding it well, but she had watched him for months now and was beginning to pick up on the subtle nuances of his behaviour. The way his eyes twitched around his surroundings; the way he ran his hand through his long hair; even the fact that he had forgotten to shave that morning pointed to some deep level of stress that he was trying to avoid.

Perhaps Gregor's death still weighed on his conscience and he was bottling up his emotions again?

Not that she was one to talk of keeping her emotions bottled up; aside from the initial conversation with her parents about her true identity and purpose in Plegia the only other person she had truly relaxed and spoken to was Robin, and only then because he kept persisting. It was difficult to refuse him, though.

"Why are you staring at me?" Robin asked tiredly, cracking open one eye. "Did Huginn crap in my hair again? I should really find out how Tharja convinces him not to 'go' anywhere near her…"

"No," Lucina said quickly, shaking her head. "You just look… tired."

Robin sighed again, leaning back over the table as he picked disinterestedly at his breakfast.

"That obvious, huh?"

Lucina nodded, starting back in at her own food.

"I guess I've got a lot of, er, personal stuff going on in my head right now," Robin said hesitantly in a low voice.

"You know you can talk to me," she offered, looking up from her plate.

Robin sighed and nodded.

"I know," he said. "It's just, well-"

Whatever the tactician had been about to say was cut off when her mother and father made their entrance into the tent, Chrom practically shouting good morning to all those assembled.

"He seems to be in an irrationally good mood this morning," Robin said with a light chuckle as Vaike returned her father's boisterous greeting with one of his own.

"I appreciate the offer to talk, Lucina," he added, leaning in close as the two other men laughed raucously. "But I have a lot to do before we can march. Maybe some other time? It might be nice to get all of this off my chest."

"Of course, Robin," Lucina said. "Any time you wish."

"Thanks," Robin said, reaching out and giving her shoulder a light squeeze as he rose.

Lucina nodded silently as he stood, slipping out of the tent before her parents saw him, a fact that was not lost on the Princess. She watched worriedly as his shape grew smaller in the distance before finally rounding a corner and disappearing from view as her parents sat down at the now vacant table with her.

Without thinking she reached up, fingertips brushing where his hand had lingered on her shoulder.

*

Robin glared at himself in the mirror, his reflection sighing tiredly in tandem with the tactician. The men's bathing tent was thankfully empty at the moment; Robin didn't much fancy the company of the others at present.

Huginn had woken him early for some ungodly reason, and then prevented him from eating the dried fruits and nuts he kept in his tent. The bird obviously thought it was being clever, forcing him to go to the mess tent for breakfast to socialize.

He ran a hand over the stubble on his face, replaying the morning's conversation with Cordelia and Lucina as he did, smiling a little.

It had been some time since he had spoken to Cordelia, even if all she wanted to do was talk about his love-life. He had missed their time in Ylisstol at the little café off the markets, missed the conversations about trashy literature and rebuilding the Pegasus Knights. Hell, he even missed listening to her harp on about how unlucky she was in love. Although now that Robin had love-life troubles of his own she had zeroed-in on him like one of Virion's arrows and was being relentless, which was exactly what was going on before Nowi had interrupted them. He had been about to spill, too, just to shut her up.

And then Lucina had shown up.

Every time he watched the Princess from a distance she looked so serious, so joyless that all he wanted to do was make her smile. Of course, Robin liked to make everyone smile, but with Lucina it was different. With her it felt less like something he usually just did, and more like something he had to do; it was something that the little voices inside his head demanded he do.

Chrom had commented in passing once that she always seemed to smile a lot more when everyone was together, but Robin had watched her interact with the others while he wasn't around. At the risk of letting his own imagination and desires run away from him, he liked to think that the smile she used around him was her true smile.

_Lucina was right,_ he thought with another sigh, poking gently at the skin under his eyes. _I do look like crap. I'd better not let Morgan see me like this, she'll never let me hear the end of it. And knowing her, she'll start drugging me to make sure I get some sleep, or she'll make Tharja start hexing me to sleep._

The tactician ran another hand up and down the side of his face, groaning. The thought of shaving just didn't appeal to him that day. He gave in, splashing the warm water from the basin he was leaning on onto his face and putting his shaving blades away, dressing himself and mentally preparing to face the day ahead. He had a mountain of paperwork to do that he simply couldn't palm off to Morgan this time, and…

With a start Robin realized that he no longer chided himself for thinking romantically about Lucina.

_Is this a good or a bad thing?_ He wondered as he stepped out into the bright daylight.

The leaves of the great Mila Tree, so high above, cast long shadows over the majority of the camp, but the light was still beautiful and bright, making Robin want nothing more than to shirk his duties and go sit by a creek and sort through his thoughts.

The tactician cursed his luck as he spun on his heel, walking determinedly to his tent.

_I can get this paperwork done, I can talk to Say'ri and then I can go and relax before we march tomorrow. Be a man, Robin; get it all over and done with._

*

Morgan hummed a little as she skipped through the Shepherds' camp; it was just after lunch, she had taken care of the troop reports for the eighth and twelfth divisions of the Ylisstol army while the other 'desk tacticians' worked away on the rest of the reports; troop rosters, shipping manifests, storage lists… The army didn't need tacticians, it needed a squad of dedicated clerks.

_Makes me wonder what Dad got saddled with…_ Morgan thought with a shudder. _That was a pretty big pile Frederick dumped on him last night._

It appeared to Morgan the dour Knight Commander didn't much like her father; she got along with the man well enough, more like a working relationship than anything else, but Morgan had noticed him glaring at her Father for no apparent reason, or looking for fault in his reasoning just to rebuke him.

Morgan guessed it was the way her Father had simply up and left the military; for men like Frederick it wasn't a job, it was a lifestyle. The Knight Commander was exactly that and nothing more; he existed solely to serve the Royal Family of Ylisse. Unlike Robin, the free-spirited tactical genius that apparently had leave to come and go as he pleased. Perhaps it was a simple personality-clash, or maybe even-

Morgan glanced up as a flash of fluffy brown fur distracted her train of thought, her mind instantly switching tracks as her friends appeared from the command tent.

"Morning Severa! Morning Bunny!"

The other two looked up as Morgan jogged over to them.

"Morning," Yarne muttered, eying Morgan suspiciously as he protectively held his ears to his shoulders.

"Morning sunshine," Severa said in a tone that made it difficult to tell if she was being sarcastic or not.

"We've got orders," the red-head added, holding a sheet of paper out to Morgan. "You're taking your Father's place on today's scouting mission. Thirty minutes, camp's western perimeter."

Then Severa turned and left, Yarne shrugging before following her, leaving Morgan to hurry alone and get her gear.

_I wonder what Dad's doing that's so important today?_ Morgan thought curiously as she returned the way she had just come, angling for her tent.

_Maybe Prince Chrom just wants to give him some down-time? No, he's probably buried in paperwork again. I'll see if he needs help with any of it when we get back._

Morgan pulled back the flap to the tent she shared with Noire; the other girl was absent, though, no doubt practicing hexes with her Mother. Noire was a great roommate – tentmate? - to have, even if she was a little messy. She was quiet, and always busy, so she was never just lounging around and getting in the way. Morgan grabbed her sword from where it was leaning on the camping table across from her bedroll; like her Father she had a horrible habit of falling out of cots, so she opted for the bedroll, too.

The long, thin sword was strapped securely to her hip, Morgan giving the sheath a few tugs just to be safe. Her pouch, containing her newly minted spellbook, went on her other hip next, opposite her sword. The spellbook was a little heavier than her last one, but she had adjusted quickly enough during the weeks' worth of training while Prince Chrom and her father had been in Chengshi. She had tried to improve her handwriting a little this time, too, but had gotten over-excited when she'd gotten to the super-powerful spells her Father kept in the back of his own spellbook and… well; at least _she_ could read it.

Satisfied, she was about to exit the tent when something glittering in her spare shirt, tossed carelessly to the side of the tent near her bedroll, caught her eye.

_Oh, right!_ Morgan thought quickly, bending to retrieve Noire's amulet and slipping it over her head to rest around her neck, tucking it securely beneath her shirt. _I can't believe I almost forgot that! Aunt Tharja would've killed me if Noire would've found that!_

Satisfied that she was ready, Morgan stepped out of the tent and back into the crowded hustle of the war-camp. She dodged around soldiers on patrol and slower moving men and women that were obviously off-duty as she neared the western periphery, spotting Yarne surrounded by a team of Feroxi trackers.

"That was quick," the young Taguel commented as Morgan approached. "I thought all girls took forever to… you know. Primp?"

He looked nervous, but that was hardly unusual given his timid nature off the battlefield.

"For a stealth mission?" Morgan asked, falling into step with him. "Honestly? Does anyone actually… never mind. I'm sure I know the answer to that."

_Obviously Severa takes her physical appearance very seriously_ , Morgan thought, supressing a giggle.

The team of Feroxi trackers barely glanced up as Morgan arrived completely engrossed in checking their equipment. Some carried bows while others carried bladed weapons, but they all wore thin, dark leather armour that would blend in with the forested surroundings beneath mottled green and brown cloaks. They all had dark skin, the obvious leader having flesh the same hue as Khan Basilio; in fact the younger man actually kind of looked like the Khan.

"So these are the Feroxi trackers?" Morgan asked Yarne conspiratorially.

The Taguel nodded.

"Apparently chosen by Khan Basilio himself, so you know they're good."

Morgan crossed her arms and sunk to a hip, watching the men in their silent last-minute preparations. Bowstrings were checked to be taught while leaves were gently dropped onto sword edges; bandoliers of pockets were secured while ropes and climbing hooks were rolled up and placed in pouches.

"Are we underequipped?" Morgan asked the Taguel quietly.

"No," the Feroxi leader said in a quiet voice eerily reminiscent of Basilio's. "We just like to travel prepared. Never know when this junk may come in handy."

Morgan nodded as the other man stood, coming over and shaking their hands. His bare arms were covered in spike-patterned, winding tribal tattoos that Morgan had seen on a few of the other Feroxi, and his long black hair was tied away from his face in a tight braid at the base of his skull.

_Okay, he doesn't 'kind of' look like Basilio; he looks exactly like him!_

"I'm Lari," he introduced himself. "I'm leading the trackers, but we're supposed to be deferring to you Shepherds for this mission."

"I'm… I'm Yarne," the Taguel stammered as he shook the Feroxi's hand.

"Hi Lari, I'm Morgan," she said cheerily as she grasped his rough, calloused hand and pumped it up and down vigorously. "Are you related to Khan Basilio by any chance? You look just like him! Except, you know, with hair and two eyes."

_And giant sexy arms and mysterious tattoos and… and he's gorgeous! Oh gods Morgan, don't swoon, don't swoon, don't swoon…_

The dark skinned man blinked a few times at the speed of Morgan's question before breaking into a huge grin and laughing a little, his perfect white teeth sparkling as his eyes crinkled with mirth.

"Maybe," he said with a dry chuckle. "It's a possibility. We don't really keep track of stuff like extended family in Regna Ferox."

Morgan nodded, mentally making notes about the customs of Western Regna Ferox concerning family and making another to write it down somewhere when she got the chance and doing her best to discreetly ogle the Tracker.

"Where's Severa?" Yarne huffed impatiently. "We're going on a scouting mission, not a shopping trip! What could possibly be taking her so long?"

_Is Bunny jealous?_ Morgan wondered curiously.

*

Lucina looked up from her clipboard as Severa rushed into the supply tent with all the subtlety of a hurricane.

She and Laurent had been working for the last hour on taking inventory of their healing surplus; a boring task to be sure, but a necessary one, and after seeing how hard her Father and Robin worked she had decided to assist in any capacity she could with the mountainous clerical work involved in running the army.

"Oh," Severa said, noticing the mage and the Princess as she reached into a crate full of small containers of healing salve.

"I didn't see you guys there."

"Are you injured?" Lucina asked instantly, moving towards the red-head while Laurent muttered to himself about people undoing all his work before he could even finish it.

"No, just going on a scouting mission," Severa replied with a sigh. "It's a real pain, but I guess someone has to do it."

"Well, why don't I join you?" Lucina offered, placing her clipboard down on a nearby crate. "Laurent and I were almost done here anyway."

She glanced back at the mage, who silently waved her off, already squatting down next to a box of dried herbs used to make healing poultices for the smaller injuries.

"Well, come on if you're coming," Severa huffed. "I'm already running behind."

Lucina nodded, falling into step with the other woman as they exited the tent. The camp was quieter near the supply tents, armed guards patrolling the area. Even in an army as dedicated as her father's apparently greed and avarice could still take root; fortunately they had quickly stomped out any theft of supplies, thanks in no small part to Morgan's meticulous rostering.

"We're scouting the Western flank; Robin thought we might be able to make use of a dry riverbed to send some lighter units along, so we're checking it out, seeing how far exactly it runs, that kind of thing," Severa explained. "He seems to think that it runs all the way to Fortress Steiger and we can use it for a flanking team during the battle."

"It's pointless busy-work, though," she added icily as they paused to let a squad of soldiers jog by at an intersection of tents.

"If Robin has decided it warrants investigating, then we shall investigate," Lucina said in reply, matching Severa's tone and frowning.

"Yeesh, lighten up," the red-head said with a roll of her eyes. "I'm just kidding; I know how important this crap is. Why so defensive?"

_Why indeed?_ Lucina wondered as she lapsed into silence.

Robin had yet to lead them astray; he worked himself to the bone to ensure the safety of everyone involved in his plans, including the non-Shepherd personnel. She had only borne witness to it once, but watching how he planned, how he made massive leaps of logic that left her struggling to understand how he could put the pieces together the way he did was awe-inspiring. Listening to Severa complain about his tactics, even in jest, rubbed the Princess the wrong way.

_But is it just because of his dedication to the cause?_ Lucina asked herself as she followed Severa. _It must be. He is our tactician and I am a soldier here; nothing more._

She quashed the little voice in the back of her mind whispering otherwise as the duo came upon the Western barricades.

Morgan and Yarne were already waiting, speaking with a Feroxi man that could pass for Basilio's younger brother. The Taguel said something and the younger tactician and Feroxi man burst out laughing while the other trackers relaxed nearby.

"There you are!" Morgan cheered when she spotted Severa.

Her look changed to one of confusion as she spotted Lucina.

"What's up, Luce?" she asked, adopting her pet name for the Princess. "You coming too?"

"I had intended to accompany you," Lucina agreed, glancing at the Feroxi man.

He shrugged, pointing to Morgan.

"She's in charge, not me. I'm just a seat-filler. Name's Lari."

"Well met, Lari," Lucina said with a nod. "Are we ready to depart?"

Morgan nodded enthusiastically, and the group began to hike towards the western mountainous area without any further delay.

"Geez, this is kind of weird," Morgan commented as they left the camp behind. "I've never ordered Royalty around before. I wonder how my Father feels about doing it?"

"You worry about the strangest things," Severa muttered from behind them.

Lucina shook her head and smiled; Morgan truly was just as eccentric as her father.

*

Robin bolted through the camp, his pack held in one hand and his coat in his other, dodging around soldiers and doing his best not to run into any inanimate objects as he ignored the burning ache in his legs from yesterday's climb up the Mila Tree.

"Where are you going?" Chrom called to him from the mess tent as he passed.

"Scouting mission I forgot about!"

"Wait! Stop!" Chrom called, bringing the tactician up short.

"Chrom, I'm really late for this mission," Robin panted.

"You don't remember? We gave your position to Morgan so she could get some more field experience and you could finish that paperwork. It was your idea."

Robin ran a hand down his face, willing his heartbeat to slow.

_I… did I suggest that? I don't remember._

"You really don't remember? It was during last night's war council."

"Ah," Robin said, comprehension dawning. "I'm sorry, Chrom, but last night I was barely conscious after those stairs. I guess I kinda blanked out a little."

"Good thing Virion takes notes, then," the Prince said with his easy smile, clapping the tactician on the shoulder and leading him to the mess tent.

"While you're out here, why don't you break for lunch? You can't work all day."

"Can, have, and will again," Robin said in short breaths.

_I really am exhausted today_ , the tactician lamented as he let Chrom lead him to the head table.

Lissa and Sumia were already sitting with sandwiches in front of them as Robin was forced into a seat, letting his gear fall to the floor out of his hands either side of him.

_Why am I so tired?_ Robin wondered as Chrom set a plate in front of him, before sitting down next to his wife.

"How's the paperwork going?" Lissa asked with a big Cheshire smile.

Robin quirked a brow at the young woman, bringing his sandwich to his mouth and hesitating before his first bite.

"If you're really curious I could give you a front row seat," he offered, returning her smile. "There's plenty to go around."

Lissa chuckled, holding up her hands in defeat.

"I'm almost done anyway," Robin said around a mouthful of sandwich. "Just a few more little odds and ends to wrap up that I shouldn't have let sit for so long."

"Gotta keep up on that paperwork," Chrom said nonchalantly as he took a bite of his own food.

"Exactly," Robin said with a light laugh. "Which is why I made a nice big pile of the work you were supposed to do that 'accidentally' got mixed up in my pile."

Chrom gagged on his food as Sumia shot him a glare.

"That's very considerate of you, Robin," she deadpanned, still glaring dangerously at her husband as he tried to work the obstruction from his throat, pounding on his chest with one hand.

"I'll swing by later and _make sure_ he gets it."

Robin and Lissa burst out laughing while Chrom took a deep swig of his cup of water, before chuckling ruefully as he put it down.

"I regret nothing," he said to his wife with a sheepish grin. "It was worth a try."

"Yes, and very sneaky of you, slipping it into the reports about reserve supply numbers; you knew I'd barely be paying attention to those. Somebody's spent too much time around me, I think."

"Well, not recently, anyway," Chrom scoffed a little. "Lately it's all we can do to get you to eat with us."

"I've been busy," Robin shrugged.

"And now we know why," Sumia said, shooting another dirty look at Chrom, who was doing his best to look innocent.

"Alright, I'm sorry already," Chrom said, placing both hands flat on the table. "I hereby swear I will never try to offload my own paperwork to my tactician again."

"Even I can tell that's a lie," Lissa said in the silence that followed.

Robin's response was lost when he noticed Say'ri enter the tent, his words catching in his throat as she walked directly to the serving counter, the laughter of the other three at the table going unheard by the tactician.

He caught her gaze as she turned from the counter, the look she gave him enough to freeze the blood in his veins as she sat at the other end of the tent.

"Well, I should get back to work," Robin said quickly, standing and grabbing his things, studiously avoiding making eye contact with anyone.

"But you just sat down!" Sumia exclaimed. "You haven't even finished your food yet!"

Robin reached down and stuffed the entire sandwich-half he hadn't touched yet into his mouth and waving to the others as he retreated.

_Tactical withdrawal,_ he mentally corrected himself. _I'm not ready for that particular conversation with her yet._

" _Ooh, big man, running like a little girl from a woman scorned."_

Robin resisted the urge to groan as he mentally crushed his inner voice, trying not to wince as a fresh wave of exhaustion overcame him.

_Hell hath no fury… Gods I'm tired. Just a little more work today. Then I'll take a proper break._

*

"That is a big fortress," Morgan whispered from between Lucina and Lari.

They were crouched in a small gully just off of the main riverbed that Robin had ordered the group to scout; fortunately they had avoided detection and managed to proceed without having to silence any of the numerous Valmese patrols.

Lucina had resisted the urge to scoff at the poorly trained conscripts as the Shepherds and Feroxi had snuck around them. Truly that was one of the biggest points in their favour; the Ylissean League was a highly-trained force of light and heavy infantry divisions, cavalry, mages, and support units. So far it appeared that the only properly trained Valmese squads were the cavalry they fielded. The battle at the base of the Mila Tree with infantry had proven just how inept the Valmese forces and leadership truly were.

Lucina was no tactician, not like Robin was at any rate, but she could easily see the disorganization in their forces and had watched the way that any unit cohesion had crumbled the second that General Cervantes had fled the field.

"We got the intel we needed," Lari said, making some marks on a map with a stick of charcoal. "We should be getting back."

Lucina nodded her agreement and the trio slipped back into the gully, backtracking as they made their way to where the rest of the group was waiting in the shadow of a large rock formation next to the dry riverbed.

"Well?" Severa asked impatiently when they reunited. "Are we done here?"

"Yeah," Morgan said with a definitive nod. "But I'm not too sure about returning the way we came in."

"Why's that?" Lari asked curiously.

"Well if we get caught now we can beat the patrols no problem, but the plan will be ruined before we can even use it," Morgan explained. "We should bypass the riverbed, follow the main road posing as mercenaries and pass through the town we saw on the way here as we head in the direction of the Mila Tree."

"That… actually made sense," Yarne said.

"Can we at least take a break in the town?" Severa asked, crossing her arms.

"I guess," Morgan shrugged. "If we're really, really fast about it."

"Towns have beer!" one of the Feroxi trackers whispered before the others all started muttering excited agreement.

"Which you're not touching," Lari said in a warning tone. "We refill our waterskins at the well and we keep moving unless Tactician Morgan says otherwise. Get ready to move out."

Morgan nodded to the Feroxi tracker appreciatively as he drew the hood on his sleeveless vest up over his long black hair, shrouding the majority of his face in shadow.

"Cloaks on," Morgan ordered to the three other Shepherds, drawing up her own hood. "Yarne, you've got cute bunny ears, and Lucina, you look too much like your Father, so we wear disguises."

They all followed Morgan's instructions, Yarne muttering about not being cute as he tucked his ears beneath his hood, eying Lari crossly as the Feroxi man stifled laughter at the Taguel being referred to as 'cute'.

"Good to go?" Morgan asked the Feroxi from beneath her hood, the only visible part of her face now her grinning mouth and chin.

Lari nodded. Impressively enough the Feroxi had managed to hide the majority of their weapons beneath the cloaks they had thrown on, looking like little more than lowly and down-on-their-luck mercenaries. The only exception was Lari, who's vest had a hood attached to the back of the collar. The majority of his face was obscured, but his muscular brown arms and dark tribal tattoos would give him away as a Feroxi warrior, not to mention the fact that he was festooned with weapons and equipment.

Morgan didn't mention any of these facts, so Lucina decided to let them go.

"I want two of you on each side of the road," Lari ordered confidently to his men. "Keep quiet and keep out of sight; do not engage unless we do, understood? You are strictly backup. Meet up again in the town."

The Trackers moved silently into the forest alongside the river, disappearing into the trees with all the skill of one of Say'ri's spies as the rest of the group walked to the road. The four Shepherds followed, Lari sticking close to them; more specifically, sticking close to Morgan.

Lucina grinned underneath her cloak; Morgan seemed to be completely oblivious to the looks that the young man was giving her.

The forest in this part of Valm was similar to the one that Lucina had passed through when the group of Shepherds led by Robin and her Father had travelled to Chengshi, but it was warmer, and the trees were smaller and sparser placed. The forest felt the same, though; overflowing with life and greenery, enough to take Lucina's breath away.

In the future the landscape had been barren and desolate; little had grown as the Risen had spread, Grima's taint spreading with them and sapping the life from the very earth itself. This lush, verdant landscape was still new and enthralling to Lucina; even the deserts of Plegia had felt alive, in their own way.

They came onto the road, travelling in a staggered line and doing their best to appear nondescript. A few times during their march they had tensed as red-armoured Valmese troops had marched by, completely ignoring them.

_A group of more than ten armed people march around during wartime and are completely ignored?_ Lucina thought incredulously. _Are these people untrained or simply stupid?_

She watched carefully as another squad of soldiers passed the Shepherds fifteen minutes later, shuffling apathetically and barely paying attention to where they were marching, let alone their immediate surroundings.

_Conscripts,_ Lucina decided. _Farmers and craftsmen not interested in fighting but given no choice._

She had seen the look often enough in her own time as the last towns and villages had been swallowed by the horde of Risen, forcing the survivors to join with the caravan and take up arms.

They eventually came upon the small town a short while later, the four Feroxi stationed in the forest alongside the road emerging as silently as they had disappeared, re-joining the rest of the group and pulling camouflage patterned scarfs and balaclavas from their faces.

"Not a very lively place, is it?" Yarne asked under his breath as they warily walked into the town, making for the well in the centre crossroads.

A few sallow-faced villagers watched them from doorways of windows, always closing them or looking away when one of the Shepherds or Trackers attempted to make eye contact.

"The Valmese army has them terrified," Morgan pointed out.

Lucina frowned as she attempted to get a look at a woman watching them, only to be met with closing shutters as she retreated into her home. She had yet to see a single man above the age of a child or below the age of an elder.

She looked back ahead, noticing Morgan staring intently at her.

"Alright, fill the waterskins and lets move," Lari ordered his men quietly, who all began bustling for the well in a tide of camouflage capes.

He tossed his own empty skin to one of his men as he turned to Morgan.

"Feel like taking a look around?"

The tactician nodded, turning to Yarne and Severa and pointing in two opposite directions.

"You guys go that way, we'll go this way; just a quick scouting trip, don't engage anything. We're looking for fast-exit points if we need 'em."

"Here," Lucina said before the two duos could depart, holding out a hand. "Give me your empty waterskins. I will see that they are refilled."

The four others nodded appreciatively, leaving their empty skins with Lucina and separating their different directions as Lucina began moving for the well. Filling waterskins was hardly a task for a Princess, but it needed to be done, and she had done far more mundane tasks in her future.

The Feroxi Trackers were quickly and efficiently filling their own skins, one man pouring water from a bucket as another held the skins, the rest lounging about in such a manner as to look inconspicuous. Lucina had no doubt that the men were actually in carefully chosen positions to cover the other two if they were attacked. Some even rested their hands on the hilts of their weapons or kneaded the hafts of their axes restlessly. They may act at being buffoons as all warriors from Regna Ferox were wont to do but they were truly skilled in their arts.

"Here, milady," the man pouring the water offered, seeing her waiting.

The other man stepped back with a respectful nod, beginning to distribute the already filled skins as Lucina set to filling her friends'.

It was harder than the two men had made it look, most of the water poured for the first skin splashing to the dusty earth at her feet.

The Tracker grinned and chuckled a little as he lowered the bucket back into the well, drawing up more water.

"Hold the skin from the neck and the bottom," he advised. "You get more control that way."

This time Lucina fared much better, and was able to fill three of the other skins without spilling much.

She stepped back once she was done, cradling the now-full skins in one arm as she scanned the empty town square-crossroad. The town was small; no doubt Morgan and Severa would get to one end and back before long. The buildings were shabby, shabbier than she had seen so far from many of the other places she had visited in her time in the past. The nameless little town made her wonder if the entirety of Valm looked like this; sucked dry for resources for the war and left to wither and die. In hindsight even Chengshi had seemed a little rough compared to the cities of Ylisse, although not on this level. There were no holes in walls covered by tarps in Chengshi, no doors hanging off hinges or terrified faces waiting and hoping for the visitors to leave.

Some children ran into the main intersection, laughing and chasing each other before quickly being grabbed and pulled indoors by their mothers, being scolded in hushed tones.

"They are afraid," one of the Trackers said in a thick accent reminiscent of Gregor's. "They fear soldiers and warriors. This 'Conqueror' has left his mark on his people."

A few of the other Trackers muttered assent, and Lucina silently agreed with them.

What manner of warlord would so thoroughly ignore his subjects? Lucina had watched her father in the two year peace as he rebuilt Ylisse after the war with Plegia; he had personally ridden out numerous times to assist the aid workers in delivering supplies to small villages, or assisting in the rebuilding efforts every chance he got. In fact after the wedding he'd spent little more time in Ylisstol than Robin had.

She decided that was the mark of a true ruler; a person willing to get dirty alongside their subjects in the aim of making life a little easier for them.

Lucina glanced up again as Morgan and Lari sauntered back into the intersection, the tactician hiding something behind her back as she walked.

Lari nodded a brief greeting to Lucina as he passed, angling directly for his men and speaking to them in hushed tones.

"Here you go!" Morgan said happily, a small bundle of flowers appearing beneath Lucina's nose.

Lucina took the flowers, not sure how to respond.

"Er… thank you, Morgan. They're lovely. But what's the occasion?"

The other girl shrugged. Lucina caught sight of one of the small white flowers tucked behind Morgan's ear beneath her hood at the movement.

"No occasion," Morgan said breezily. "Some kids were picking them out by the edge of town. Those are your share."

Lucina glanced back down to the bunch of small plants in her hand, momentarily allowing herself to become distracted in the bright colours.

"I've honestly never seen such vibrant colours."

"Did you forget your dress already?" Morgan asked with a cheeky wink.

"Wonderful, isn't it?" she asked after a second of silence. "Even in the middle of a war the flowers still bloom. Can you imagine what the world will look like when it's finally at peace?"

Lucina laughed a little at Morgan's unflappable attitude.

"I've not known anyone so optimistic in all my days. I'm a bit envious, honestly," she admitted, tucking the flowers carefully into her hip pouch.

If nothing else they would liven up her tent's interior a little, so long as she could avoid crushing them on the return trip.

"It's a gift," Morgan replied with a grin. "But why would you be envious? Is something bugging you?"

"Not a specific concern, so much as a grim memory that refuses me peace," Lucina admitted.

"I apologize," she added quickly. "I have no place to complain when you've lost your entire memory. You must carry your own set of woes, do you not? Living in a strange time, without a firm grasp on who you are?"

"Eh, it's not as bad as you might think," Morgan said with an over-exaggerated shrug. "True, it can leave you feeling a bit untethered, maybe? Afloat? But that's just another word for free. Every experience is brand new! The smell of the air, the colour of those flowers—it's all so fresh and intense!"

Lucina wondered if that was how Robin had seen the world when they had first met; he had seemed much happier and far more similar to Morgan two years ago. Perhaps they were both blessed to not remember their pasts. She surely wished that she could forget her own sometimes.

"Plus, I know who I am," Morgan added as an afterthought. "I'm Tactician Morgan of the Ylissean League. That's enough for now."

"I'll say it again," Lucina said with a sad grin. "I envy you. I arrived in this era with a heart already blackened by painful memories."

_And to add insult to injury the only man that I would have heal my heart I cannot be with for fear of disrupting the natural time-flow further._

Lucina started as the grim thought slipped through her usually carefully guarded mental walls, grateful when Morgan continued to talk and distract her.

"But your father's alive in this time, isn't he?" Morgan said helpfully. "And so is everyone else! We'll beat Grima and usher in a new era of peace and flowers!"

Lucina chuckled as Morgan struck a pose, her response lost as she glanced up at movement in the corner of her eyes and noticed Severa and Yarne hurrying back to them.

The Princess went on alert instantly when she caught Severa's gaze from beneath the hem of her cloak.

"Cavalry unit incoming," Severa said quickly once she and Yarne reached the well. "We need to be somewhere else, now."

The Trackers were all instantly on their feet, looking to Morgan for direction.

"Head east," Morgan said quickly, already walking. "We'll make for the farmlands and circle back north once it's safe. Hopefully the cavalry are heading south to the fortress and will completely ignore us."

It amazed Lucina the speed with which Morgan could go from her usual carefree self to the all-business troop leader. One second they were talking about flowers, the next she was leading them from danger with a firm confidence belying her years.

Lucina had to admit that the warning had come as a timely distraction from her current train of thought as she glowered at the ground, focusing instead on moving quickly and quietly.

They emerged from the town into sprawling farmlands, the forest well and truly behind them.

"This wasn't a great idea," Yarne muttered as he hurried behind Morgan and Lucina, glancing around at the seemingly endless fields of young, knee-high wheat swaying in the breeze.

"There's nowhere to hide if we get caught."

"You worry too much," Morgan said with a grin over her shoulder.

*

Robin groaned, stretching out his arms above his head as he shuffled out of his tent into the harsh daylight.

He had just passed his finished paperwork off to some unlucky runner that would deliver it to Frederick; Sumia had collected Chrom's paperwork hours ago; he was finally free to relax, and he knew just the place to do it; at the base of the Mila Tree, nestled between the roots there was this crystal clear pool that he'd been eager to get another look at after-

" _Aren't you forgetting something?"_

_Crap,_ Robin thought, groaning and letting his hands drop onto the top of his head. He watched a squad of Liung's soldiers march by, wearing a very familiar style of exotic armour as he ignored the cruel laughter in his head.

_I wonder if I should get Tharja to come and back me up_ , Robin lamented as his feet started moving of their own accord. _It would be nice to know if I get stabbed help isn't far away._

As if summoned by thoughts of his master Huginn landed on Robin's shoulder with a burst of downdraft and a familiar wing-slap in the back of his head.

"Okay, you're my backup," Robin said to the raven. "If I get stabbed, you go get help."

The bird cocked its head, looking at Robin curiously.

Robin sighed. "Don't ask. Just… If I have an extra hole or two in the next few hours, get help. Preferably before I bleed to death."

Huginn cawed, fluffing his feathers and getting comfortable.

_Gods I'm talking to a bird now. I really need a good long break. Or a nap._

Robin took a few more trudging steps before his inner voice intervened.

" _Wait."_

_Oh what now?_

" _Think,"_ the voice insisted. _"She's still pissed. She's not going to just take our word that Morgan's hers. You need solid proof to convince her."_

Robin stopped dead, understanding dawning.

_I need Morgan's sword._

" _Bingo. You know for a genius tactician I sure have to do a lot of hand-holding."_

_Shut it._

Robin turned on his heel, making for the western barricades and mentally forcing his voice to be silent. His head spun and his vision blurred for a moment as he walked, but at least he was content in the knowledge that he'd be able to rest soon.

*

Morgan laughed as she pulled her hood back.

"See? Told you they'd ignore us."

True to the tactician's prediction the Valmese cavalry had blown through the small town, ignoring everything else and continuing south towards Fortress Steiger.

She had noted that their standard wasn't the same one that had been flown by the men following General Cervantes at the Mila Tree, though, so she could safely assume that they were reinforcements from another of Walhart's armies.

"Yeah. Great," Yarne muttered, pulling off his own hood and shaking his ears free.

"You almost sound like you wanted them to attack us, Bunny," Lari joked as the group stopped to take a quick breather.

They'd been travelling at a brisk jog, hoping to put some distance between them and the town before the cavalry passed through.

"Don't call me that," Yarne warned, reaching for his waterskin only to realize Lucina was still holding it.

Lucina silently handed out the waterskins, and everyone began to drink.

"I think we should just cut through the farmlands," Lari said after a short time. "We need to get off the roads if the Valmese are moving troops; we might not get as lucky next time."

"It's pretty much a straight line from here to the camp anyway," Morgan agreed with a thoughtful nod.

Already they could make out the shape of the Mila Tree in the distance, like a strange, inverted mountain on the horizon.

"Alright," Morgan said with a more definite nod. "But try not to do any damage to the crops. These people have suffered enough."

Lari nodded, squatting down next to one of the sitting Trackers and speaking to the man in hushed tones, making more quick notes on the map he had been marking before.

Morgan stopped to think for a moment, resting her chin in her hand the way she'd seen her father do. The fact that Steiger was being reinforced meant that the Valmese Tactician knew it was their next target; the plan to lay siege to the fortress wouldn't work. They would have to adapt it into a lightning-strike before the soldiers in the massive edifice could seal the gates. Failing that, an infiltration team could sneak in and open them again, but it would be a high-risk assignment, one that her Father would never sign off on unless he was leading the team.

Morgan's gaze snapped up as the Trackers scattered in different directions, some heading in the northern direction of the camp while others just disappeared into the fields around them.

"They're going to run interference," Lari explained. "They'll be our decoys. A few are heading right back to camp with our reports; they can move faster on their own. I'm staying with you guys, though."

"A little warning next time, maybe?" Severa huffed, crossing her arms.

Lari shrugged.

"Sorry, but it was kind of a snap decision."

"It's fine," Morgan said. "As long as they're careful and the intel gets back as soon as possible there's no problem."

Severa scoffed and turned away, obviously not agreeing with Morgan's sentiment but keeping quiet about it all the same. As quiet as Severa got, anyway.

"Well?" Yarne said after a moment's silent inactivity. "Are we going to get back to camp or what?"

*

Robin leaned against the wooden railing that had been set up to mark the boundary of the camp proper, looking into the light forest that surrounded the western periphery as he waited for Morgan's group to return.

_I should have brought a book or something_ , he thought for the umpteenth time. _I feel like I'm wasting time here._

The afternoon was growing late, and the sun had actually begun to descend in the sky, the shadows created by the massive tree above them growing in length and covering everything in light and dark striped patterns.

A few hours ago two Trackers had shown up at the barricade with Morgan's reports, gasping and out of breath before handing them off to the duty message runner, who had spirited them away to wherever preliminary reports went. Robin wouldn't hear about what was in them until the evening war council, which didn't happen until after dinner. At his insistence, of course; who could think on an empty stomach?

That Morgan had chosen to split her team had worried him a little, but he trusted her to make the right decisions in the field; she'd never improve if he sat around second guessing her.

As if just thinking about her had called out to her, Morgan's distinctive black coat appeared between the trees next to a dark-skinned Feroxi man, shortly ahead of Severa's bright red twin-tails and Yarne's dark fur. A flash of blue caught Robin's eye, confusion setting into the tactician's thoughts.

_There was nothing in the reports about Lucina joining the mission,_ he thought.

She was a capable soldier, and there were few others that he would have trusted to watch Morgan's back, but the fact that no one had mentioned she had joined the team grated against Robin's thoughts. What if she'd been injured? She wasn't cleared for stealth operations and could have been a liability.

Robin shook his head a little, trying to clear his thoughts.

Severa wasn't stealth-trained either, but she had gone on the mission all the same. Maybe Robin was worried about nothing.

" _And maybe you're worried about someone's safety."_

Robin grimaced, refusing to let the little voice get the better of him.

He ran a tired hand through his hair as Morgan's little team reached the barricade, greeting them with a little wave.

"Afternoon," he said as they filed into the camp.

"Hi dad," Morgan beamed.

She had found the time to pick flowers, apparently, judging from the little white petals sitting wedged behind her ear. She'd obviously chosen a good colour, too, the way they stood in stark contrast to her dark coat and hair.

"How'd you go?" he asked, pointedly looking at Lucina.

"No problem!" Morgan said excitedly. "Total success! Lucina even offered to come along for the walk; it was so easy it was almost boring!"

Robin nodded, relaxing a little as Yarne, Severa and the Feroxi man melted into the camp. The mission had been a success. All his worrying had been pointless.

"So what's up?" Morgan chirped curiously, hands behind her back as she leaned from the hip towards her father. "You don't usually come out to meet me after scouting missions."

_It's now or never…_

"I need your sword," Robin said, holding out his hand for the weapon.


	30. Chapter 30

Morgan blinked a few times, looking back and forth between her father's outstretched hand and her sword's hilt.

"Er… okay," she said after a second, unstrapping the sheath from her belt and placing it in his outstretched hand. "Can I ask why?"

"Just trust me," he said cryptically, tucking the weapon loosely into his own belt. "Hopefully I'll be able to tell you when I bring it back."

And then he turned and was gone, disappearing back into the press of the busy afternoon camp cycle, Morgan quickly losing sight of him among the press of bodies.

"That was strange," Lucina commented.

Morgan nodded, feeling uncommonly naked without her sword.

What on earth would her Father need her sword for? Was it secretly a potent magical artefact from the future that he needed to cast some devastating spell and make the next day's battle easier for them? Or, more likely, was he bringing it to whoever her mother was? Maybe he was bringing it to Jake the blacksmith to see if he could have another made?

_Whatever,_ she thought with a shrug. Morgan trusted her father. He would tell her when he was ready.

"Well, come on Luce," she said to the other woman, beginning to head into the camp herself.

"What? Where are we going?" Lucina asked curiously, falling into step with the girl.

Morgan shrugged.

"I feel uncomfortable without my sword, and when I'm uncomfortable I go and drink tea. If you're not busy I thought you might like to…" she trailed off, the unspoken invitation hanging in the air.

"Of course," Lucina said with a smile to hide her own worry about why Robin was acting so strangely. "It would be my pleasure."

*

Robin walked briskly through the camp, his daughter's sword clenched tight in his hand. As soon as he had been out of view he had taken a closer look at the blade. There was no longer any doubt in his mind; it was Say'ri's sword.

_I don't know whether to feel relieved or terrified,_ the tactician thought as he ducked around a wagon hauling supplies that would be used on the frontlines.

He passed Laurent trailing the wagon, and the mage didn't even look up from his clipboard as the tactician waved a greeting.

" _Be happy,"_ the tactician's inner voice said. _"Worst case scenario, you get stabbed. The camp's full of healers anyway. Best case scenario? We get laid again!"_

_I am not having sex with anyone._

" _I bet you'd change that tone pretty quickly if it was Lucina-"_

Robin stopped and stepped into an alcove near one of the supply tents, leaning against a pole as his head span, growling and mentally beating the voice into submission.

He had shut the voice down particularly violently this time, and he was starting to feel a little weak. Assuming his subconscious was just trying to get him out of something he didn't want to do, Robin ignored the feeling, steeling himself and stepping back out into the flow of foot traffic in the camp.

All of the scouts were due back tonight; they would finally know the disposition of the Valmese forces and be ready to march in the morning for Fortress Steiger. They were taking too long, though; Robin was afraid that if the assault on the fortress didn't go down exactly as planned then they would have to retreat and rely on Lady Tiki's ability to sway the Dynasts that hadn't heeded Say'ri before.

_Say'ri…_

The last thing Robin needed was something like the current situation he was in with the woman hanging over his head.

He stepped into the officers' tent-city, threading his way between tents bearing symbols from Chengshi, Regna Ferox and Ylisse, all jumbled together. At least cohesion amongst the various different parts of the army was assured if the officers were all getting along, rather than segregating themselves by whatever their homeland was.

Say'ri had chosen to put her tent in with the other military leaders, despite the conversation they had had in Valm Harbour about her being welcome among the Shepherds.

_I think it's pretty safe to assume who the reason for that is_ , Robin thought, stepping into a small corridor between tents.

" _Took the words right out of my mouth,"_ his internal voice said. _"It's no fun if you insult yourself before I can."_

_What do I have to do to shut you up?_ Robin thought, running a hand through his hair.

_I really am going crazy, aren't I?_

The fact that the voice was voluntarily silent this time just made Robin even more nervous as he stepped back onto one of the main thoroughfares.

The 'important people' tents were just ahead; Khans Flavia and Basilio's big animal hide tents were there, as were the square, boxy tents of the Ylissean officers. Liung's tent was a little farther away, a bright red circular thing with images of heraldic serpents and dragons on the sides.

Then there was Say'ri's tent; a dark cream colour, geometric patterns outlining the entryway in red, symbols of what the tactician assumed were the written language of Chon'sin stitched into one side of the flap.

"Wait," a voice said softly in Robin's ear as he went to make for the tent, taking a deep breath to quash his nerves.

At first he thought that his interior voice was bothering him again, so he ignored the voice until he heard movement keeping pace behind him. Turning, he saw Seiko waving him over to a smaller tent in the same vein as Say'ri's.

The tactician hesitated a moment before going over to her.

"Can I help you, Seiko?" he asked neutrally. "I'm kind of in the middle of something."

"I'm actually trying to help you, Robin-chan," she said seriously.

"I like you, so I give you this warning; if I was you, I would stay far, far away from that tent. Princess Say'ri will… not react favourably to your presence at this time."

"I know," Robin said with a tired sigh. "But it's important, for both of us."

Seiko looked at the tactician questioningly. Robin shrugged in response, holding up Morgan's sword.

Seiko looked at the weapon curiously for a moment, glancing quickly between it and the tactician holding it before speaking again.

"I saw this same weapon in my Lady's hand not five minutes ago."

"It's complicated."

"I can imagine," Seiko said with a slight grin. "You know, I am a spy. There is not much that escapes my notice. This is your daughter's sword, yes?"

Robin nodded, his nerves jumping again at the spy's easy demeanour for some reason.

"Then perhaps it would be best that you speak to Princess Say'ri of its origins," the spy suggested with a little wink.

"I will linger near the tent to ensure she does not lose her temper. Not close enough to overhear anything, but close enough to…"

She seemed to struggle for a moment to find the right words.

"Prevent me from getting stabbed?" Robin offered with a tired grin.

Seiko giggled a little. "Not as eloquent as I was hoping to phrase it, but yes. I wish you luck, my friend."

Robin nodded gratefully, stepping back out into the camp and taking a deep breath to steady himself as he strode towards his destination.

He stopped at the tent and rapped on the thick canvas with the back of his knuckles a few times.

"Enter," Say'ri called from inside, her voice cold and carefully measured, the way she had presented herself the first time they had met.

Robin took one last deep breath before ducking beneath the flap and into the tent.

*

"So how long were you in this world before you joined with the Shepherds, anyway?" Morgan asked as she perched on the edge of Noire's cot. "My Dad's notes on the whole issue are surprisingly vague."

_He probably understands the whole time-travel thing about as well as I do._

Lucina glanced up from her own cup of tea. "About two years."

They were in the tent that Morgan and Noire shared; at some point in the past Morgan had won a tea-set from Virion during a very heated chess game, and she had been intent on putting it to use for some time now.

"Does that make you… two years older? Or do you exist outside this timeline? I mean, did you age in those two years? All of this time-travel stuff is confusing; I'm trying to get a better idea on how it works."

"Then perhaps you had best ask Laurent," Lucina chuckled. "He was the most knowledgeable among us. I'm sure he would have many theories on the matter."

Morgan huffed, resting her chin on her hand.

"I did ask him. I couldn't understand a word he said."

Lucina laughed softly. Laurent had inherited his mother's habit of speaking overly scientifically, to the point that he was almost speaking another language entirely to those not acquainted with him. Lucina would admit that even she had trouble understanding him at times.

During the course of their journey over the sea, Lucina had made it a point to discuss the experiences of the others from the future. She had arrived two years earlier, early enough to attempt to make a difference by foiling the planned assassination of her Father and Aunt and assist in the war against Plegia. Kjelle had arrived much later, and spent nearly six months wandering around Northern Regna Ferox, fighting bandits alone and defending the villages. Noire had arrived even later, about a week before they had found her. Yarne, Nah and Severa were in similar situations, only recently having arrived from the spell that had transported them.

Laurent, though, had arrived three years earlier than Lucina had. He had refused to speak of what he had done during his five years of wandering; Lucina assumed that the prideful mage was just embarrassed that he had gotten lost for so long. He had never really been competent at reading maps, a fact that incessantly irked the man.

Morgan's amnesia made her a mystery, though. She had simply woken up in a field the day they had found her, and that was the beginning of her very short memory.

"I assure you I have aged as per usual," Lucina said. "The others will continue to age as well, you included I would assume."

"How can you be sure?" Morgan asked curiously.

"Because I know I have aged in the last two years," Lucina explained. "And even if you don't remember how Laurent looked before, I can vouch for the fact that he too has aged in the years he has been here."

Indeed, the skinny mage had gone from a gawky, awkward teenager to a slightly taller, slightly broader skinny, gawky man. He had been born a year after Lucina, but was now two years older than her. Thinking about it made her head spin a little.

Morgan giggled. "I seem to recall something about him being lost in the desert for a few years."

Lucina joined in with the tactician's laughter.

Morgan had the same easy bearing that her father did, despite being slightly more excitable and energetic; something that could easily be ascribed to youth. She was easy to talk to, despite the obvious age gap between the two.

A thought occurred to Lucina as Morgan took a loud, childish slurp from her cup.

"Do you know how old you are?" she asked.

Morgan blinked a few times before she shrugged.

"Does it matter? I don't even know when my birthday is. How old are you, huh?"

Lucina was silent a moment before answering, trying to actually recall how old she had been before time-travelling. It was not something she had thought about often by the time they utilized Naga's spell.

"With the additional two years I have spent in this timeline I believe I am twenty-two."

Morgan was silent a moment, leaning forward and tapping her chin with her fingers, lost in thought. It was interesting watching Morgan think; Lucina could practically see an image of Robin superimposed over the girl as she tapped her chin the same way he did, watching as the gears turned behind her eyes while she stared into space.

"Let's make the day you and Father found me my new birthday," Morgan said excitedly, perking back up.

"But you still don't know how old you are."

"Eighteen."

Lucina chuckled. "Was that a guess?"

"An educated one," Morgan winked, jumping to her feet. "Old enough to have fun, but still young enough to get away with it! And now that we know we missed my birthday not that long ago, I declare we must go on a quest for cake!"

_Where does this girl get her energy from?_ Lucina wondered as Morgan dragged her from the tent.

"I'm sure Gaius has something stashed somewhere, let's go bug him!" Morgan cheered.

*

Robin stepped into the dimly lit tent, his stomach churning and his palms going sweaty almost instantly.

Say'ri glanced up from where she was cleaning her armour, her face becoming stony as she realized who was calling on her.

_Oh gods this is going to end badly._

"What?" she asked coldly, going back to maintaining her armour.

Robin took a deep breath. No pleasantries, no greetings; straight to business.

" _Atta boy, take the plunge. I'll be here in case you get stabbed."_

_And what exactly will you do, huh?_

" _Did you really think that stunt with the assassins in Chengshi was all you?"_ the voice laughed. _"Screw the bird;_ I'm _your real backup here tonight."_

"I assume you've read the reports about Lucina and the others' origins in the future," he began, quashing the voice as its laughter still echoed around his head.

Say'ri glanced back up at him, frowning a little.

"I have."

"Then you would be aware that a handful of the Shepherds serving with us have already made contact with their parents in this time period."

Say'ri nodded, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as Robin held out Morgan's sword.

"My amnesiac daughter from the future had this on her when we found her. She has no idea who her mother is. I think it's you."

Say'ri's jaw actually dropped before she rose from her sitting position, eyes blazing with rage at the tactician, snatching the sword from Robin and yanking it from its sheath.

"If this is your idea of a joke I will use this sword to… to…" she snarled before trailing off.

Say'ri stumbled backwards into the small chair she had been sitting in, the sheath falling from her hand to clatter mutedly to the canvas floor as she held the blade up to the light. Her gaze flicked back and forth between the weapon in her hands and the one sitting on the rack off to one side of the room as she muttered in what Robin assumed was her native language.

"This is my sword," she said in a small voice, returning to the common tongue, eyes wide as she inspected the blade. "It is weathered and… and older… but tis my…"

"You're sure?" Robin asked, heart still beating out of control.

"There was an imperfection with the crafting," Say'ri explained softly, running her fingertips along the sword. "A small blemish in the blade, right… here. The revered sword smith died shortly after crafting my weapon. There has never been another created like it."

Robin let out a breath in the ensuing silence. She was taking the news better than he had expected; worse than he had hoped, but better than he had feared.

"Then my suspicions have been confirmed," Robin said quietly. "Morgan is your daughter from the future. This also explains why she has blue eyes. I have brown, unlike you."

The atmosphere in the tent grew cold as Robin waited for Say'ri to process the information. He resisted the urge to lean against something, despite how tired he was. She simply sat, cradling the sword in both hands as she stared at the blade. Occasionally she would move to run her fingers over the small blemish on the blade, as if she were trying to wipe it away.

Robin had been fully prepared to argue the point that Morgan actually resembled the woman, but it looked like he wouldn't need to; she understood the implications as well as he did.

Say'ri was Morgan's mother. Robin grimaced, imagining how much worse this would make his rejection for her.

"This isn't fair," Say'ri said, her voice still soft but her knuckles going white as she clenched the hilt of the sword.

"It is not fair!" she repeated louder, glaring up at Robin. "First you reject me outright and now… now this? What have I done to deserve this treatment!? I gave myself to you, body and soul, and you crushed my heart! Now you tell me we have a child together!?"

Robin shook his head.

"I'm telling you this because you have a right to know," he explained.

"And so does Morgan," Robin added in the pause that followed.

"Am I…" Say'ri asked softly, trailing off, unable to say the words. "Am I… now?"

"I don't know," Robin admitted. "She could have been born years from now, for all we know. I don't even know if she will be born in this timeline at all now."

_I'll just leave any mention of 'Aunt' Tharja out for the time being…_

"That is a cruel fate," Say'ri said accusingly.

"For who?" Robin asked sharply. "You? Or her? Or perhaps me, for knowing I may have condemned that bright young woman, my own daughter, to never exist in the first place all for my own selfishness!?"

"Twas your decision, not mine," Say'ri said, rising as her voice rose in volume. "I thought I loved you, Robin. You never even gave me a reason for your rejection; you simply ran away."

The accusation hit Robin like a blow to the gut.

" _Ouch. She's got you there."_

_I do not need your commentary right now!_

"I never did apologize for that," Robin said, holding a hand to his temple, attempting to remain calm as a fresh wave of pain and nausea shot through his head.

"To hell with your apologies!" Say'ri shouted. "You owe me an explanation at the very least!"

"I didn't come here to talk about us, I came here to tell you about Morgan," Robin said tiredly through clenched teeth, his irritation growing as his fists clenched.

"I think one pertains to the other," Say'ri hissed dangerously.

Robin grimaced, another wave of nausea hitting him as his temper finally snapped, raw magic crackling like purple electricity along his knuckles.

"I rejected you because I'm already in love with Lucina!" he shouted, rounding on Say'ri.

Her face went pale, shock evident in every inch of her posture.

Robin didn't realize what he had said until the words left his mouth, but as soon as he did he regretted his choice of words, the magic dissipating instantly.

_Crap,_ the tactician mentally cursed, a new wave of panic rising to the fore. _I… I usually have more self-control that that… Was I really about to cast a Flux spell?_

Robin brought a shuddering hand to his forehead, mind whirling. He didn't cast Dark Magic as a matter of principle; he knew how, he knew that he could achieve the spells; but the price was usually too high for him to want to. He hated using Dark Magic. Robin glanced up, his eyes meeting Say'ri's.

"So I was what to you?" she asked in a low, angry voice. "A dalliance? Some way for you to entertain yourself while you waited for her?"

Robin swayed, catching himself before he fell.

" _I can handle this! Just give me a chance! I promise not to start any fires!"_

"The river of time always prefers its original course," Robin explained, ignoring the voice and recalling something Lucina had said, taking strength from the thought of the blue-haired woman. "We were meant to be together in the future; that night was time's attempt at making things happen the 'right' way. But for all that, I can't ignore what my heart tells me to do."

"Answer my question!" Say'ri roared, brandishing Morgan's sword. "What was I to you!?"

Robin instinctively reached out, his mind not catching up with his body in time, wrapping his hand around the razor sharp blade as Say'ri waved it in front of his face.

The tactician cursed, stepping back as blood began running from the deep cut on his palm.

Say'ri made a sort of strangled gasp, stepping back and dropping Morgan's sword to the floor of her tent with a dull clatter.

"Why did you do that?" she asked in shock. "Why…?"

"You waved a sword in my face, and I wasn't paying attention," Robin growled, gripping his wrist tightly and trying to slow the blood-flow to the wounded appendage.

"I was not…" Say'ri said, looking away with confusion and hurt warring on her features.

Robin started to laugh; he couldn't help it. After all his melodramatic worrying about getting stabbed, he had actually gotten stabbed.

"Why is this funny!?" Say'ri shouted. "Have you lost your mind!?"

_I don't know? Have I?_ Robin thought, his laughter subsiding to a quiet chuckle.

" _Hey, you're pretty normal from in here."_

"You have delivered your message," Say'ri said in a carefully neutral tone, turning her back to him. "Now I would ask you leave before you bleed all over my tent. I will… talk to Morgan. Eventually."

Robin nodded, silently retrieving his daughter's sword in one hand, clutching the other tightly to his chest.

"I would prefer this conversation stay between us," Robin said as he made for the tent's flap.

Say'ri scoffed.

"Do not worry," she said bitterly. "Your precious tryst will remain a secret."

_It's not a tryst until she reciprocates,_ Robin thought as he stepped out into the night. _And that may never even happen._

" _Well, not with that attitude, anyway. Good job, in there, though! I only had to intervene once. Probably should have left Blue's name out of there, though. Not so smart on my part."_

"Shut up," Robin snarled, clenching his wounded hand into a fist, blood dripping into the earth at his feet. "Just shut up. I don't want to hear it."

The tactician started walking again, not even stopping when Seiko called out to him.

As he walked he looked at his bleeding hand, the one that had been so close to silencing Say'ri with Dark Magic, and shook his head.

*

Morgan stepped into her tent, breathing a happy sigh as she rotated her shoulders and let her coat fall off before turning to pick it up.

It was late now, but everyone had had so much fun at her little ad-hoc birthday party; Vaike had procured beverages of an alcoholic nature from somewhere, and Stahl and Lady Cordelia had even played music for them on their harps. Most of the Shepherds had shown up, both past and present, and even a few people from outside the little group, most notably the Feroxi Khans Basilio and Flavia and the Tracker Lari, who had brought more beer with them.

She blushed a little when she thought of dark young Feroxi Tracker; he was definitely related to Basilio somehow. No one else would have been smooth enough to sneak a kiss the way he had, boozed-up or no.

Morgan giggled a little, thinking that it was probably a good thing that her father had been absent. She had little doubt that he would have taken his sword to the attractive Feroxi man. As it was, Tharja looked like she had been trying to decide which hex would cause Lari the most discomfort.

She took a moment to lightly brush her fingertips across her lips, savouring the feeling. As far as she knew, that had been her first kiss.

The young tactician stumbled a little as she folded the coat over her arm, placing it gently on her desk before she noticed her sword sitting on the tabletop.

She picked it up and drew the weapon from its sheath, probably not the smartest thing in the world considering how drunk she was, but inspected the blade all the same.

A small gasp escaped her lips when she noticed the small red smear on the sword near the tip in the dim lighting from the camp outside.

"Wha?" Noire asked sleepily, sitting up in her cot. "Wh-what's wrong?"

Morgan shook her head, wiping the blood away on her coat where no one would notice it.

"It's nothing," she slurred, sheathing the weapon and placing it carefully on the table next to her coat before crawling into her sleeping roll fully-clothed.

_What exactly did father do with my sword tonight?_ She wondered, curling up into a ball and trying not to let worry consume her, thoughts of her fun evening being replaced by anxiety.

*

Robin glared at himself in the mirror again the next morning, looking even more dishevelled than before. His stubble and wrinkled clothes were making him look like a drifter, and the dark bags under his eyes weren't helping either.

_Why aren't I getting any rest?_ He thought as he began to run the small shaving knife over his jaw.

_It's not like I'm not sleeping. Morgan had to practically kick me awake this morning. I should go and see Libra and make sure nothing's wrong with me._

The tactician hissed angrily and cursed as a thin red line appeared on his chin, a few drops of blood dripping into the basin he was leaning over. He hadn't been paying attention and now he'd cut his face; the perfect way to start the day.

"Right, bugger it," Robin decided, wiping his shaving knife clean and rinsing his face.

He dried his face, dropped the shaving kit back at his tent and made his way through the hectic pre-march camp to the Shepherds' mess tent. Most of the Shepherds were busily breaking camp, packing up tents and loading up the supply wagons, a scene repeated by soldiers all over the war camp as far as the eye could see.

Robin hesitated at the flap of the mess, glancing in before he broke out into a tired smile.

Sitting at one of the corner tables was Morgan and Say'ri, talking happily. Morgan had a huge smile on her face, and they both burst into laughter as she said something funny.

Robin grinned, discreetly grabbing an apple from the food counter and making his way to where Chrom and Sumia were eating.

He'd let Morgan and Say'ri talk. The last thing either of them needed was the added awkwardness of Robin's presence right now.

"Good morning, sunshine," Chrom said sarcastically as Robin fell into a seat.

"You look like crap. What, did you get bored halfway through shaving?"

Robin chuckled around his first bite of the sweet fruit in his hand, pointing at the red line on his chin as he discretely hid his bandaged hand under the table.

"I'm having an off day. You wanna shave me? Be my guest."

"Good luck with that," Sumia laughed. "I can barely convince him to keep shaving his own face!"

Chrom groaned and rolled his eyes as Robin and Sumia broke into quiet laughter.

*

Robin stood to the side as he watched the Ylissean League move out, ordered rows of soldiers marching to the steady rhythm of the drums of war as the early dawn light flashed down on them. The majority of the Shepherds, led by Robin and Chrom, would be behind the first rank of men as they assaulted Steiger; it would be their job to cut through the lines if they became static and give the initiative back to the Ylissean soldiers. A smaller team of Shepherds, scouts from Chengshi and Feroxi Trackers with the same role would be moving down the path Morgan had scouted the previous day, the young tactician leading the group with Lon'qu. An even smaller team of Say'ri's spies had already deployed to infiltrate the fortress and open the way for the Shepherds.

The real goal, though, was to disorganize the forces outside the fortress to allow the Shepherds to slip through. That was assuming, of course, that the Valmese general didn't take the field. If they could take her out in the field, so much the better; their goal would be accomplished without any messy fortress-assault. If the general was smart, though, she'd hole up and make the Shepherds come to her. It was what Robin would do in her situation, but his experiences with high-ranking military types had left little respect for their tactical prowess.

Morgan's force would be assaulting much closer to the side entrances that they would be utilizing for their infiltration, a carefully calculated risk on Robin's part. The enemy would be thicker there, but they wouldn't be expecting to be flanked from the river.

Robin nervously kneaded the grip of his sword; Morgan was marching into battle alone, without him for the first time. He trusted her and knew that she wouldn't let him down, but he still worried.

Cordelia's flight of Pegasus Knights flashed overhead, Cherche, Nowi and Nah keeping pace with the lighter creatures easily as they zipped ahead to scout and possibly begin to sow a little discord from the air. Robin knew for a fact that Sumia was flying with them that day, too; something he would have preferred to have avoided, but she had been adamant about her decision, and technically she was the Queen. Plus, her skills with a healing staff would be beneficial to the Knights, even if she wasn't as practiced as Lissa or Maribelle.

The two healers would be marching with the regular Shepherds, too; another thing Robin would have preferred to avoid, but they would be closer to respond quicker in an emergency at least. And Lissa had put her foot down; she wasn't being left behind again, and technically she was the Princess…

_Why bother having a tactician if no one listens to him anyway?_ Robin thought with a huff.

"You look nervous," Virion said, coming up beside him.

Robin muttered a wordless affirmative, still watching the men march.

"You should not be," Virion assured him, clapping a hand on his shoulder and giving him a reassuring wink. "Your plan is, as always, flawless. I know because I helped you come up with it."

"Do you even know what humility means?" Robin asked with a tired chuckle, glancing over his shoulder at the archer.

Virion shrugged exaggeratedly.

"This is our first real engagement," Robin said, looking back over the marching troops.

"I mean real, honest-to-Naga army to army engagement. We'll be there, but it's not all us this time. We're not even in the vanguard this time. It's… a strange sensation to be in this position again after so long."

"Come now," Virion admonished lightly. "Plegia wasn't that long ago. You're going to make me feel old if you are not careful."

Robin chuckled a little, finally looking away and back toward where the Shepherds were gathered as he tugged down on the gorget of his breastplate.

_It's been forever since I've worn this thing_ , Robin thought absently as he watched Jake tugging on Chrom's shoulder-pads to make sure they weren't going to come off.

The prince rolled his eyes as the blacksmith made minute adjustments to his straps, not noticing or otherwise completely ignoring the other man's discomfort.

All of the Shepherds were wearing their own versions of armour, even, astonishingly enough, Vaike; even if his idea of armour was just pauldrons and a large leather belt. Virion had strapped his short rapier to his hip, and a small round buckler hung from the small of his back beneath his full quiver. Chrom was covered in gleaming silver plates; Kellam looked like he was about to go on a parade-march; Donnel tugged experimentally on his new gauntlets; the scene was repeated over and over as they all adjusted to their armour. For some time it had appeared that they would be able to get away without wearing it for the smaller engagements, but that time was over now. The true war was beginning, and they were marching to hell right down the middle-path.

The tactician's gaze lingered on Lucina a moment as the woman adjusted the bindings on her wrist-guards before he shook his head and made for Chrom, Virion in tow as the tactician's coat billowed out behind him.

"The army is moving," Robin said as he approached Chrom. "We're going to have to move soon too, if we want to keep up."

The Prince nodded, looking down at where Jake was now testing the straps on his thigh armour plates.

"Thank you, Jake," Chrom said, obviously relieved to be getting the other man out of his personal space. "But we're out of time."

"I take no responsibility if bits fall off when you don't let me check properly first," Jake said as he rose, bowing politely before jogging back to Anna's wagon.

The plucky merchant would be accompanying Morgan's force, so Jake had gotten stuck with the wagon, while Olivia was leading the other supply wagons.

Robin sighed when he realized that this was the point of no return; they were literally all-in, as of this engagement; his plans all called for lightning-fast strikes and there wasn't a lot of wriggle-space if things started to go sour, not when they were literally surrounded by an army of millions.

"Is it too late to say 'why don't we wait for Raimi and Seth to arrive **?'** before we do this?" Robin muttered as he and Chrom began striding to the front of the group.

"We'll be fine," Chrom assured him. "I believe in your plans. Let's see them through."

Virion stuck with Robin as they marched, something that the tactician was actually grateful for. His presence was both at once calming and galvanizing; Robin felt renewed confidence knowing that his friends would be watching his back, but the anxiety refused to leave him.

The tactician felt his anxiety jump again when Lucina joined the three men at the front of the group, staring straight ahead as she marched at Chrom's side with her head held high. She was wearing her usual blue light armour, and Robin had no doubt that her parallel Falchion had been shined to a mirror hue.

_I need to relax a little,_ Robin told himself. _I never got this anxious before Plegia._

" _You didn't have anything to lose before Plegia,"_ the voice whispered. _"Morgan, Lucina… the whole future of the world… there's a lot riding on your shoulders now."_

Robin took a deep breath, resisting the urge to growl.

_I'm only going to ask nicely once. Please keep your snide little remarks to yourself until the battle is won._

" _Oh? Asking nicely now? Fine. In the spirit of co-operation, I'll keep quiet unless I have something life-savingly insightful to add."_

Robin visibly sagged with relief. He didn't know why, but he believed the voice.

" _Or if I find something really, really funny,"_ the voice added with a burst of dark laughter in Robin's head.

The tactician sighed. Even the voices in his head were making fun of him now.

*

Morgan glanced around as she waited for the right time to begin to move her forces into position; she had been put in charge of the flanking force that was using the route she had scouted with Lari's trackers the previous day.

Her. The untested tactician-in-training. In charge of a thousand-man flanking force.

She shuddered involuntarily at the pressure.

The ever-silent Lon'qu staring over her shoulder constantly just made her even more nervous.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, attempting to calm herself down by reminding herself that she had done just fine while she had been left in charge of things in Valm Harbour. But that had been mostly paperwork and boring stuff. This was a real battle! People's lives rested on her decisions and tactics this time.

"You seem nervous," Lady Say'ri said comfortingly. "Relax. Once this battle is over there will be a hundred more just like it that will make this one seem trivial by comparison."

Morgan nodded, taking another deep breath.

Say'ri had approached her that morning, requesting to join the flanking force. She had also joined Morgan for breakfast, which had turned out to be a pleasant surprise; Morgan had enjoyed talking with the older woman about her homeland over their meals, and they had clicked almost instantly. Say'ri had started out a little stiff at first, but Prince Chrom had once pointed out that Morgan had the same easy demeanour as her father that made her incredibly difficult to dislike, and they had wound up getting along famously.

The foreign princess was a comforting presence, but not in the same way that the others around her age like Severa or Yarne were; Morgan just chalked it up to her being the only adult besides her father to offer her any praise or advice, rather than just expecting her to perform like a fully trained and officially qualified tactician.

_Such is a tactician's duty, though_ , Morgan thought, recalling something her father had once said. _Perpetually doomed to be over-worked and under-appreciated._

A thought occurred to Morgan. _How exactly do tacticians get 'officially' qualified, anyway?_

She snapped back to reality when Severa gave her a light slap upside her head.

"Hey genius," she said in her normal, irritated tone. "Aren't we supposed to be, you know, marching?"

Morgan perked up, looking around.

"No, we're still on time," she said, relaxing after the sudden burst of anxiety. "Once the third rank has passed, then we move. We're not marching at a steady pace, because we have more distance to cover; we have to move faster if we want to keep up."

Severa huffed and crossed her arms looking away.

Morgan smiled. Her father had filled her flanking force with people that she knew and trusted to help ease her anxiety. He hadn't said as much, but it was pretty obvious.

Severa, Noire and Yarne were all there, as was Panne, Gaius, Libra and Anna. The older Taguel woman scared the bajeezus out of Morgan, but she had a healthy respect for her martial prowess, and her ginger hired thief-of-a-husband was definitely easy to get along with. The redheaded merchant Anna was also a lot of fun to talk to, but would be hanging back, her own fighting skills limited. The priest Libra radiated an air of calm collectedness, another thing that Morgan was grateful for. She hadn't exactly had much to do with the man, but she had seen him tear apart Valmese formations at the Mila Tree without breaking a sweat, shortly before switching to the role of healer for the wounded Ylissean soldiers.

The Chengshi scouts were led by a dour man with a thin drooping moustache named Lee, who had simply nodded a terse greeting to Morgan before moving to make his men ready to march.

Then, of course, there was the leader of the Feroxi Trackers that made up the other half of her force; Lari.

"Such disrespect for your direct superior," the dark-skinned Feroxi said playfully.

"I like it."

Morgan smiled at his calm disposition. She had no doubt that they would all work well together and that she would lead them properly.

After all, Morgan thought with a confident smile, it was what her father had trained her to do.

*

Robin watched with a sympathetic wince as the two opposing armies met, the Ylissean and Chengshi soldiers crashing into the unmounted Valmese line while Feroxi archers peppered their red armoured foes with arrows. Robin had found the perfect position on a low hill overlooking the main lines in the battle and he could see most of the flanks as well. Runners were already delivering messages and reports from the front, and he began to sift through them and dole out orders, never taking his eyes off the field for long.

Things were going well; despite the main line becoming static a little earlier than expected the enemy flanks were buckling under the combined magical and aerial superiority of the Ylissean League. Liung's heavily armoured spearmen and swordsmen were fighting just as hard as the Ylissean soldiers in the front, while the lighter armoured warriors of Regna Ferox assisted in whatever capacity they could; mostly archery and supporting the main line.

"Commander Frederick needs to strike the enemy cavalry in the south before they can work up any momentum," he said to one of the messengers waiting nearby as he made notes on a piece of parchment. "Roark is going to be bringing his own division in as backup for the Knight Commander, make sure they both know that it's a joint assault."

"Tell Miriel and Ricken to take Henry and lead the Ylissean mages in a spell to slow the Valmese retreat; we want to keep them out of the fortress for as long as we can. Something not too flashy; a small firestorm will do."

"Lord Liung's lancers are moving forward too fast. Have him call them back while the second archer division covers them."

"The third unit is going to need space to move up; tell the captain of the Feroxi Archer division in the west that he needs to move closer to the centre and consolidate his forces."

"Commander Cordelia needs to hit the southern flank at the same time as Frederick's cavalry; make sure she doesn't overshoot him and get cut off. Tell her I said I'm not coming to rescue her again."

Robin sighed and rubbed his temples as the last messenger raced off, glancing up as Lucina held a waterskin out to him.

"Thanks," he muttered, uncorking the neck and taking a long sip.

"Tell your father that we're going to have to move up soon. It looks like the natives are digging in," he added, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Lucina nodded, racing off to convey his instructions. They weren't exactly orders; giving orders was Chrom's job. But everyone knew who was leading the army, and who was 'leading' the army. It would be different if Chrom would help with the strategies, but most of the time he trusted Robin to do his job.

Virion sighed theatrically as he shielded his eyes from the morning sun, looking out over the battlefield.

"Here I stand, ready to be of service, and my skills go to waste in the shadow of your own," Virion said playfully. "Truly you are the most tactical of tacticians, sir."

Robin smirked, taking another long drag from the waterskin before replacing the cork and placing it safely in his pouch.

"I haven't done this much talking in months. I feel like I've been marching across the desert again," he complained, beginning to descend the hill to join with the Shepherds.

He glanced up as Nowi and Nah landed, gracefully shifting back from their draconian forms into their human ones as their feet touched the earth. Nowi stumbled as Nah reached out to steady her, bright crimson staining her usually light clothes under a hand firmly pressed to her side.

With a spike of anxiety Robin watched Maribelle race over and slide from her horse's saddle, instantly setting to work on the dragon-girl with her healing magic. Nowi sagged a little, smiling sheepishly as Nah berated her mother for not being more careful as they had flown over the enemy archers.

"Robin?" Virion said softly. "We need to move. She will be fine."

The tactician's head snapped around, realizing he'd stalled and was staring at the wounded manakete as she was being healed.

He forced himself to swallow, calming a little. It was a minor wound; she'd be back to soaring above the battlefield, spitting fireballs at the enemy in no time.

Robin nodded silently, falling into step with Virion as they made for the front of the Shepherd force where Chrom and Lucina were waiting. He jammed his hands into his pockets, hoping to hide the fact that they were shaking.

Tharja gave him a questioning look as he passed, one he answered with a barely perceptible shake of his head.

He would be fine. He just needed to readjust to actual warfare again. At least that's what he kept telling himself.

"Shepherds!" Chrom roared, brandishing Falchion above his head as the tactician and archer finally took their positions.

"Forward!"

Robin took a deep breath as he fell into step beside the Prince, drawing his sword one handed and readying a wind spell with the other, jogging forward to the frontlines as the Ylissean forces parting to allow the veteran Shepherds to pass.

_Time to take the plunge_ , Robin repeated to himself grimly, snarling as he broke into a run alongside Chrom and Lucina, Virion just behind him with an arrow already nocked.

With a grunt Robin released the wind spell, casting upwards. The Valmese soldiers stumbled backwards, buffed by powerful magical winds as the Shepherds slammed into them.

*

Morgan panted a little as she kept pace with Lari and Lon'qu, both men obviously far, far fitter than she was. Even Lady Say'ri at her side was barely breathing any harder than she normally did.

_I need to up my training regime_ , Morgan thought as she tried to keep pace.

They had covered most of the way to the gully that marked the end of the dry riverbed in quick and silent strides, the Feroxi trackers moving silently along the riverbed. The Chengshi scouts did their best, but wore light steel armour and had heavier weapons, so were making a small amount of clanking as they kept pace, no doubt giving their position away.

Not that anyone would be able to tell; the sounds of the battle in the distance were loud enough to distract any casual observers. Again, not that there would be any, considering the huge battle going on nearby.

Morgan skidded to a halt at the same time as Lari, the Feroxi man flicking out a hand as a small throwing knife from the bandolier across his chest darted into the bushes.

A red-armoured Valmese scout tumbled down the dry river bank, landing face down and still.

"Scout," Lari said. "We need to hurry."

Morgan nodded, and they redoubled their efforts to get to their intended position unnoticed.

She absently noted horns sounding in the distance, but they were too far away to make out clearly.

Morgan was silently glad that she hadn't voiced her opinion about there not being any scouts. Obviously she still had a lot to learn about enemy tactics; just because there was a battle didn't mean that a general would recall their scouts.

Lon'qu, Lari, Lee and Say'ri charged up the side of the gully, barely even slowing. Morgan hesitated a split second before following them, motioning for the soldiers to hold their ground.

The young tactician came to a halt, her gasping breaths momentarily stopping as she looked out over her first real battlefield with wide eyes.

The first thing she noticed were the bodies everywhere; red-armoured Valmese soldiers lying alongside the blue-armoured Ylisseans, leather-clad Feroxi and steel-coloured Chengshi. The next was the smell; blood and bile, dirt and smoke, and death pervading everything. She had seen death before; she had killed, she had hunted, but this… this…

She could see fighting not too far away, but the Ylissean lines had moved much further ahead than her father had predicted. Their flanking tactic was redundant now.

Morgan quashed her desire to retch, standing up straight and glancing at Lon'qu.

The stern Feroxi man smiled softly and reassuringly, giving her a nod.

"The… the battlefield has moved further north," Morgan said, taking stock of the situation. "If we charge in now, we can link up with the main force, but that would defeat the purpose of sneaking in as a flanking force."

"And your plan is?" Lee asked condescendingly.

Morgan shrugged.

"Charge in and join up with the main force," she said. "We missed our window of opportunity; the main army pushed too hard and too fast and left us behind. That's not a bad thing. We were an ace in the hole in case the lines went static, but they're pushing the Valmese back just fine, so we'll join up and slip into the frontlines on the army's eastern flank."

"A sound plan," Lon'qu said with a nod.

Lari voiced agreement, sliding back down the gully to issue orders to his men, Lee doing the same silently.

"A good plan," Say'ri complimented softly, laying a hand on Morgan's shoulder. "You think quickly on your feet; this is a good trait to have. Stay close to me when the battle is joined. I will see no harm comes to you."

Morgan nodded as the older woman moved to converse with Lon'qu about something or other.

Her head reeled. That had felt almost unbearably familiar; something about Say'ri screamed at Morgan internally for attention, but the trainee tactician put it out of her mind. She could dwell on it and question the foreign leader after the battle.

The Chengshi and Feroxi soldiers began tromping by, climbing out of the gully and making for the Ylissean lines. The few Shepherds with them waited with Morgan and the others, looking out over the battlefield themselves. Libra began to softly pray as they waited.

Lari flashed by with his men, offering Morgan a grin and a wink as he did.

She smiled unconsciously as she gave the man a little wave. She would have to go back to focusing on the matter at hand soon, but for now she was willing to just wait and watch the lines.

*

Robin spun, lashing out with magical flames as Lucina and Chrom jumped back. The Valmese soldiers before them fell backwards, grasping at their burned faces or trying to put out their flaming clothes. Those that pressed forward again soon found arrows sticking from gaps in their armour, Virion kneeling near Robin's side as he shot at an almost inhuman speed, a grimace of concentration replacing the noble archer's usually easy expression.

The tactician stepped back as Kellam, Donnel, Vaike and Kjelle charged forward, weapons swinging. Miriel led Henry and Ricken in a potent area-effect spell, lightning falling from the sky as Tharja cast her own spells seeing dark energy lancing up from beneath the feet of the Valmese soldiers.

The enemy line had completely buckled under the force of the Shepherds' charge; less than twenty men had cast aside the Valmese forces and crushed their defences. Robin looked up as Cherche brought her wyvern Minerva down on a group of Valmese swordsmen that looked to be rallying, striking out with her long-hafted axe as her wyvern spun, attacking the enemy with her tail and claws.

A horn sounded from the west as the rest of the Ylissean army surged forward, blasting three short notes and two long ones three times repeatedly.

"Hold!" Robin shouted, grabbing the nearest signal-man he could find. "Reform the lines!"

Chrom heard the call and began shouting himself, Falchion held aloft.

"Reform the lines around me! To me, brave men of Ylisse and Regna Ferox! To me, proud men of Valm! Reform the lines!"

Robin glanced away as the signaller began to blow the call to reform the lines, Cordelia and her knights touching down just behind Robin.

"A large group of mounted soldiers is coming in from the west, far more than we expected," Cordelia reported. "Frederick and Roark are staging a fighting retreat, but they will be on us in a matter of minutes."

Robin nodded his thanks.

"Dragon's Teeth formation!" he roared. "Spears and pikes in front! Swords on the sides! Archers and mages in behind! Now, damn you!"

Chrom looked questioningly at his tactician, but took up the call anyway. The army began to shift, the spearmen and pike-wielding Ylisseans moving forward and creating a series of triangles that the mounted Valmese would crash into and instantly lose momentum, caught between the 'teeth'. This was the best plan he'd been able to come up with to defeat the mounted superiority of Valm; it was time to see if it worked.

Robin watched as the Ylissean Knights swept around the teeth, pulling back to safety.

"Run and tell Frederick to bolster the eastern flank," Robin said to a pale young runner. "You tell him the flanking team is going to need backup when the Valmese get around our flanks; tell him be ready to charge if the order is given."

He gave the boy a light motivating shove before turning to Miriel and Cordelia.

"I need you two to discourage any Valmese forces from hitting out western flank," he said. "Knights attacking from the sky, mages from a distance; if it looks like they're getting anywhere near you, pull back. Take Nowi and Nah, and watch each other's backs."

The two women nodded, Cordelia calling for her Knights to take to the air again while Miriel began shouting orders to the other mages.

"Tharja, go with the mages," Robin said, turning to the Dark Mage.

"I'm not leaving your side," she said stubbornly.

Robin groaned and rolled his eyes. He didn't have time to argue.

"Fine, then I'm putting you to work. Come with me."

Robin began walking back to where the front had reformed into the triangular teeth formation; he could already see the Valmese cavalry charging towards them in a plume of dust. He climbed up onto the back of a box, getting a better view of the battlefield before pulling Tharja up next to him.

"You and I are slowing the cavalry down. Aim to damage, not to kill; wide area of effect. We want to disrupt their charge as much as possible."

"Just the two of us?" Tharja asked in a familiar low tone as an evil smile broke out on her face.

"I know," Robin said with a grin of his own as magic began crackling around them. "It's overkill, both of us doing this, but you insisted."

*

Morgan skidded to a halt, eyes wide as the others around her doing the same and looking back curiously. She had heard the horns; they were about to get hit hard.

"Form up!" she shouted desperately. "Form up! Form a line!"

"Morgan, what-" Say'ri started before the tactician cut her off.

"The main army's changing into a 'Dragon's Teeth' formation," the girl explained as the troops, already spread out as they had been making for the main Ylissean force attempted to consolidate.

"The Dragon's teeth makes a shorter front-line," Morgan went on, watching the Ylissean lines shift over the shoulders of the Feroxi and Chengshi under her command. "Which means whatever's charging at them is going to spill over and hit us."

Lon'qu's head whipped back and forth between her and the Ylissean line before he started shouting orders, attempting to make a coherent line out of scouts and trackers.

"Move, Naga damn your hides!" he roared. "Swords and axes in front! Archers behind! I shouldn't have to explain this!"

"Trackers!" Lari ordered quickly. "Bows ready! Aim for suppression and slow them down!"

Lee began barking in his native language, harsh sounds made up of all constantans, his men grouping together tightly with the melee-weapon wielding Feroxi as he joined the frontline some way away from the Shepherds.

Severa began cursing under her breath, jogging to the front with a visibly quaking Yarne in tow. Panne was looking around, judging the terrain as Gaius began to do a few little stretches to limber up, cool as ever. Noire looked like she was about to burst into tears as she joined the Feroxi archers, Lari patting a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder as she did. Anna looked lost, her face pale and drawn.

Say'ri paled as well when she, too, looked out over the men.

"We came up with the Dragon's Teeth together," Morgan said in a quaking voice. "Me and dad. I named it… We… we designed it to deal with cavalry charges."

Lon'qu looked back, grimacing before beginning to shout again.

"Expect cavalry! Hold this line! Once they make their first pass we make for the main army! Carry the wounded! Leave the dead!"

_Leave the dead!?_ Morgan thought frantically. _Just how bad is this going to be!? Oh gods, what have I led us into!?_

The young tactician took a deep breath, trying to project an air of calm as she shouldered her way to the front of the line, standing next to Lon'qu as Say'ri took up position next to her. Yarne shot her a pleading look as he leaned forward, his body elongating and his fur growing as he shifted forms. Severa gave her a confident nod and a feral grin as she gripped her favoured sword.

"You should be in support with the archers," Say'ri said in her ear.

"I can cast just as well from here," Morgan argued, wincing as the sounds of battle in the distance rose in pitch again.

"Advance in formation!" Morgan called. "Get closer to the League! Don't break formation!"

Lon'qu took up the cry, the usually quiet swordsman's voice booming out over the assembled soldiers. They were a pitiful number compared to the majority of the League's foot soldiers that were in formation already across the battlefield. As their little group began to slowly creep forward, maintaining their formation, Morgan fervently hoped that she was overreacting, but she knew that her father wouldn't have used an untested formation like the Dragon's teeth unless he deemed it necessary. Which meant a very, very big cavalry charge.

Dust began to rise in the distance and there was a monumental crash, the sound of armoured bodies impacting against each other.

"Hold here!" Morgan ordered, the line coming to a standstill.

A plume of dust had rounded the Ylissean flank and obviously spotted the flanking force. Rather than circle about, which would take time and effort, the Valmese soldiers did exactly what Morgan had feared they would; they kept right on charging, building up momentum as they raced across the battlefield.

Lari shouted an order in the native language of Western Regna Ferox and a hail of arrows flashed out towards the Valmese charge.

"Blood and thunder!" Noire roared before bursting into manic laughter punctuated by the twanging of her bowstring, her personality shifting again. "Come! Face oblivion! Face me and I will speed your passing!"

Morgan let out an involuntary chuckle. She couldn't help it; Noire made her laugh.

Say'ri let out a deep breath next to her as she crouched low in a defensive stance, her sword held straight.

"Stay close, child," she said to Morgan again.

Feeling a little competitive Morgan grinned and cast a quick spell, knocking the feet out from under a few of the lead horses with blasts of green wind and causing pile-ups with those behind them.

"I'll be fine," she said, casting a firestorm across from where Lee and the majority of the Chengshi soldiers were grouped.

The Valmese cavalry slowed as the horses hesitated at the flames, being funnelled closer to Morgan's position in the centre of the line, arrows raining down on them like fletched hail all the while.

Before Morgan could cast a third spell the first of the cavalry were on them, Say'ri throwing her to one side as one of the mounted Valmese men passed between them.

"Move!" Morgan screamed. "Move and fight! Don't let them run us to ground!"

She swung her sword in high arcs, slashing at mounted thighs and stomachs as she began to run. The line dissolved almost instantly, Lee and his men completely ignoring the Shepherds and the trackers and making a break for the rest of the army.

"Lee!" Morgan shouted, waving her arms and trying to get the man's attention. "Lee! Hold formation! Hold- damn you! Fine!"

She growled under her breath as she began to strike at the Valmese men again.

The cowardly Chengshi man would get his, she silently promised.

Yarne and Panne bounded by, knocking aside horses or dragging men from their mounts as they went. Gaius and Anna followed, dancing nimbly through the melee as they tried to clear a path for the archers.

"Move!" Lari shouted to Morgan, his face close to hers, gripping the girl by the shoulder and making her take a few steps forward. "Wake up Morgan! We need to go now!"

She glanced around as she began running; the Cavalry were behind them, circling around now. If they were fast, they could probably make it to the Ylissean lines before the Valmese got the chance to reach them again.

_When did that happen?_ She wondered, turning and pumping her legs as fast as she could. _It's like I blinked and missed the whole battle._

Morgan cast a glance over her shoulder, her eyes brimming with tears when she saw the sheer amount of leather-clad Feroxi corpses they were leaving behind. All around her trackers were carrying the wounded, and as she watched Libra cast a powerful healing spell around the small group, some of the worse wounded quieting as they were carried.

She wiped frantically at her face with a sleeve, eyes narrowing as she caught a glimpse of Lee's men in the distance, re-joining the Ylissean formation.

Magic crackled off her clenched fists, the air around her warping and sizzling as the raw magic turned to heat. She skidded to a halt, snarling and raising a hand towards the cavalry in the distance as her other wrapped around the spine of her spellbook for casting support.

_I really hope I get this one right…_

"Oh mighty Earth, open up in rage and hoist up your flames!"

The ground beneath the Feroxi rent and split, magma and flames shooting up around them.

Morgan quickly lost control of the powerful spell, though, too untrained to marshal it for very long.

"That was impressive, but we need to keep going," Lari said, half grabbing and half dragging the sagging tactician.

Say'ri looked on with a shocked expression, surveying the destruction the young woman had wrought.

As she fell into step with Lari, still half dragging Morgan, the tactician looked around and realized that they were at the back of the group; the rest had gone on quite a way ahead.

*

Robin charged through the army the opposite way that they were facing, roughly shoving the archers in his way to get by them, snarling at anyone that questioned his motivation. A thick air of magic crackled around him, doing wonders to clear a path.

"Robin, calm down and think rationally," Virion tried again from behind him. "I'm sure Morgan simply ordered him on ahead! Robin!"

_No_ , Robin thought. _Not when the Chengshi scouts were the only ones in actual armour. She would have formed a line, not scattered._

" _He abandoned your daughter to die,"_ the voice purred in his mind.

"He abandoned my daughter to die!" Robin roared, a blast of wind magic clearing a space when he found the scout captain.

The thin man looked terrified when Robin stepped up to him, backpedalling as the tactician got right in his face.

"Report, scout captain," Robin growled dangerously, gripping the rim of his chest-plate and dragging him face to snarling-face.

"T-tactician M-Morgan ordered us ahead," he stuttered, flinching from Robin's wrath. "She… she said to retreat!"

"Liar!" Robin roared, releasing his armour and striking the scout's face with a vicious backhand.

"You broke ranks!" he continued as the man fell to the ground, drawing mana to his clenched fist. "Do you know what the penalty for deserting your post is, _scout captain_!?"

Robin raised his fist, lightning coalescing around it as the voice in his head practically squealed with glee.

" _Vengeance! Turn that swine into ashes!"_ the voice giggled gleefully.

"And what did you just do!?" Virion shouted, spinning Robin by the shoulder, his spell dissipating instantly.

Before the tactician could answer he was slapped in the face by, of all things, Virion's glove.

"Look!" the archer shouted, pointing over the cowering scout captain. "They're still trying to make it back! We can still save them, but you need to get your head in the right place! Focus!"

Robin nodded, taking a deep breath before glaring down at Lee, still staring up at him with wide eyes.

"You and I aren't done yet," Robin warned.

" _Kill him! Kill him, damn you!"_

_What happened to staying quiet!?_

The voice responded by making a low, animalistic growl of pure frustration in his head, a headache flaring to life behind his eyes and making the tactician sway and reach out for Virion's shoulder to steady himself.

"Robin!?" the archer asked worriedly, reaching out and holding him up.

"I'm fine," he muttered. "Signal Frederick. Sound the charge for the Knights. Rout the enemy cavalry."

Virion nodded, snatching the horn from one of the signallers and beginning to blow.

Robin spun as Lee suddenly screamed in pain, doubled up on the ground as he vomited all over the boots of the men around him. Robin's gaze drifted further back before he spotted Tharja, her black coat swaying as she retracted her arm, a dangerous scowl on her delicate features as she stalked by the Chengshi scouts.

"That's my daughter out there, too," she said fiercely over her shoulder to the scout captain.

"Pray that Robin gets to you before I do when this is over, coward, as I will make hell look like a vacation spot when I am done with you."

Robin grinned a little as she came up to him. He could see Virion trying not to smile as he listened for the response signal from the Ylissean Knights.

"I assume you have a plan?" she asked, her scowl softening a little as she reached the tactician.

Robin nodded, grinning savagely.

"Yeah, and you're going to love it."

*

Morgan panted as she struggled to keep pace with Lari and Say'ri; the cavalry were pretty well breathing down their necks again, reminding Morgan that if she hadn't lost her temper and stopped to use up all of her mana that Lari and Say'ri would already be safe.

She stumbled, her foot catching against something she had missed in the debris of the battlefield they were sprinting across, and she fell forward, landing hard and cracking her chin.

Her vision swam as someone pulled her up.

She made out Say'ri, dragging her up one-handed as she held her sword out with the other, Lari kneeling and loosing arrows as fast as he could draw them with a determined set to his masculine features.

She looked up, their destination of Fortress Steiger looming in the distance.

_We were… so close_ , Morgan thought with a sob as the hoof-beats of the cavalry grew to a deafening crescendo.

She was thrown to the side again as Say'ri threw her clear before rolling herself. She let out a loud curse when one of the Valmese spears hit her side. Morgan lost sight of Lari as they were overtaken by Valmese cavalry.

She continued to roll, coming up to her feet in a crouch, hooves stamping down where she had been lying prone a second ago.

"Morgan!" Say'ri screamed desperately, her voice breaking. "Musume!"

Morgan dove forward again, a long-bladed spear swishing through the space her head had been occupying a moment ago. She landed awkwardly, though, and lost her footing, falling to her shoulder and rolling onto her back.

The red-armoured figure reared up, poised to strike again now that Morgan was vulnerable.

She closed her eyes tightly, expecting to feel pain.

A loud sound like the heavens tearing open forced her eyes back open. She looked up at where the Valmese Knight had been about to impale her; he was simply gone, a black scorch mark all that remained of him.

In fact, as Morgan sat up she could see that the Valmese force had been driven away from her and Say'ri in a rough circle of scorch-marks, all around them.

A horn sounded, and the Valmese cavalry reared and tried to escape; they surged around the two women and fled away in the direction of the fortress, opening Morgan's view of the rest of the battlefield as a legion of Ylissean Knights crashed across it, aiming directly for the retreating Valmese cavalry.

"For Ylisse!" Frederick roared, standing in his saddle and brandishing an ornate lance as he led the charge.

The knights zoomed right by them, not even sparing the women a glance.

Morgan climbed shakily to her feet, only to be bodily tackled by Say'ri in a tight hug.

"By the ancestors I thought I had lost you!" she cried, holding Morgan tightly.

"What…" Morgan said, her head being pressed to Say'ri's armoured shoulder.

Morgan's eyes grew wide as she finally saw the sword sitting at the woman's hip.

"Mother?" she asked, drawing back from the white-armoured woman.

Say'ri nodded, tears gathering in her eyes as Morgan threw herself back into her mother's arms, relieved tears of her own streaming down her face.

"Wait," the young tactician sniffed, pulling away from Say'ri again.

"Where's Lari?"

*

Robin sprinted across the battlefield, vaulting over the piles of detritus and dodging around those he couldn't jump; Tharja had collapsed after their combined spell, her mana all but spent. Virion was trying to keep pace with the frantic tactician, but for all Robin's exhaustion he had to make sure Morgan was okay.

He had to.

Nothing else mattered.

The Knights were in pursuit of the Valmese cavalry, driving them back towards the city-sized Fortress; the Dragon's Teeth tactic had worked, and the Ylissean League was once again advancing on Fortress Steiger.

None of that mattered at the moment though; not while Morgan was still in danger.

Robin's blood ran cold when he heard the unmistakable sound of his daughter wailing in distress and he put on an extra burst of speed, rounding a hill and skidding to a stop.

Morgan was kneeling over the trampled body of a Feroxi tracker, distraught as Say'ri held her, trying to comfort the clearly inconsolable girl.

The princess from Chon'sin looked up at Robin, tears in her own eyes as she glanced back down to the body.

Robin recognized him from camp. The Tracker Lari lay dead next to the two women.

The tactician swayed, falling to his own knees as Virion finally caught up with him.

"Oh gods..." Virion moaned, coming to a stop next to the tactician.

Robin had been too late after all.


	31. Chapter 31

Robin stared blankly at the sheets of paper in front of him; reports mostly, some tactical manuals opened and propped up so he could see key elements for their assault on Steiger, a few troop rosters for the regiments that had taken higher casualties than the others and were being rotated off the front lines.

He stared at them and all he could see in his mind's eye was Morgan kneeling over her friend's body.

Robin ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head and forcing himself to focus. A small command tent had been set up in the aftermath of the battle, one which was completely empty save for the frazzled tactician and his piles of work. Chrom had come and gone, apologizing for the amount of work Robin was expected to do. Frederick had been, too, his armour looking freshly forged it was still gleaming so brightly as he dropped off the troop rosters.

_The guy wasn't a Shepherd_ , Robin reminded himself, leaning back in his chair and thinking of the day's casualties.

Lari had been an excellent tracker and a fine leader, but he wasn't a Shepherd, he was just a guy his daughter had gotten along with and that the Shepherds had worked with on occasion; he hadn't broken his promise to Lucina that no one else would die, but he had still couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed in his duty today.

_The guy wasn't even a Shepherd,_ Robin reasoned again, running a hand down his face. _We performed adequately on the field today and managed to keep casualties to a minimum. Soldiers die during wars. Why is this bugging me so much?_

" _One word; Morgan."_

Robin groaned and thumped his head forward onto the table. The voice in his head was right; he couldn't stop thinking about Morgan.

She had been crushed, clinging to Say'ri the entire way back to the little forward operations base that had been set up. As far as he knew she was in the medical tent having some minor wounds looked at, and all he wanted to do was check and make sure she was okay. But with Morgan down there was literally no one else to make sure the plans were up to date. Virion could maybe handle the smaller stuff once Robin took care of the major planning, but the way the archer had looked at him after he had almost executed the scout-captain…

Robin shook his head again.

He had to ensure that the forces remaining outside were properly positioned, taking into account the casualties from the previous battle; he had to make sure that the distraction force led by Duke Roark, who would be assaulting the Fortress' front was properly equipped and prepared for the overwhelming odds they would face while the Shepherds snuck in the back.

And then there were the Shepherds; splitting such a small unit into three separate squads had really been the last thing that Robin had wanted. In the end the Shepherds that also belonged to the Knight Orders or military groups would be joining them on foot for the assault; Frederick, Sully, Stahl, Cordelia, Sumia and Cherche were all leaving their mounts out with Olivia and Jake at the forward base to join the assault.

Cherche wasn't impressed, and neither was her wyvern Minerva, but they simply didn't have the numbers to assault the fortress without either using members of the regular army to fill the ranks or calling in the rest of the Shepherds, and there was no way Robin would be using the regular army for such a sensitive mission until he had done a thorough investigation into morale levels and unit discipline.

After all, it was his fault that the battle had progressed the way it had; Liung's front-line squads had morale levels similar to the Ylisseans, and the Feroxi were as unshakeable as always, but so many of the lighter support units were being filled out with more of Liung's Valmese men, mostly untrained recruits and conscripts with low morale, like the scouts that had gone with Morgan and her team.

Robin groaned again as his train of thought circled back to his current subject of woe.

_This is driving me nuts_ , he thought bitterly.

Liung had offered to execute the scout-captain and his men for their cowardice, but Chrom, true to form, had opposed the idea and requested that they be moved to the front-lines under one of the stricter regiment leaders to whip them into shape. In a funny twist of fate they had been assigned by Frederick to one of the other Feroxi Tracking regiments for retraining, led by Lari's uncle of all people.

Intellectually Robin agreed with Chrom; they could hardly afford to lose that many men. Emotionally, Robin wanted to tear Lee's stupid little moustache off and beat the man to death with it.

" _So do it,"_ the voice pressed. _"Live a little. The skinny little bastard nearly killed your daughter, and you're going to let him get away with it?"_

_I'm not a murderer,_ Robin told the voice sternly.

" _But you are a soldier,"_ the voice pressed. _"You kill all the time, and you're quite good at it. Go on; exercise some of the authority Chrom's trusted you with. You have power for a reason."_

"I'm not listening to you…" Robin muttered, closing his eyes tight.

" _I'm not even telling you to kill all of them. Just him. Just the idiot that told them to escape at the cost of the lives of so many others,"_ the voice persisted in a low, seductive tone.

" _It's not murder. It's justice."_

No matter what he did lately he couldn't get the voice to shut up. Before he could quash it by thinking of something else; hell, he had even imagined physically assaulting it in his mind to make it quiet sometimes, but lately he couldn't seem to make it stop. All he could do was ignore it, and even that was getting harder and harder. Moments like today, when he had lost control and nearly executed Lee were becoming more and more commonplace. It was getting harder and harder to fight it.

His internal conflict was interrupted when the flap of the tent was flung open and a very confused looking Virion was shoved into the tent, a glowering Severa hot on his heels.

The red-head glared down at Robin with the wrath of gods in her eyes.

"You," she said to Robin. "Medical tent. Now."

"You," she said, rounding on Virion. "Sit. Finish his paperwork; I know you can."

Virion looked questioningly at Robin, who shrugged in reply. A brief moment of understanding passed between the men as their eyes locked. Virion winked and Robin almost sighed with relief; the dandy archer still had his back.

"Severa, this is important work, and-" Robin began, turning back before the irate girl cut him off by slamming her hands on the table, and papers, in front of him.

"And your daughter is practically catatonic in the medical tent waiting for you!"

A vein above Robin's brow twitched.

" _Ouch. Score one for the red-head."_

"Just go," Virion said with a theatrical sigh. "I can tell you've done all but the most tedious of tasks; go and play father rather than tactician for a change."

Robin glanced back down at the papers through Severa's splayed fingers; his reshuffling was indeed almost done thanks to his ability to work on auto-pilot, but he really wanted to go over the order for the Shepherds' assault one last time, and…

"Oh no you don't!" Severa practically shouted, hauling the tactician up from his seat by the back of his coat.

"I know that look! No more work! You go and you comfort your daughter right now, mister!"

Robin made a strangled gagging noise as he was dragged from the tent, Virion laughing and waving as he settled in to finish the task of which Feroxi squads would be outriders for the scouting parties checking the surrounding roads.

"Okay, okay!" Robin pleaded, almost losing his footing. "I'm coming already, stop with the dragging!"

"You're just as bad as my mother," Severa growled, ignoring Robin and continuing to pull him along. "Naga forbid either one of you comes to check up on your children after they both almost die!"

"Hey, that's hardly fair," Robin said, digging in his heels and yanking his coat free. "Lives rest on the actions that your mother and I take; a lot more lives than just you and Morgan. I'm sure you're just as important to your mother as Morgan is to me, but neither of us can shirk our duties that easily, and you're both meant to be soldiers, too."

Severa faced away from Robin as he spoke, taking a few more steps before coming to a halt, her shoulders going rigid and shaking a few times.

_And now I've pushed too far._

A paternal instinct Robin didn't know he possessed until very recently took over, and he crossed the distance, wrapping an arm around the red-head's shoulders.

"That being said, sometimes it takes a… forceful personality to remind us what's important."

Severa glanced up at Robin, a look half-way between irritation and gratitude on her features, her eyes wet with unshed tears of frustration.

"Your mother has also been known to allow me to use her like a walking stick," Robin said, burying his own feelings and grinning as he leaned heavier on the slight girl's shoulders.

"To the medical tent!" he shouted theatrically, brandishing his hand in the direction of their destination as Severa stumbled forward a step.

"Alright, get off!" she shouted, slipping out from under Robin's arm and letting him fall to the ground in a cloud of dust.

Robin could have sworn, for just a second, he had heard Severa giggling and seen her smiling a little as he had fallen.

_Oh gods I'm_ not _her father, right!?_ The tactician thought with a jolt of panic as she grinned back at him over her shoulder.

" _Would that really be such a bad thing?"_ the voice asked slyly. _"Cordelia's a very attractive woman, and I know for a fact you've thought about it in the past."_

"What are you doing?" Severa asked in her usual impatient tone, her usually severe expression returning much softer than it usually was.

Robin glanced up, hastily planting the grin back on his face as he climbed back to his feet.

_Great. One more problem to add to the list. Focus on Morgan first. Unknown parentage later._

*

Morgan heaved a sigh as Princess Lissa ran her healing staff up and down over the girl's torso again.

"It's just a few bruises, Lissa," Morgan complained from the bench she was laying on, ignoring the painful twinge in her side as she spoke.

"So sit up," Lissa said, stepping back to give her space.

Morgan attempted to do so, hissing in pain and falling back down, clutching her side.

"It's not bruises, you have three broken ribs," Lissa explained, setting about healing again. "Nothing major, but if you don't let me work, you'll be benched for the assault."

That was the absolute last thing Morgan wanted; which was why she had agreed to allow Lissa to perform an inspection of her wounds and then treat them, rather than rush off and help her father with planning like she had wanted to. True, on the walk back to camp she had been forced to lean on her mother to walk… She had even agreed to strip and wear the ridiculous white sheet so that Lissa wouldn't miss anything in her healing… just looking at her coat across the room rather than in its proper place on her back made her anxious.

If she was planning, if she was doing something rather than simply sitting and waiting for Lissa to finish, she wouldn't think about…

_Focus,_ Morgan told herself sternly. _Father wouldn't go to pieces like that. It's bad enough you broke down on the field like a child. Get a grip! You can mourn later; Dad needs you to be strong right now. Tactics; think tactics. How are we going to assault the fortress? Go over the plans in your mind again. If you come up with anything new, make a note and tell Dad about it._

Say'ri, her newly-discovered mother, shifted in the chair next to the bench.

Her mother, whom she had absolutely no memory of and was desperately happy to finally have found, was in the chair next to her bench, looking on worriedly, and she was sitting there thinking about her father.

"I said I'm fine," Morgan said, smiling at the other woman and doing her best not to feel guilty about fixating on how she would rather have been planning with her father.

Say'ri smiled back before looking away awkwardly.

They were both in uncharted territory with their relationship; any memories that Morgan had, no matter how fragmented, were of her father and her 'aunt' Tharja. She had absolutely no idea how to act around her mother, let alone how to talk to the woman, especially after how traumatic the revelation had been for her.

_Great, now I have to try not to relate finding out who my mother is to my greatest failure to date. That's just wonderful._

Morgan clicked her tongue a few times in frustrated boredom as the healing magic knitted her damaged flesh back together. She let out a hiss as one of the ribs shifted back into its proper position, magic securing it and forcing the bone to heal. Serious wounds like this were never pleasant to have healed magically.

"Where is she!?" Morgan heard shouted from outside the small partitioned area, interrupting her thoughts on the order of the assault for the 'dagger' team.

Libra, the other healer on duty who was currently tending to a stab-wound that Yarne had gotten, said something that Morgan couldn't hear before her father burst through the curtains.

"Morgan!" he said, practically throwing Lissa out of his path as he rushed to her side.

"Dad, I'm fine!" she gasped as he pulled her into a hug and disrupting the sheet covering her.

_Well, the broken ribs didn't make me pass out when he moved me; apparently Lissa works fast, they must already be nearly healed._

"Idiot!" Say'ri said, pulling Robin off of her and smacking him in the back of the head. "You simply rush in and start moving the wounded around!? What manner of tactician does that!? And what of your daughter's modesty!? Have you no shame, sir!?"

Robin stepped back, looking down at Morgan, desperately trying to cover herself again, as a bright blush spread out on both of their faces. They stood like that, frozen in the awkward atmosphere a few seconds, simply blinking at each other before something in Robin's head seemed to click.

"Oh gods, I'm so sorry, Morgan!" he said hurriedly, panicking and rushing back out of the small space.

Lissa burst out laughing so hard that she almost dropped her staff, wiping tears from her eyes as she doubled over.

Morgan blushed just as bright as her father had been, clutching the sheet even tighter around her body.

"That was an encounter I could have lived without," she mumbled, lying back down as Lissa attempted to stop laughing long enough to finish the healing.

As Morgan tried to relax and let the Princess do her job she watched her mother scowl at the curtains that her father was no doubt waiting behind. It wasn't just a look of annoyance, though; it was one of down-right hostility.

_But… they're my parents, right?_ Morgan wondered, gasping as there was a light pop in her side, marking the last rib repositioning itself beneath her bruised skin.

_They have to be together. Right?_

*

Robin leaned against one of the empty benches in the medical tent as the three other occupants snickered at him, beet-red face buried in one hand while the other clenched aimlessly at his hip.

Yarne and Libra were at least trying not to laugh at him, while Severa was openly mocking him.

"You are such a dolt," she laughed, reclining on the bench next to him.

"You couldn't have said 'hey, it might be a good idea to knock first'?"

"I do recall saying that," Libra said from across the tent.

Robin just groaned again, shaking his head without looking up.

_I really am a dolt, aren't I?_

" _Yup. No arguments here. Did you see the way the Princess was looking at you? She wants your blood, man."_

_No she doesn't. We came to an understanding._

" _Obviously you know nothing of women. She want's you dead."_

_You're exaggerating._

A cold, mocking laugh echoed in Robin's head, making him twinge as pain blossomed behind his eyes.

" _Sure I am. I'm exaggerating right up to the point she sticks a knife in your back while you're not looking."_

_She's… she's not like that. Is she?_

" _I don't know. You shared her bed, you tell me."_

There was a commotion outside the medical tent in the ensuing silence, the clanking of armour getting closer and louder, interrupting Robin's thoughts, until Cordelia burst into the tent, her face as red as her hair and her eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Severa!" she called, pausing at the entrance for a moment before rushing forward to wrap her bewildered daughter in a tight hug.

"I heard about what happened!" Cordelia sobbed. "Thank the gods you're okay!"

"M-mother!?" Severa stammered into her mother's armoured shoulder, utterly shocked.

"To think I almost lost you today!" Cordelia said, pulling back from her daughter and staring fiercely at Robin. "I insist on the two of us being put on the same assault team! I will not have a repeat of today's debacle."

"Righto, Wing-Commander," Robin drolled with a grin. "It's a good thing I already thought of that, huh?"

Cordelia nodded, her stony expression softening as she turned back to Severa, stroking the younger woman's cheek.

"You're sure you're okay?"

Severa nodded mutely, her eyes still wide with shock.

"Thank you for dealing with the situation already," Cordelia said with a nod in Robin's direction. "That coward is lucky I was not there."

"You know, Tharja said something awfully similar."

"Okay," she said, looking back to Severa. "I have some last minute orders to give out. I'll meet with you again soon, and we can go over the assault plan together. I love you, dear."

Severa just nodded again, blinking a few times and looking confused as Cordelia left the tent.

"Well, if I knew it was that easy to shut you up…" Robin muttered with a smirk.

"Sh-shut up," Severa stammered, looking away and blushing a little.

One thing Robin had noticed about the girl was her obvious and glaring inferiority complex when compared to her mother. To be fair, Cordelia was one of the stars of the Ylissean Knighthood, an absolute genius in matters of war and battle, not to mention a natural beauty that Robin wasn't ashamed to admit he had been quite smitten by when they had first met. But Severa was every bit her mother's equal in every regard, except, of course, Robin being smitten with her. Seeing her reaction to Cordelia's love made Robin wonder what his friend had been like in the future that had made Severa so defensive about everything.

"Something I've been meaning to ask," Robin said quietly to Severa while Libra continued his ministrations on the Taguel in front of him. "Who is your father?"

Sever fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment at the unexpected question, a sight very rare on the usually confident and expressive girl.

_Okay, loud and irritatingly stand-offish, but that's neither here nor there,_ Robin internally corrected himself.

"If I tell you, you can't interfere," Severa said seriously, turning to face Robin. "We all made a pact to interfere as little as possible in the past before we came back here, and I won't break it; I'm only telling you because I want to be even for the incident on the boat."

"You have my solemn vow," Robin said with a nod, heart thumping in his chest.

_Don't say my name don't say my name don't say my name…_

The girl took a deep, calming breath.

"My father is Frederick."

Robin's jaw hit the floor.

"Fr-" was as far as he got before a furious Severa clamped her hand over his mouth.

"Mouth. Shut," she hissed dangerously as Libra and Yarne glanced up curiously. "If he finds out he'll feel obligated to be with Mother, that's just the kind of man he was. Is. Whatever. I don't want to… I…"

"It's okay, I understand," Robin said, gently prying her hand off of his face as the shock wore off.

"I was actually starting to worry you were going to say my name," he added with a chuckle.

"Ew," Sever said, returning to the bench across from Robin.

"Gee, thanks."

"No, I just mean, you and Mother were close before you died," Severa explained with a trademark huff. "You were… almost like an Uncle to me after Father died. You… took over as interim Knight Commander for a time and I saw a lot of you while you worked with Mother. It's weird to think of you and… and…"

"Oh, gross!" she exploded suddenly, eyes wide as she went pale. "You didn't… with my Mother!? That's disgusting! I did _not_ need to know that!"

"What!?" Robin said quickly. "What the hell are you on about!? Your mother and I are friends, dimwit, nothing more! Now lower your voice before I have to convince Morgan that you're not, in fact, her forgotten half-sister!"

"That's not even funny," Severa grumbled with disgust still evident on her face as she pouted and crossed her arms, glaring daggers at the tactician.

"How do you think I feel?" Robin asked, burying his face in his hands again and ignoring the questioning stares from Libra and Yarne.

No doubt Morgan, Lissa and Say'ri had heard the entire encounter. Robin cursed internally, realizing he didn't actually deny Severa's accusation so much as deflected it. And remembering that Lissa was the biggest gossip in the camp. And that Morgan was really impressionable. And that Say'ri…

" _Oh, that's going to piss Say'ri off,"_ the voice goaded.

_For once, we are in agreement…_ Robin thought, groaning and massaging his temples.

More cold laughter bounced around in his head, giving him the mother of all headaches.

*

Morgan twitched a little as she leaned against the bench next to her father in the now empty medical tent. Libra had finished his ministrations on Yarne and volunteered to help heal the wounded soldiers, while the Taguel was no doubt off hiding somewhere in an attempt to stave off 'extinction' for another few hours. Severa had departed not long ago, saying something along the lines of checking up on Noire while she had the time, leaving Morgan sitting with her father while her mother was being treated for the smaller injuries she'd gotten.

The atmosphere between them was awkward and tense, but not because of what had transpired earlier; her father had just dropped a pretty big bombshell on her.

"So you and mother aren't…"

"Nope," her father answered with a sigh. "It's… complicated."

Morgan's brain kicked into overdrive. What could possibly come between two people meant to be together? It was fate that Robin and Say'ri got married and settled down together; the fact she was sitting right there proved it! Right?

"Can I ask why?" Morgan asked hesitantly. "I don't mean to pry, but…"

"No, I'd say you have the right to know," Robin answered with another heavy sigh. "I've been meaning to talk to you about it for a while now, but with everything that's been going on…"

He swayed a little, grimacing and pinching the bridge of his nose as if being assailed by a severe headache.

"Urgh, sorry," he mumbled before continuing in a low voice. "I've put a lot of thought into it, and it's just not something I can do; I can't be with your mother. Not… not now. Not after…"

Panic shot through Morgan as her father trailed off.

"Does this mean I'll never be born!" she asked in a panicked whisper. "Am I going to fade away now!? Or am I just going to go 'poof' and disappear!?"

Robin let out a soft chuckle.

"If you were going to fade away I'm pretty sure that would already have happened."

"But…" Morgan asked hesitantly. "What's wrong with Mom? I thought you two were getting along great?"

Robin grimaced again, holding a hand to his temple as his jaw twitched.

"Are you okay?" Morgan asked with concern.

What was wrong with her father lately? She'd seen him twitching, muttering, and sometimes even hitting himself, like he was punishing himself or something. It was something that had been getting increasingly worse in the last few days; it had always been present since she'd found him in this time, but initially she'd written it off as just another eccentricity. Now it seemed like he was possessed, and there was the matter of the story of him almost executing Lee before coming to rescue her…

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied with a clearly forced smile. "Just… Thinking inconsequential things. Your mother and I… well… it's easiest to just say my heart belongs to someone else."

"Wait, does that mean that this other person's my mother?"

"No, I'm almost certain you're Say'ri's daughter," Robin said with a nod. "You two look alike, sound alike, and whether you notice or not there are a few subtle tweaks in your personality that speak of spending a lot of time around her when you were younger. I've spent a fair bit of time watching all the women in the camp, and it has to be Say'ri; no one else fits. Quite frankly I'm a little concerned that I didn't pick up on it sooner, if I'm being honest. Too wrapped up in this bloody war to notice…"

_Even through all of the battles lately he's still been so observant,_ Morgan realized with a feeling of awe. _He's spent all this time watching me and everyone else trying to figure out who my mother is, just for my benefit, even though he's obviously so exhausted he's about to drop._

"Well… okay," Morgan said at last, perking back up. "Whatever. I won't pry into your personal life and I haven't poofed into nothingness, so I guess it's your business."

Morgan leaned close, grinning wide and whispering conspiratorially. "But you gotta tell me who she is!"

"Virion," Robin deadpanned without missing a beat, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms as he stood. "I'm deeply and madly in love with Virion. Now if you'll excuse me I have to go and find the leader of this army before he does anything stupid without my consent. All stupid plans must have my seal of approval, after all."

Morgan had wanted to stop her father and pester him further but by the time she stopped laughing he was already long gone. At least his sense of humour was still functioning.

"What, pray tell, is so amusing?" Say'ri asked, stepping out of the portioned area while Lissa cleaned up behind her.

The warrior princess had a strange look on her face as she adjusted the straps on her armour, glancing around the big tent.

"Nothing," Morgan said with a dying chuckle. "Just Dad being silly."

She couldn't miss the way that Say'ri's face hardened at the mention of her father; obviously the situation was a lot more complicated than he had let on. Morgan vowed to get the whole story eventually, but perhaps when they weren't on the cusp of an important battle.

At least talking with her father had improved her mood immensely, she realized with a breezy smile, even if she was still worried about his health.

"Come on," Morgan said, tentatively grabbing Say'ri's arm the way she often held her father's.

"We've got some time; let's go get something to eat."

The other woman stiffened for a moment before relaxing and smiling down at Morgan, nodding and walking out of the tent with her.

*

Lucina marched through the small camp that had been set up with her shoulders back and her head high, as befitting a princess in a time of war. Her cape was torn and dirty, and her armour was scarred in places, but she still marched proudly as her father's troops milled about her, carrying out their duties and preparing to hold this position so the Shepherds had somewhere to retreat to once their goal was accomplished and General Pheros was dead.

It was inspiring to see so many men and women bearing the crest of Ylisse working toward the same goal; she hadn't seen a campaign on this scale since her youth, making working together with so many soldiers an interesting and nostalgic experience.

In her arms was a small basket full of sandwiches; so many of the other Shepherds had been so busy with the camp preparations that she had taken it upon herself to assist Lady Olivia with handing out the rations so that they weren't fighting hungry.

So far she hadn't been able to keep pace with the pink-haired dancer, who had flown through the camp like a glittering wind, depositing food into the hands of hungry soldiers as she went with practiced movements, never lingering any longer than was necessary.

As clumsy as she was normally, Olivia obviously took her camp duties seriously.

Lucina scratched at her head as she watched happy Shepherds breaking for lunch, laughing and singing Olivia's praises, and her competitive streak, long held in check, suddenly flared to life as she and Olivia both noticed Robin exit the medical tent at the same time.

As childish as she knew it was, Lucina found herself rushing over to Robin in an attempt to beat Olivia to the man.

She was just being competitive and childishly silly, she told herself. Her haste to get to Robin had absolutely nothing to do with the warm feeling that spread through her chest every time they were near each other.

"Robin, have you eaten yet!?" she asked quickly as she reached him.

The tactician jumped, his eyes widening as he noticed the blue-haired woman rushing towards him.

"Uh… no?" he said hesitantly, taking a step back as Lucina skidded to a halt.

"Then you should eat this!" she said, thrusting the sandwich into his hands and glancing up victoriously to where Olivia was, feeling a little silly as she did.

Lucina blinked. The pink-haired dancer hadn't moved, instead offering her a wink and a knowing grin as she strode off in the other direction, leaving Lucina confused standing alone with Robin.

_She… herded me towards Robin on purpose?_

Lucina checked the basket that the dancer had provided her with more carefully. It was smaller than Olivia's had been, and only had one other sandwich in it, along with what was obviously a wineskin.

_The woman forgets herself!_ Lucina thought, cheeks darkening as she tried to shield the basket from Robin's gaze.

"Hey, ham and beets!" Robin said happily as he took a small bite from the corner. "How'd you know that's what I was in the mood for? Oh man, I am starving!"

Lucina looked back at the tactician and shrugged, doing her best to remain calm and cool in the face of the tactician's tired smile, his whole face lighting up as he looked at her gratefully.

"Have you eaten?" Robin asked around a mouthful of sandwich.

_Such dreadful manners_ , Lucina thought with a small smile of her own, forgetting her embarrassment at Olivia's transparent machinations.

"I have not."

"Then perhaps you would join me. I think we can chase Virion out of the command tent. He can't stand beets, all I'll have to do is wave this under his nose," Robin said, brandishing the sandwich like a sword.

Lucina let out a very un-princess-like laugh at the movement, but was distracted as Lady Say'ri and Morgan stepped out of the medical tent not some distance away, angling for the mess tent in the opposite direction.

She felt her heart fall into her stomach as she noticed the way that Morgan looked up at and clutched the arm of the woman by her side, and knew for certain that Morgan's forgotten parentage was a mystery no longer.

Vowing not to interfere in the past she had sworn the others to secrecy when Morgan's amnesia had been made common knowledge; the time-travelling warriors did not want to alter the past any more than was necessary to stave-off their lost future. The fact that the others seemed content to travel with the army was disconcerting enough, but that they were actively engaging with their parents and forging bonds would make parting even more difficult. Not that she was one to talk, though…

"Perhaps another time," she said to Robin as her eyes locked with Say'ri's.

The woman sent a cool glare in her direction when she noticed them talking and Lucina felt a small shiver crawl up her spine.

"Aw, c'mon," Robin persisted, still flailing the sandwich around. "You're the only one that I can relax with while I'm talking to; well, you and Virion, and all he ever wants to do is play chess. I'm so sick of chess. Please don't make me play another game of chess."

Lucina looked back at the man.

He looked terrible, like he hadn't been sleeping. She had been watching him for some time now; he was still operating at his usual unmatchable level with his tactics, and on the battlefield he was still a force to be reckoned with, but in camp and in their spare time he seemed to be consumed by a strange lethargy. Even today he had obviously given up on shaving halfway through, something he never usually did; Robin was usually very meticulous about his personal hygiene.

The way his eyes had lit up at the thought of getting to spend some time with someone he obviously considered a friend had made her heart speed up, but…

"I'm sorry Robin," Lucina said, looking away from him and imagining the glare that Say'ri had given her. "I have duties I must attend to."

"M'kay," Robin said cheerfully around another mouthful of sandwich.

Lucina's gaze snapped back up. Rather than looking upset or sad, the tactician was smiling as he continued to eat.

"As long as you remember to eat something, too," Robin said with a wave as he started to walk away.

"Thanks, Lucina. I owe you one for the lunch. And the ammo to keep Virion off my back for the afternoon. You're a lifesaver."

Lucina nodded mutely, conflicting emotions warring in her chest.

With a frown she quashed her emotions, reminding herself why she was in the past in the first place.

_Besides,_ she let herself think dejectedly. _He is where he belongs, and with who he belongs._

*

Robin resisted the urge to groan again as he walked in step with Chrom from the command tent.

"Well, we're ready and the army is in position," Chrom said, rolling out his shoulders.

"Do you think that Roark, Liung and the Khans can hold things together?" Robin asked. "I mean really hold things together?"

"Didn't you spend an hour making sure the plans were flawless?" Chrom asked with his best winning smile.

_I hate it when he does that_ , Robin thought, realizing that the Prince's smile had eased his worries a little.

"That doesn't mean I have to like leaving the Valmese forces with so much responsibility," Robin muttered.

"Liung's just in charge of the infantry regiments," Chrom reassured his tactician with a tired chuckle. "Roark has the cavalry and the Khans have to scouts and outriders. Stop second guessing yourself already."

"Hey, some of us are just careful," Robin said defensively. "Like Frederick says, Naga forbid someone at the head of this army shows even a modicum of caution."

Chrom burst out into laughter as they crossed the base to the Shepherd's rally point.

"Frederick!" the Prince called as they neared the other warriors. "I think Hell's frozen over! Robin's quoting you now!"

The tactician and Knight Commander rolled their eyes in tandem as Chrom and a sizeable amount of the Shepherds began to laugh, chuckle or giggle at the two other men's expense.

"I find your incessant good cheer to be infuriatingly irritating," Robin grumbled as Chrom slapped him on the back.

"I was hoping that by repeating myself over and over again my words would sink into your head, milord, not his," Frederick said with a light bow Robin was pretty sure was meant to be a mocking fashion.

The Shepherds had already split into their three divisions for the assault; Chrom would lead the Sword team, Frederick the Shield team, and Robin the Dagger team.

Sword team would cut right through the enemy's defences and penetrate directly to the throne room. Chrom's group was going to rely on an immovable line of himself, Lucina, Lon'qu, Donnel, Panne and Yarne protecting the mages Henry, Miriel and Ricken as they bolted down the basically straight path to the throne room. Sumia was also in their group, but would be playing a support role with Lissa as healers for the battle while Gaius acted as their bodyguard. Robin had thought of overwhelming magical superiority when he had put sword team together, intending for them to breeze through and capture the anteroom before the throne room as a rally point for the other groups.

Shield team, consisting of the heavily armoured knights and veteran soldiers, would cause the biggest distraction they could by charging through the fortress' receiving dock and barracks before meeting at the throne room. Frederick eyed his group of dismounted knights as they paced back and forth, familiarizing themselves with fighting on foot. Sully, Stahl, Cordelia and Cherche were all forces to be reckoned with on the battlefield, and regularly trained in dismounted drills, so Robin had no doubt they would be fine. Kjelle, Severa, Vaike and Kellam were stretching, preparing for their running battle, while the two manaketes Nowi and Nah talked quietly amongst themselves.

The two girls would be the last resort; Robin had sent them with Shield team for two reasons; one was that the path Frederick's team would take was the only one big enough to support the size of the transformed dragon-girls, and two was that the group's healer Maribelle had insisted, very, very vocally, on an escort. Robin chuckled darkly as Nowi clutched onto the high-born troubadour's arm in what he knew from experience was an irritating fashion.

_Careful what you wish for, Maribelle_ , he thought with some satisfaction as the blonde woman scowled at him across the field.

Dagger team would move stealthily through the servant corridors, and support Sword; most of Robin's soldiers were the lighter armoured units relying on agility and speed, so he was hoping they would meet little resistance. Morgan would be at the front with him as they moved swiftly through the less-used pathways while Tharja, Anna and Libra would form a second line, and Virion and Noire would take up the rear. His team was light, but skilled and he had no doubt that…

His thoughts trailed off as he beheld Say'ri, standing in his position next to Morgan while Chrom went over some last minute details with one of Khan Flavia's runners.

_I forgot about Say'ri._

" _Looks like she's joining you guys,"_ the voice said, pointing out the obvious. _"She's in our spot."_

Obviously now that Say'ri knew Morgan was her daughter she was set on accompanying her in battle; something Robin hadn't planned for. He had honestly thought she would be co-ordinating with Liung; the other Dynasts were supposedly on the move, and he had intended to let her play politician and try and sway them to the Ylissean side.

She cast a quick glare at the tactician before turning back to Morgan and ignoring him completely.

_Why is she still so mad at me!?_

" _The mind of a woman is an enigma. I'd watch your back around her if I were you."_

Robin rolled his eyes, turning to where Chrom was at the head of his team now.

His gaze lingered on Lucina's profile, and he realized with a guilty twinge that he had desperately wanted to be in her assault group today.

"We all know our parts to play," Chrom said in a loud voice. "Let's capture this fortress! Strike swift and true, Shepherds! We will not fail!"

"Follow the Prince!" Frederick shouted. "To victory!"

And with that, Sword and Shield teams charged forward for their respective entry points.

"Alright, team," Robin said in his best commanding voice, something he admittedly hadn't practiced very often. "We have our objectives. Let's move."

The team fell in around Robin as he jogged at a much slower pace to the other teams to their insertion point. Morgan was instantly at his shoulder, her features set to a concentrated frown. Say'ri was on her opposite side, her face like stone, staring directly ahead.

Robin looked up, catching a glimpse of Lucina's long blue hair blowing in the breeze as she followed Chrom into their entry-point with the rest of sword team, disappearing from his view.

A cold feeling of worry wrapped itself around Robin's stomach as he watched the others vanish into the comparative darkness of Fortress Steiger's interior.

*

Robin advanced at a jog through the tight servant corridors, his previous exhaustion forgotten as he focused entirely on the mission before him.

They were all tired from the battle earlier, but being to core of the army meant that there was no room for weakness; they would fight at the forefront of every battle, take on every dangerous mission, and it was Robin's responsibility to see them safely through it.

He glanced around the empty corridors trying to get his mind to focus on other things.

They were clean and obviously often-used, but Dagger Team had yet to run into any guards or even fortress servants. Shield team inside and Roark's distraction outside must obviously be doing their job well.

Robin realized he was disappointed. He wanted to have something to fight. He wanted…

_No I don't,_ he realized with a sickening lurch in his stomach.

Ever since he'd stepped into the Fortress it was as if a current was passing through him; the voices in his head were mercifully silent, but rather than the usual running commentary he was forced to endure he could feel his control slipping.

His eyes ached and his flesh burned like someone had crammed embers beneath his skin.

He could tell was finally losing control.

Robin barely slowed as he went to round the corner, Morgan's shouted warning coming too late as he barrelled head-long into the red-armoured Valmese soldier coming the other way, both of them falling to the floor in a heap.

Robin felt arrows pass over his head as Virion let loose and Morgan darted into the rest of the soldier's squad with Say'ri and Libra, but his attention fell solely on the man currently trying to free his sword pinned beneath Robin's hip.

With a grunt the tactician brought his fist down clumsily on the soldier's elbow where the armour plates met, before climbing up to one knee and lashing out with a backhand as his other gathered mana. The soldier finally tugged his own sword free as Robin thrust outwards, a weak fire spell bowling the man backwards.

Robin felt his concentration start to wane as his vision blurred.

A sound like roaring wind filled his ears, and he could hear the voice laughing in his head again, the same cruel, deranged laugh that always gave him headaches.

When he blinked a few times he found his sword buried in the soldier's chest, piercing the thick armour and stuck in the stone floor.

"Dad?" Morgan asked hesitantly.

Robin realized he was panting, and sweat was pouring down his face, yet he had still managed to jam his sword into a solid stone floor.

_So not good for the blade,_ he lamented, yanking it free.

"I'm fine," Robin said, shaking off Libra's silently probing hands as they checked him quickly for any wounds.

"Are you sure?" Tharja asked in her usual, quiet tone. "You seem… off."

"I'm fine," Robin snapped, knuckles tightening on his sword.

Why were they acting like he was an invalid? He'd just been knocked over, that was all.

The voice riled beneath his flesh and inside his chest like a wild animal yanking at its chains, almost felt as a physical sensation. It had tasted blood now, and it could tell there was more to come.

Robin took another deep, shuddering breath, the hand clutching his beautifully crafted rapier shuddering. That laughter had just been in his head… right?

A quick glance at the others seemed to say otherwise.

_What the hell is happening to me?_ He thought, desperately trying to reign in his bloodlust.

How had he managed to summon the strength to jam a sword into solid stone the way he had? How was he still standing at all after the exhaustion he'd felt earlier that day?

He finally felt alive, though. For the first time in a long time he felt good.

With a horrified start Robin realized what he was thinking and shook his head.

"Keep moving," Robin ordered shortly, breaking into another jog.

As if the proverbial dam had been broken they came across a number of other Valmese squads, but none of them were much match for the Shepherds now that Robin was alert again. He tore through the squads almost as fast as Panne or Lon'qu usually would with reckless abandon, spinning and striking with speed and skill far surpassing his usual level.

Morgan tried valiantly to keep pace with him, fighting with sword and spells in an impressive manner, but Robin barely slowed when presented with a new foe, he barely hesitated a fraction of a second every time they came across a new squad, and Morgan was starting to slow.

Breathing heavily after dispatching their fifth squad Robin stopped to take a break, flicking his rapier clean the way he'd seen Lon'qu do.

They'd been fighting almost nonstop for hours now, one squad of Valmese soldiers melting into another, and another without end.

"We should be getting close," Virion panted. "But hark, noble tactician; you fight as if possessed by the very gods of war!"

Robin glanced up from under his brow, still breathing heavily.

_I made a promise…_ he thought. _That no one else would die. I intend to keep it._

"I want to see this war over," he lied instead, gulping in one last breath as he straightened. "The sooner we take this fortress the sooner that happens."

"Keep pushing forward," Robin ordered as the other Shepherds fell in again.

Morgan was panting just as hard as her father, despite her rigorous training regime. Tharja and Virion looked just as bad, but kept quiet, carefully controlling their breathing. Anna was red in the face, and Say'ri stoically tried to steady her breathing. Even Libra seemed a little out of breath.

"We… we need a break…" Morgan gasped.

"There's no time for breaks!" Robin snapped. "We're moving! Keep up!"

The others stared at Robin's back as he began to run again, before struggling to keep up.

_We're soldiers, dammit_ , Robin thought in his head. _We have to keep moving. If anything happens to her, or anyone else, I'll never forgive myself…_

_"That's not why you want to keep moving,"_ the voice whispered knowingly in his ear.

_"We're close now. You can feel it. So can I. A little more now, Robin. Just a little more."_

Robin ignored the voice as he ran, his hands clenching around his sword's hilt.

They burst out into a large anteroom full of Valmese soldiers at about the same time Chrom's team did; the Prince's team didn't even hesitate, throwing themselves against the Valmese with speed and ferocity worthy of legend.

Robin held up a hand, signalling a halt; the Valmese hadn't spotted his team at their left flank yet…

"Virion, Tharja, Morgan," Robin ordered quietly. "Front and centre. Hit the flank with everything you've got on my mark…"

Robin waited, hand poised to cast the spell he was gathering mana for, waiting to see…

_There._

Lucina whirled like a beautiful angel of death, striking high and driving Valmese soldiers back on their right flank, fighting alone the way she always did while the others struck the front.

_She's safe_ … Robin realized with an audible sigh, relief flooding him.

"Now!" he shouted, making the Valmese soldiers look up and take notice of them.

Arrows began felling Valmese men along the flank as a ball of destructive dark magic flew through their ranks, sending men flying with its passage. With a flick of his wrist Robin sent a stream of lightning dancing from soldier to soldier, smoke rising from the gaps in their armour as the spell jumped between them with a mind of its own.

The sound of wind roaring in his ears returned as he cast another lightning spell, and another, and finally a third in quick succession.

_Elthunder, Arcthunder, Thoron!_

As hard as he tried more laughter bubbled to the surface, the feeling of flames dancing beneath his skin intensifying to an almost maddening point. He couldn't even feel his mana being used any more. He didn't even have to form a circuit with his spellbook anymore. The magic just responded to his call.

He could do it with Dark Magic, too. He could feel it. He wouldn't even have to offer the sacrifice, he could just command it.

But why were he and Tharja the only ones attacking?

Looking to his side, ready to berate Morgan for her slowness to cast, he stopped cold, realizing the girl had collapsed to all fours on the stone floor of the fortress.

"Defensive positions!" Robin called frantically, skidding to his knees next to his daughter as the other Shepherds moved to form a wall around them.

It was as if someone had dumped a cold bucket of water over his head. His visio narrowed until all he could see was Morgan.

"Morgan," he prodded desperately, grabbing her by the shoulder. "Morgan, what happened? Are you okay? Morgan!"

"'M okay," she mumbled, lifting her head to grin at Robin. "Just… just tired. Sorry... my spell... got away from me."

The tactician exhaled a breath he didn't even know he was holding as he grabbed the girl in a rough hug.

"Don't do that to me," he muttered. "I'm sorry I pushed you so hard…"

_Get it together, Robin_ , he told himself, helping Morgan to stand. _This is a battlefield. Get it together._

"Stay in the back with Anna," Robin ordered over the sounds of snapping bowstrings. "Help out however you can, but don't push yourself. We're almost done."

"No, Dad," Morgan protested weakly. "You were right. We're soldiers. I'm sorry, this is nothing. I'll be back on my feet in no time."

The girl valiantly tried to push Robin back and stand, but he held her down with a serious look on his face.

"The one thing I keep seeming to forget is other people's limits. Rest for now. I'll need you for the next phase of the assault."

Morgan nodded numbly, struggling to stand next to the red-haired merchant, who was giving Robin the mother of all dirty looks.

Say'ri looked like she was about to throttle him, but held herself in check, shaking with barely contained rage.

_They can all hate me if they want_ , Robin suddenly realized. _I don't care, so long as they all live to do it._

Robin strode forward again, tapping into energy reserves he didn't know he had.

"Everyone too tired to keep up hang back with Morgan and Anna," he ordered softly. "The rest of you, on me."

"I will… I will manage," Tharja said quietly, stepping to his side.

"You needn't even ask," Say'ri ground out from Robin's other side.

Libra silently took a place next to Robin, giving him an encouraging nod.

Robin nodded back before turning and glancing at Virion.

"Avert your envious gaze!" the archer chuckled. "An archer does not charge into the fray! I shall stand guard over Morgan and the ever-lovely Anna, and rain death upon our enemies from here."

Robin nodded, stifling a grin and turning back to the battle before them as a new sound reached his ears.

A moment later Frederick came barrelling through the doorway opposite them, his team close behind and creating the perfect distraction for the others as the Valmese forces tried desperately to reform ranks to take on this new threat.

Giving Robin's team the perfect opening.

"Charge!" Robin called, sprinting forward with his sword at the ready.

Time slowed down as it always did when he was charging toward the enemy, every detail becoming crystal clear as his brain sped up, taking in every variable and danger, every opening and every opportunity before they even formed.

He could feel the bloodlust returning, beating beneath his skin in time to his heart, like his blood had been replaced by molten metal.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see a blue blur charging forward, sword held out as she spun and danced between foes. He saw Tharja skid to a halt, beginning to cast deadly spells from a safe distance while arrows zoomed around her, while Say'ri grimaced and charged shoulder to shoulder with Robin and the unshakable Libra.

The tactician watched comprehension dawn on the faces of the Valmese men he was charging towards, realizing his own face was twisted in a dangerous scowl as they began falling back in fear.

Time snapped back to its regular pace as he, Libra and Say'ri slammed into the left flank a few seconds after Tharja's spell did, men falling beneath their combined onslaught.

Fighting next to Say'ri wasn't like fighting next to Lucina, Robin realized sadly. Where he and Lucina almost knew how the other would move instinctually, striking together and vaulting each other, trusting the other implicitly not to accidentally wound them, Say'ri's approach was much tamer, much more reserved; she hung back, allowing Robin to take the lead and striking around him and beside him, fear of accidentally hitting him staying her blade on numerous occasions. Robin didn't even take the time to think that it was amazing she was following his orders, let alone fighting aside him in such a manner.

Robin grunted as a Valmese sword bounced off his shoulder, his coat's magical improvements holding and turning the blade. He'd still have a bruise the next day, though.

_Lucina would have caught that_ , Robin realized, grunting as he cast a small fireball in the soldier's face, throwing him back a few feet.

Libra darted in, his axe coming up and turning the blade of another soldier's weapon as Robin stepped back, casting a small bolt of lightning into the soldier. Libra nodded appreciatively before moving on to the next foe.

Robin glanced around, realizing that the battle was winding down, eyes locking on Say'ri.

_"She did that on purpose!"_ the voice howled. _"How dare she stand idly by and let us be injured!?"_

"Shut up," Robin growled under his breath.

His hand was twitching, magic beginning to pool.

The only thing that distracted him was when Chrom gave him a rough clamp on the shoulder.

"Ha! Beat you here!" Chrom called competitively as the groups reunited before the archway into the throne room.

"The Vaike got distracted by mages," Vaike grumbled, flexing an arm with a recently healed burn scar on it as Frederick rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Vaike was once again not wearing any armour.

"Armour only works when you wear it," the Knight Commander berated, making the axeman pull himself up straighter and grin wildly.

"Friend Robin set an absolutely punishing pace," Virion said with his usual flair as the rest of Robin's team fell in. "Twas like following the god of war himself!"

"Can we just focus and get this over with?" Robin asked irritatedly, realizing that Lucina was purposely facing away from him.

"Of course," Chrom said, surprise evident on his face at Robin's cold tone.

Chrom spun to face the other Shepherds.

"Vaike, take command of Shield squad two and hold this room," the prince ordered. "This is our way out, so nothing gets by you. Frederick, I want you with me on this one."

The shirtless man thumped a fist on his chest as way of acknowledgment as the Knight Commander nodded, falling in with the rest of Sword squad.

There was a subtle shift in the groups as Sword and Dagger teams melted into one group, and Shepherds from all three groups began to mix. A few from Shield merged with the assault team, and a few from the others would hang back with Shield.

"The rest of you, with me!" Chrom ordered, before turning to Robin.

"If you would be so kind, master tactician?"

Robin nodded, still glaring at his friends.

With a deep breath and a light flick of his wrist Robin sent a powerful wind spell crashing into the two great doors, blowing them down and revealing a large group of heavily armed Valmese knights waiting for them.

He spotted the knights and it was as if someone poured molten metal into his very soul; a renewed fire broke out beneath his skin, urging him to kill and maim to satiate it, to stop the thoughts that had plagued him so for the last few days.

_Bring it on,_ Robin snarled in his head, racing forward before Chrom could even signal the others to charge.

"Robin, what…?" Chrom called after him before sighing. "Fine! Into them, Shepherds! Show no mercy!"

*

Morgan watched her father race forward with a sense of foreboding as he outpaced the others.

He had been different the last few days; harsh, cold, short tempered… and what was with that laugh? Nowhere in her mind had she ever heard something so evil come from her father before.

It was like he was a completely different person in battle.

Morgan hesitated as the others charged ahead and Vaike's newly minted team took up defensive positions around the room, ready to stop any enemy soldiers that came anywhere near them.

Morgan noticed Lucina hanging back, too, staring into the distance with her sword hanging limply in her hand.

She was another person that had been different lately, too; but rather than the darkening mood Morgan's father had been slipping into, Lucina had been becoming freer and happier in a way that she hadn't been when they had met.

Until recently, that is.

Morgan wasn't so naive to think that something hadn't been going on between the Princess and the tactician, but with word of the revelation of her parentage spreading throughout the camp like wildfire Lucina had flipped a switch, becoming as cold and distant as she had been before, if not more so.

She was a tactician after all; that was one thing her father had tried to instill in her from the very start of their training. That she had to be observant. That she had to watch every subtle nuance of camp life, listen to every rumour, as well as their official duties, because those rumours could sometimes lead to situations that could be disasterous on the battlefield.

Morgan had decided to stay out of her father's personal affairs, but it was hard seeing them both so unhappy. Obviously their friendship meant a lot to both of them, and seeing them become distant was a little disconcerting for the girl. Her father was inadvertently becoming isolated from the people that cared about him, and that needed to stop. Maybe Lucina was just backing off to give Robin and Say'ri space; that was a huge misunderstanding right there, one Morgan would need to clear up before rumours started circulating around the tight-knit camp.

Well, rumours were always circulating. But this was one more that didn't need to be added.

_Maybe I can do something about it after the battle_ … Morgan thought as she approached her friend. _It's probably just a silly misunderstanding. All they need to do is talk it out._

"Hey, Luce," she said quietly, approaching her friend. "Are you okay?"

Lucina looked up quickly, eyes meeting Morgan's for a second before she nodded.

"I am fine," she said shortly, looking away again.

Morgan was going to press the matter before both women were brought up short by the sounds of a ruckus from the far side of the room, where Frederick's team had come in.

"Hold on a sec, Luce," she said, striding over to see what the disturbance was.

All of a sudden grateful for the stash of tonic she had won from Gregor months ago, she downed one of the small vials as she approached the altercation.

"We're resistance, damn you!" a man was shouting on the other side of the line of Shepherds.

"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of Plegia," Severa answered sarcastically. "We have our orders; hold position! Now get lost or we'll attack!"

"What's going on?" Morgan asked, laying a calming hand on Severa's shoulder and squeezing between her and Yarne to stand before the two new people.

A man wearing armour similar to Say'ri's, but made out of metal like the soldiers from Chengshi, sighed exasperatedly in front of one other man dressed similarly to him.

"I've been trying to tell this one," the man said in a thick accent. "We are the Resistance! We infiltrated the castle as your backup, but our men are trapped and we need assistance!"

Morgan nodded, not even hesitating when she spotted the same symbol on their armour that Say'ri wore on her own.

"We have to help them," Morgan said, turning to the other Shepherds, taking charge the way her father would; besides, they were expecting the Resistance to meet them here anyway, right?

"Severa, I need you to help me with this."

"Are you serious!?" Severa shouted disbelievingly.

Morgan ignored her, turning to Laurent and Yarne, who were currently guarding the door.

"Can you two hold this door alone for a little while?"

"Uh… sure?" Yarne said worriedly. "I mean… I guess?"

"Of course," Laurent answered for the Taguel. "But hurry back."

Morgan nodded, looking back to the Resistance fighters.

"We'll come with you," she said, indicating to Severa. "Lead the way."

"I will join you, too," Lucina said, stepping forward.

"Fine, fine," the Resistance member in charge said irritatedly. "But we must be swift!"

Morgan nodded, smiling at the blue haired Princess, and the small group started running, being led by the men from the Resistance.

They rounded corridors, running for nearly twenty minutes before coming out into a landing above a large staircase, the two men muttering animatedly between each other the entire time in whatever language they spoke.

"It is down here," the one in the lead said.

"I don't hear anything," Severa said hesitantly.

"Then we need to hurry," Morgan said, beginning to descend quickly behind the two Resistance fighters; obviously the fight was going bad for the men below if she couldn't hear anything.

The two men led them quickly through a series of cellars, empty storage rooms all interconnected that would normally have been full of supplies and preserved food, but were all sitting worryingly empty.

The earlier sense of unease returned as Morgan and the others were led into a dead-end room, the three of them skidding to a halt as the Resistance soldiers leading them turned with sour looks on their faces.

Morgan spun as two more resistance soldiers appeared out of the shadows, closing the heavy door and leaving them all standing in near-darkness, the only light a small torch on one wall.

"I am sorry, my friends," the lead Resistance soldier said sadly as he drew his sword.

Morgan felt her heart freeze, realization hitting her like a cart.

_It was so obviously a trap and I walked right into it!_

"I'll save the 'I told you so' for later," Severa muttered as the three women formed a triangle with their backs together.

Before Morgan could reply the four men pounced on them as one, moving quickly.

They were no match for the three Shepherds, though, and fell back just as quickly, all suffering some form of wound as the women pressed them.

Morgan allowed herself a relieved smile. Amateurs trying to gain favour by kidnapping a few Shepherds to hold for ransom… the three Shepherds could take them no problem.

"Looks like you boys bit off more than you could chew," she said confidently, flourishing her sword before her.

"Oh, I don't know about that," a new voice said from the shadows.

Lucina went stiff, her eyes widening in recognition as a short, toad-faced man stepped into the small circle of light, glowering at the traitor-Resistance fighters.

"Can't you morons even get a simple kidnapping right?" he asked, holding up a hand and sending a torrent of magical electricity at the Shepherds.

Lucina and Severa leapt aside, but Morgan, unprepared, moved too slowly and caught the entirety of the attack, falling to her knees as the world grew hazy.

_Well crap_ , she thought. _Gotta get back up… Gotta save the others! Move, dammit! I can't fail again!_

She was dimly aware as she struggled to make her wounded body move of yelling and the sounds of more fighting, before someone suddenly grabbed her under the arms and started dragging.

Morgan looked up, moaning in pain and preparing to fight off one of the Resistance before catching a glimpse of red hair through the haze and realizing that Severa was pulling her out the door they had come in through.

"Go!" Lucina was shouting over her shoulder as she parried another strike from the Resistance traitors, kicking out viciously at something Morgan couldn't see.

"Get her clear! I'll be right behind you! Run!"

_What!? No! We can't just leave her!_

Morgan screamed as Severa lifted her, jarring the fresh burns covering her skin and making her pass out from the pain.


	32. Chapter 32

Yarne's ears twitched.

As a Taguel, his hearing was much more sensitive than that of the humans he had spent his life around; contrary to Morgan's belief, they were not just for show. The rest of the future-children knew this, so when Laurent noticed his comrade looking off into the distance with his head tilted, he knew something was amiss.

"Yarne?" the young mage asked. "What do you hear?"

The Taguel's nose twitched in a very lagomorphic fashion.

"Yarne?" Laurent tried again.

Usually his friend was much more expedient in his responses.

"I thought I heard…" he said, obviously straining to hear.

The Taguel shook his head.

"It's no good. I can't make anything out over the fighting behind us. B-but I thought I heard women screaming."

Laurent nodded, making a note in his ledger. This was most vexing news indeed.

*

Robin panted, standing doubled-over the bodies of the Valmese Knights that had been in his way.

"There's… there's no end to them," he gasped, glancing up as another squad came running down the staircase before him.

Beside him Chrom grimaced, readying his divine blade Falchion.

"Shepherds! Forward!"

Robin hung back as the other soldiers and warriors rushed forward, Tharja and Miriel reaching his side as he began to gather mana for a spell.

They had been pushing into what they thought would have been the throne room for at least half an hour now, but Robin had once again miscalculated. Of course, in a fortress the size of a small city, the throne room would be a huge, tiered room that was almost like a miniature fortress in its own right.

The 'Throne Room' brought to mind visions of Chengshi's tiered city steps, but in a straight line rather than being cut into the mountain. The path was at least ten meters wide, columns supporting an arched roof above them with delicate-looking stained glass skylights spaced at regular intervals. Busts, statues and paintings sat in alcoves at regular intervals along the Throne Room path, an ostentatious show of power for whoever was approaching the room at the end of the path.

According to the intel that Seiko and her spy network had gathered there was no other way in or out of the Throne Room proper aside from a small secret door that would have been impractical to move troops through. This just left the Shepherds the option of charging up the steps through the Valmese Honour Guard, tier by tier.

_And every bloody tier has at least three or four squads of soldiers on them_ , Robin lamented as the Shepherds crashed into the next squad barring their path.

The tiers themselves were as big as the anteroom that Shield team was holding as their extraction point, but without diverging pathways or entrances to the rest of the fortress. It was a straight path to their goal, up the stairs and through the enemy soldiers.

For half an hour wave after wave of the Valmese Empire's finest had been throwing themselves at the Shepherds, and their progress was finally beginning to slow.

With the combined effort of the three spellcasters the currently encroaching Knights were swept to the side with a devastating wind spell, and the Shepherds rushed up to the next tier.

"Form a line!" Robin called in a hoarse voice, his head spinning.

Chrom took up the call, organizing a front.

"Form a line! Armour up front! I said armour, Vaike, not bone-headed stubbornness!"

The axeman huffed and took up a position in the line anyway.

For all their hardships, morale among the Shepherds was still high.

Robin grimaced as another squad of heavily armoured soldiers appeared above them, and Virion, Noire and Lon'qu set about delaying them with a torrent of deadly arrows.

He noted absently that the Feroxi swordsman was quite the shot with his borrowed bow, obviously one of Virion's spares; where he had found the time to practice with his constant fencing training Robin wasn't sure, though; to be honest, the tactician didn't really care at that point.

They couldn't keep up this pace for much longer. Wounds were starting to pile up, and Lissa, Sumia and Libra were being pushed to their limits trying to keep up with the demand for their skills. Robin was beginning to regret leaving Maribelle with the Shield team, but it couldn't be helped.

_How much further does this stupid staircase go?_ Robin wondered, watching as the Shepherds advanced to the next tier in tight formation.

_And why is it always staircases!?_

His limbs felt like they were encased in lead; his masterfully crafted silver breastplate was little more than added weight to him now, and Robin grunted as he adjusted it, a wild plan popping into his mind.

_Can I trust myself that this isn't suicide?_ Robin wondered, yanking on the straps of his breastplate and letting it fall away with a dull clatter.

"Robin, what in Naga's name…?" was as far as Virion got before the tactician took a deep breath.

"Panne! Lon'qu! Chrom! Frederick!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, rotating his arms and neck and feeling much lighter.

"With me! Arrow formation! Frederick, take the tip!"

A few questioning stares met Robin's proposal, but Chrom grinned and nodded once he remembered what 'Arrow formation' was for.

"Cut right to their heart, eh?" the Prince asked with a lopsided grin. "I like that idea."

The other three names he called pulled back from the front, the holes they left quickly being filled by the others.

"Ready?" Robin asked them, receiving answering nods.

"Virion, keep things together for us," the tactician said over his shoulder.

"But of course," the archer said, flicking a lock of hair over his shoulder and beaming a confident grin.

"Miriel, Henry, Ricken," Robin said. "Make us an opening."

The three mages nodded and concentrated their efforts, a magical conflagration creating an opening in the line of encroaching red-armoured figures. The other Shepherds stepped to the side, giving the small wedge-shaped team space.

"Charge!" Chrom roared, and Frederick took off like a shot, axe swinging back and forth as he barrelled through the first of the Valmese.

Robin and Chrom were directly behind him, slashing and spinning, feeding off of Frederick's momentum as they raced through the Valmese and broke their line. Panne and Lon'qu followed, tearing with claws and dancing between foes in a red mist created by precision swordsmanship, handling any soldiers Robin and Chrom missed.

The other Shepherds let out a lusty roar, following the 'arrow team' into the breach and sweeping aside the Valmese defence.

That's what Robin had created the arrow formation for; to break lines on a smaller scale, just like this one. It was another formation that he hadn't actually put to use before, but it was pleasing to see it working out. It was a dangerous, last resort sort of tactic; a small group charging headlong into the enemy, breaking their lines and putting themselves in a position that could easily end with them being surrounded. He would never trust it to the regular army, of course, but he knew the strengths and weaknesses of every Shepherd; he knew that the team he'd picked would have no problem keeping pace with Frederick as the machine-of-a-Knight powered forward.

They crashed into another squad, barely slowing as Frederick led with his shoulder and simply bowled over those in his way. Surprised faces met them as the other four whirled, tore and stabbed their way forward behind the Knight Commander, the rest of the Shepherds not far behind.

This continued for at least three more tiers, Valmese men falling before the momentum and crippling might of the best of the Shepherds, until at last they emerged out onto the top tier before a massive sealed doorway, with no further Valmese men in sight.

Robin looked back, seeing that the Shepherds were still charging after them, only two tiers back while the Valmese soldiers beneath them milled about in a confused daze, such was the force of the 'Arrow team's' charge.

Now they would simply have to… have…

Robin swayed, shaking his head and forcing himself to focus, his breathing coming out in ragged gasps as his hands shook.

He might have pushed himself a little too hard, but they still had to assault the remaining Valmese troops on the tier beneath Arrow team, catching them in a classic pincer movement that-

Robin's vision clouded, his breath catching in his throat as he struggled to stay upright. He couldn't think straight…

He-

Robin's vision went black, his legs collapsing beneath him as he fell to the floor.

"Robin!"

"Robin!?"

"Get up!"

*

_Robin!?_

_Robin, can you hear me!?_

_Wake up! Come on!_

"Come on you mad bastard, wake up!" Chrom shouted, slapping Robin in the face.

"I can't win this war without you! Wake your lazy arse up!"

Robin's eyes snapped open, a familiar blue-haired visage hovering over him.

"Oh gods…" he managed, sitting up and holding a hand to his head as the room spun around him.

"How does Sumia stand waking up to that face every morning?" Robin asked in a tired voice without thinking.

Chrom blinked a few times before letting out a relieved sigh and chuckling.

"You're fine," he said, grabbing the other man under one arm and hauling him up.

Robin glanced around. A multitude of worried faces looked on, but the majority of the Shepherds were busily tending to the wounded or preparing to assault the Throne Room proper, just beyond the great sealed doors.

_How long was I out for?_

Looking around Robin saw that Cordelia and Sumia's faces were among the number watching him closely, and Tharja looked like she was about to pounce on him. Virion was sneaking looks at him as he directed the distribution of the replacement weapons for the ones damaged or lost during the fighting, his long silver-blue hair flicking every time he turned. Even Frederick was watching with a mixture of curiosity and worry, a strange expression for the normally stoic man's face.

With a start Robin realized that Say'ri was watching him with the same look of concern on her face as the others before their eyes met and her usual cold mask snapped back into place, the princess from Chon'sin quickly looking away.

"What the hell were you thinking, taking off your armour," Cordelia asked as she, Sumia and Tharja closed in on him.

"He is fine," Tharja droned in her usual low monotone, giving him a questioning glance from beneath her ebon bangs.

Robin nodded, backing up her declaration that he was okay with a wordless grunt. Of course, her gaze also said that she was going to tear him a new one for making her worry once the battle was over, but Robin had been expecting that.

"I don't see any wounds," Sumia said, gently moving Robin's coat to one side as Chrom supported him.

"I'm fine," Robin said, his head spinning again. "Just… used too much mana."

" _That's not true and you know it…"_

"Again!?" Chrom asked, carefully releasing the tactician's arm and making sure he could stand on his own. "You have got to get better at gauging that. I can't have my tactician dropping dead every time he uses one-too-many spells."

Robin nodded mutely, trying to ignore the feeling of biting insects crawling beneath his skin.

" _Stop fighting me, Robin,"_ the voice whispered in his ear.

"I'm fine, guys," he repeated, doing his best to sound convincing. "I just needed a quick power nap. Now I'm good as new."

Chrom sighed.

"We need to take a brief rest here to take care of the wounded and resupply; get some rest. I'll come and find you when it's time to move on."

"And I think this time, Henry can break down the door," Chrom added over his shoulder with a smirk as he strode towards Virion and Frederick.

Cordelia gave him a strange look, before asking "Are you sure you're okay?"

Robin nodded, giving the others the thumbs up gesture and doing his best to smile reassuringly at Cordelia and Sumia as the two Pegasus knights returned to making ready; such was the burden of fighting with such light lances, they broke easily and the women constantly had to replace them.

Once he was sure no one was watching Robin let himself sag, his shoulders hunching as he let out a deep sigh.

Another presence was suddenly at his side, supporting him from the back and leading him towards the stairs.

"You can't fool me of all people," Tharja said in a low, disapproving voice. "If you want to work yourself to the point where you drop then that's your prerogative, but you can't lie and say you're okay."

"Fine," Robin admitted with a sigh. "I just need a break, that's all."

Tharja sat him down on the top step, giving him a penetrating glance. She stared at him for a few seconds, and just as Robin began to feel a little of the old discomfort from their previous relationship in Plegia the Dark Mage broke eye contact.

"Wait here," she said in a tone brokering no disagreement as she spun and began striding away in a flash of swaying black coat and hair. "I'll be right back."

Robin sighed and let his head droop, focusing on his breathing, trying to gather his thoughts.

" _You're slipping. Maybe you should just sit the rest of the assault out?"_ his interior voice whispered in a mocking fashion.

_Shut up,_ Robin ordered. _I don't need you or your help._

" _You're weak, Robin. I can do this better than you ever could. Get out of my way."_

Robin gripped the sides of his head, willing the voice to be silent as his head throbbed. The voice had changed suddenly. It had gone from a whisper to a growl, from being a suggestion to an order that he was having trouble disobeying.

"Here," a voice not belonging to Tharja said gently.

Robin glanced up, grateful for the distraction, his gaze following his proffered sword up to a white armoured arm holding it out to him.

"You… dropped this," Say'ri said in a small voice.

"Thanks," Robin muttered, taking the blade and inspecting it with a wave of guilt.

The once beautiful blade was nicked and scratched almost beyond recognition. Robin had been neglecting it for some time, and it was beginning to show. The steel seemed dull, and he had no doubt that the sword would break soon.

Say'ri cleared her throat awkwardly, and Robin stood to sheathe the sword.

"I am glad… you are not injured," Say'ri said, not meeting Robin's eyes.

" _Could've fooled me,"_ the voice whispered in his head. _"This is where she tries to get back into our good books…"_

_Shut up!_

" _And when our back is turned she sticks a knife in it!"_

_I said. Shut. Up._

"Er… thanks," Robin mumbled, preoccupied with his interior argument.

They stood like that for a few moments, neither knowing what to say or do next.

Robin regretted the way things had gone with Say'ri, to be honest. He missed having her as a friend. He hadn't meant to hurt her the way he had, but he was severely lacking in any experience with relationships due to his amnesia, and had panicked and…

_Why am I thinking about this now?_ He wondered as Say'ri shifted awkwardly.

" _You two are so disgustingly awkward,"_ the voice spat, becoming hard again.

Robin wanted to say something, but what could he say? 'Hey, sorry you were four months too late getting into my life to become my lover, better luck next time?' That would go down really well.

He wasn't mad at Say'ri… and here she was attempting to mend the bridges and actually talk to him without glaring again for the first time since they had left Valm Harbour, and all Robin could do was shuffle and mumble awkwardly.

" _Pathetic,"_ the voice in his head spat. _"What did she ever see in you to begin with?"_

He could at least apologize for the other night. That was as good a place as any to start.

Just as Robin looked up to apologize for his behaviour lately Tharja reappeared, her usual glare directed at Say'ri as she stepped up next to Robin.

"Greetings Lady Say'ri," Tharja said in her iciest tone of voice.

"Greetings," Say'ri nodded back, before turning back to Robin.

"You should take better care of your weapon," she said quickly, before turning on her heel and striding off.

Before Robin could speak Tharja had grabbed his hair, roughly forcing his head back and mouth open as she poured quite possibly the foulest tasting elixir he had ever drank down his throat.

Coughing and spluttering Robin tried not to retch.

"What did you just make me drink!?" he shouted animatedly, eyes wide.

Tharja chuckled, corking the empty vial and stowing it away beneath her voluminous cloak.

"If I told you, you wouldn't drink it," she said with an evil grin. "Do you feel better yet?"

"I…" Robin started, before coming up short.

He felt lighter, but in a different way than he had when he was charging through the servant quarters with Dagger team. The burning bloodlust beneath his flesh still remained, but it was muted, as if being blocked. The crawling, burning sensation beneath his skin was abating as well; again not disappearing entirely, but calming. Most importantly, the voice had instantly fallen silent in a burst of outraged surprise.

"What did you make me drink?" Robin asked in wonder as he looked at his hands.

They weren't shaking. His breathing was slow. His head was clear, and his vision was widening to its usual spectrum.

Tharja nodded as if satisfied.

"It's a remedy. Put it that way. I'll explain the rest later when you're not likely to throw it back up."

"You do not do much to instil confidence," Robin deadpanned.

But he grinned as he spoke. He couldn't help it. He felt great.

For the first time in a long time he felt like himself again.

It wasn't the same physical revitalization that he felt when he had taken Gregor's secret concoction, rather his spirit felt a little lighter.

"I warn you though, it won't last long," Tharja explained, producing four more vials. "Take these, but only use them if you have to. The remedy isn't exactly good for you."

"I'm not even going to ask," Robin said, pocketing most of the vials and holding one up to inspect in the light.

It genuinely looked like black ink, threads of red interspersed throughout the thick, brackish liquid.

"Thank you, Tharja," Robin said. "I should be getting back to Chrom and Frederick."

Robin jogged off, a new-found spring in his step.

As he turned he missed Tharja's face falling as she watched the tactician's retreating form. In the place of her usual scowl the Dark Mage wore a look completely alien to her beautiful face.

She was afraid.

*

Severa grunted, hitching Morgan higher up on her back.

_Stupid Morgan, passing out and making me carry her…_

She had been running through the fortress for half an hour now, completely unwilling to admit that in her panic she had taken a wrong turn and gotten lost somewhere in the sub-levels.

_Dammit, Lucina…_ she thought bitterly. _If you die before I can get back to save you, I'll kill you myself!_

Morgan moaned weakly from her back, making Severa pick up her pace despite the burning in her legs.

_Gods, what does this girl eat!? She weighs a ton!_

Fortunately none of the Resistance traitors had followed her so far, and she hadn't run into any more Valmese forces, either; if her luck held out she'd be able to get Morgan out and to a healer and get back to Lucina soon.

_Just hold on… please… Both of you…_

"Hey! You there!"

Severa cursed, trying to drop Morgan as gently as she could and drawing her sword in one swift motion.

Arrayed before her was a group of four Resistance soldiers wearing the same style armour that their would-be kidnappers had been wearing.

They relaxed, obviously underestimating Severa and invoking her ire as they chuckled and made lewd, suggestive comments in their native language.

"You boys just made the last mistake of your worthless lives," the redhead growled, launching herself at the Resistance soldiers, her twin-tails fluttering behind her like blood-red streamers.

As the Resistance traitors finally realized their mistake Severa was already in amongst them, bringing her sword up to impale one of the men. She spun, pulling her blade free with the momentum and slashed horizontally across the unprotected neck of the next closest man, before continuing her spin and lashing out with a high roundhouse kick that snapped the head of the third man to the side, dropping him like a sack of dirt.

The fourth man, evidently their leader, tried to rush in with his own sword, which Severa caught on hers a moment before she brought her knee up to the man's groin with a devilish grin on her face.

She stepped back as the man let out a squeak and fell to his knees.

The whole exchange had lasted little more than a few seconds.

"Toldja," she said as she drove her sword through his breastplate.

Breathing heavily now, Severa brushed a few loose strands of hair out of her face and sheathed her sword, returning to where Morgan was slumped against the wall of the passageway.

"Come on, Morgan," Severa said more to herself than the unconscious girl as she lifted her dead weight back onto her back and started walking again.

"I hate to admit it, but I think we're lost."

*

Robin bounced on his toes, waiting while Henry gathered the requisite amount of mana to blast the huge doors down.

"What did Tharja feed you?" Chrom asked with a dry chuckle.

"Apparently I wouldn't have wanted to know," Robin said absently, glancing around and trying to commit every detail he could to memory. "We better do this fast, though; I can already feel it wearing off."

Chrom gave a nod, signalling for Henry to blow the door.

With a loud crack a bolt of lightning danced from the smiling white-haired man's extended palm to the middle of the door, disintegrating the lock and leaving a small, smoking hole. With a casual backhanded wave he sent a light wind spell into the now unsecured doors, forcing them open with a loud smash.

"I could have done that," Robin muttered dejectedly as the Shepherds began to cautiously advance towards the Throne Room.

The tactician hesitated a moment, his hand resting on his stomach as it roiled violently.

_I don't think I'll be able to keep that elixir down_ , Robin realized, trying to force some water down his throat quickly while he advanced in the second rank.

_At least that bloody voice finally shut up._

The throne room was huge, big enough to make Robin wonder just how big Walhart's actual palace was. A giant arched roof was held up by columns, glittering chandeliers hanging beneath open skylights, bouncing the light making it seem like the entire room was bathed in golden sunlight.

The beauty of the view was marred by the hundreds of Valmese soldiers, standing shoulder to shoulder before the raised throne.

"Girls, if you would be so kind?" Robin asked, motioning with a lazy wave over his shoulder.

Nowi and Nah hopped forward, finally having space to transform again.

With a giggle that seemed very un-dragon-like, Nowi charged into the huge space first, blocking the light from above in her shifted form as she breathed magical green flames onto the assembled soldiers.

Nah hesitated, before taking a deep breath and silently emulating her mother.

While it was easy to forget that Nowi was in fact a millennium old dragon, Nah was exactly as she appeared; still just a girl. For all that, though, she still fought to keep pace with her mother as she slapped one of the chandeliers with her tail, razor sharp shards of glass raining down on the Valmese men beneath it.

The manaketes circled playfully in the air, ignoring the arrows and minor spells being shot up at them. It looked like Nowi's constant search for fun was beginning to infect Nah.

"First rank: kneel!" Chrom shouted, dropping to one knee as the rest of the front line emulated him.

Robin, Tharja, Henry, Miriel, Ricken, Virion and Noire all let loose at once, decimating the remainder of the front line of Valmese men.

Arrows flew like rain from the two Ylissean archers, while spells from opposing elements collided and sent off chain reactions, doing more damage than their original forms ever could have achieved; just as Robin had planned it.

"Forward!" Chrom roared, and the kneeling front line charged, weapons held ready.

The Throne Room echoed with a wordless war cry as the Shepherds collided with the still reeling Valmese, Chrom at the forefront with Frederick at his side.

_Frederick?_ Robin thought in confusion. _Where's Lucina?_

He glanced around, about to ask for confirmation about the Princess' whereabouts when another wave of nausea stuck him, making him gag as his gorge rose. He could feel the elixir being forced back up.

"Robin, what are you doing!?" Cordelia asked.

The tactician shook his head, swallowing a few times and darting forward; he was beginning to fall behind again.

He skidded to a halt just behind where the fighting was thickest, scanning the battlefield with practiced eyes.

_There!_

A slim woman in gear reminiscent of Lucina's, but coloured a dark red rather than her regal blue, strode forward with a thin sword in one hand.

Her blonde hair fluttered beneath an ornate golden head-dress as she held aloft an intricate-looking staff with her other hand.

Valmese men that had fallen to the side, too wounded to fight lifted themselves back up as their wounds closed, hands wrapping around bloody weapons as they surged to protect their General.

"Come, Dogs of Ylisse!" Pheros shouted in a surprisingly strong voice. "Come and face the Right Hand of the Conqueror! General Pheros will be your death!"

Chrom spotted her about the same time as Robin did, and darted forward to trade blows with her.

"There's the General," Robin called. "Regroup on Chrom! Keep the other enemies off of him!"

The Shepherds responded immediately, closing in about the Prince as he duelled and danced with Pheros. The freshly healed Valmese men had the same idea, moving forward to clash with the Shepherds as the two leaders duelled.

"Into them!" Robin called, motioning the Shepherds forward. "Protect Chrom! Protect… Pro…"

Robin was about to dart back into the fray when his stomach protested a third time and he involuntarily dropped to his knees.

" _How. Dare. You?"_ the voice in his head thundered as Robin doubled over, gagging.

The tactician threw up, a sticky, inky black substance coating the floor beneath him. Tharja's remedy had been more liquid than the sludge coating the floor, though...

" _How dare you try to silence me with cheap potions!?"_

The pounding in his head returned, and Robin let out a scream as his flesh burned beneath his skin with the intensity of the sun.

" _I will make you suffer for your insolence!"_

A few of the Shepherds turned to help Robin, Lissa and Cordelia at their core, but without thinking he violently shoved them back, the wind-in-his-ears sensation returning and reducing his world to a dull roar as his vision seemed to crystalize.

Everything came into focus as he looked up; he could see the beads of sweat on Virion's neck from twenty meters away; he could count the individual hairs swaying as Cordelia struggled to regain her balance; he could see the imperfections in the seemingly perfect bright red armour of the Valmese Honour Guard.

_What's… what's happening?_

" _You can't escape me, Robin,"_ the voice warned, spitting his name out like a curse, painfully clear above all other sounds in the roaring.

He felt his tired muscles all tense and release a few times as if something were testing them. His exhaustion slipped away as he felt Dark Magic flood into his body, healing torn and tired limbs and forcing him back to full alertness.

" _In fact…"_

The tactician lurched to his feet and took a few steps, mana coalescing around him as his coat dropped to the floor behind him, the new shirt he had bought in Chengshi beginning to smoke and burn as familiar symbols appeared beneath Robin's flesh.

_What are you doing!?_ Robin pleaded. _Stop! Stop damn you!_

The other vials of Tharja's remedy flew through the air, torn from Robin's coat pocket with a violent wind spell. They danced above his outstretched hand in a circular motion for a moment, surrounded by a dark purple light, before his fist closed and the vials shattered, the contents splattering to the ground.

" _I'm going to have a little_ fun _while you're incapacitated."_

Robin felt a strange burning in his eyes as they flooded with Dark Magic, his usually kind brown eyes becoming the same soulless, black orbs that he had seen on the Hierophant in Plegia.

The other Shepherds began to shy away from Robin, not truly understanding what was happening as their tactician began to laugh.

*

Chrom ducked low, spinning beneath the staff that had just passed through the space his head had previously occupied.

Pheros fought like a demon, darting from side to side before striking with her sword or ornate staff, barely encumbered by her thick ceremonial regalia.

She was faster than he was, there was no contest there, but he was stronger, and she couldn't parry any of his attacks for fear of his heavier sword and superior strength breaking hers.

They separated a moment, eyeing each other and breathing heavily as the battle raged around them.

"You fight well, Prince Chrom," Pheros complimented with a nod. "You have earned my respect, at the very least."

"Well in that case why don't we stop fighting and try to talk about this?" Chrom asked with a grin as the two leaders began circling each other.

"I cannot do that, my Prince," Pheros said, dead seriously. "I have been charged by my Lord to hold this Fortress. You would deny me my duty."

"It was worth a try," Chrom said with a shrug, darting back in and striking with a flurry of blows almost faster than the naked eye could follow.

Pheros caught the first two on the thick metal shaft of her staff, sidestepping the third and spinning behind Chrom to go on the offensive again. The Prince stepped forward as he spun, bringing Falchion up as Pheros' sword struck for his throat.

The blades clashed and sparks flew, and the two stepped back again.

"You truly are skilled, my Prince," Pheros said as they started circling again. "Lord Walhart would find you a great ally. All you would need to do is kneel. He would allow you to remain lord of your own domain, so long as you swore your fealty to him."

Righteous anger began burning inside Chrom's chest.

"I am the rightful Exalt of Ylisse," he said as Falchion began to shine with blue power. "I will not bend my knee to any man, nor give my subjects willingly to the tyrannical rule of another."

He rushed forward again, striking downwards from up high. Pheros caught the glowing blade between her sword and her staff, forming an 'x' above her head with them.

"But he is not merely a man, Prince Chrom," Pheros said, her voice strained as she struggled against Chrom's superior strength. "Emperor Walhart has long ago left his humanity aside for the betterment of all of us!"

She kicked out and Chrom's knee buckled, forcing him to roll to the side as Pheros brought both her staff and sword down.

Almost as an afterthought the blonde woman raised her staff casually, a healing light enveloping her troops again and motivating them to fight all the harder for her.

"Once, I followed your exalted sister, you know," Pheros said idly as the two combatants eyed each other. "I made the pilgrimage all the way to Ylisstol, just to hear her speak. I, too, grew up worshiping Naga and the Earth Mother."

"And you abandoned your faith," Chrom spat, forcing himself back to his feet.

She was truly deserving of her station and title based on martial prowess alone, of that he no longer had any doubt.

"I have no use for invisible spirits any longer," Pheros growled, taking the offensive and forcing Chrom back.

"I serve a god among men now. Emperor Walhart will do what no religion ever could-unite all people."

"He will unite them in fear!" Chrom argued, parrying her lightning fast blows. "He will unite them when they grow tired of his tyranny and scream enough! The people will unite against him, Pheros! They already have! Look with your own eyes! Think damn you!"

"Thinking plays no part in it. In words and deeds, a great leader takes hold of the heart, not the mind. I remember you sister possessing that self-same gift for inspiring others. Doubtless many still cling to the power of her poetry. But I have found a greater voice..."

Chrom was forced to roll again as Pheros brought her staff down, hard, on his armoured shoulder.

"We can unite the people in peace!" Chrom shouted, dashing back in under Pheros' guard and bringing the hilt of his sword up into her chin.

The General stumbled back a step, holding her weapons out before her defensively as she spat blood onto the stones at their feet.

"Under Lord Walhart there would be peace!" she snarled, wiping her chin clean with the back of her hand.

Chrom's response died in his throat when a ball of black fire appeared between the two of them.

They both stopped to look at it dumbfounded a moment, neither knowing what to expect from the small, fist sized flame. As Chrom looked up he could see that all around the other Valmese groups more of the balls were present, floating in mid-air at about chest height.

The fighting throughout the cavernous Throne Room ground to a halt, confused muttering beginning to spread through the space.

Chrom's eyes widened when he heard something he'd never thought possible.

"Prince Chrom, get away!" Tharja shrieked, her usually soft, scornful tone one of panic.

"Get away from the spell!"

Chrom met Pheros' gaze across the gap between them before his world was enveloped in an expanding black fireball.

*

Robin was forced to watch, his control stripped from him completely, as whatever had been residing in his head for the last few months forcibly took control of his body.

A deep, blood red magic circle of pure energy formed around Robin's booted feet as the smell of burnt fabric reached his nose.

With a sound of annoyance the voice used Robin's hand to absently reach up and tore the ruined shirt from his chest, tatters of fine cloth falling to the circle and igniting as if dropped into a fire pit.

A vortex of tainted, purple wind magic sprung up around him, keeping the others from reaching and distracting the voice's control.

He didn't have to look to know that his body was once again covered in the purple swirling concentric rings of Dark Magic burning beneath his pale skin. As the voice waved his hand and sent small black orbs of flame flying out in every direction Robin realized that the six-eyed symbol on the back of his hand had returned.

He got the feeling it wasn't going to fade away again this time.

"Robin, stop this madness!" Virion desperately shouted, fighting against the magical vortex swirling around the tactician.

"Robin!" Cordelia called, her face pale as she shielded Lissa.

_I… I can't…_

The voice burst out laughing, the cruel sound completely alien to Robin's mouth.

"Get away from the spell!" Tharja shrieked in the distance to the other Shepherds.

Robin realized that the voice wasn't discriminating; everywhere there were Valmese soldiers there were orbs of black fire, wether Shepherds were there or not.

_What are you doing!?_ Robin pleaded desperately. _Stop! Stop, damn you!_

His face twisted into a cruel smile as the voice indicated upwards.

A conflagration the likes of which Robin had never witnessed before exploded through the room. Henry, Tharja and Miriel struggled to put up magical barriers, Libra and Ricken adding to their power to protect the majority of the Shepherds, but the Valmese weren't as lucky.

Red armoured forms were thrown about like rag-dolls, and Pheros herself barely got a barrier up in time to prevent herself from being burnt to a crisp.

"He's lost 'is mind…" Robin heard Donnel mutter in the ensuing silence.

_It's not me!_ Robin desperately wanted to scream.

The voice began to laugh again, a sick, insane sound as it used Robin's body, throwing him forward and stooping to pick up a sword in each hand, Robin's rapier sitting forgotten in its sheath at his hip.

"Come, dogs of Valm!" the voice roared from Robin's mouth, copying Pheros' earlier speech in a deranged, mocking tone. "Come and face Ylisse's star tactician! Find your end at the sword of the Right Hand of the Exalt!"

_You bastard_ , Robin sobbed inside his own head. _You monster. You didn't want to be silenced!? You just signed your own death warrant!_

The voice laughed as Robin's body danced between Valmese soldiers, striking with a level of skill far surpassing either Chrom or Lon'qu's swordsmanship, the most talented warriors in the Shepherds. His form whirled and spun, leaving a red mist in his wake and the burning after-images of the lines of Dark power criss-crossing his torso.

The Valmese soldiers began to panic as the Voice led Robin's body through them, killing and maiming as he went. Nothing even came close to touching the tactician's form as he swung a two-handed sword in each fist like they were daggers.

Scores fell before his rampage as the Voice laughed gleefully, carving through the Valmese Honour Guard like they were new recruits.

At last Robin's form began to slow, his black eyes locking on the Voice's obvious target through the melee.

General Pheros stood proud and tall, black smudges covering her face, her regal cape scorched and ruined and her armour covered in burns.

The blonde General threw her staff to the side, adopting a two-handed grip on her sword.

A feral grin broke out on Robin's features as the two swords dropped to the floor and his hands clasped around the hilt of his once-beautiful rapier.

"What manner of hell-spawned creature are you!?" she spat, charging towards Robin with her sword held in both hands.

Robin's out of control body effortlessly blocked Pheros' blows as she struck with speed and precision that would have caused even Chrom pause.

_No,_ Robin pleaded to her silently. _Get away! Get far away! Get away before he-_

"I'll tear you apart with my bare hands!" the Voice snarled, knocking her sword to the side one-handed with the smallest of efforts as Robin's free hand snapped up, his fist closing around her neck like a vice.

Pheros' face changed from one of righteous fury to shock as she was lifted off the ground, a moment before Robin's body slammed her down onto her back, cracking the stone beneath her and shaking the Throne Room.

"Such a shame to waste such beauty," the Voice purred, drawing back and pointing Robin's sword at the General's heart.

"Oh well. Now you die."

Before Robin's form could deliver the killing blow he was tackled from the side by a blue blur, crashing heavily to the stone floor and cracking his head hard against it.

"Get away!" Chrom shouted to a dazed Pheros as she struggled to pull herself up.

"Go! Run!"

Pheros nodded once, scrambling to get to the secret exit, shouting for any surviving soldiers to follow her as she limped heavily, one arm hanging useless at her side. Out of the hundred or so that had crowded into the Throne Room to face the Shepherds less than ten managed to heed her call.

Robin's world spun as the Voice slipped, its hold waning.

_You son of a bitch_ , Robin roared inside his head, seizing control again. _Get out of my body!_

And with that statement the voice gave a final victorious laugh, ceding control back to Robin just in time for the tactician to feel the full force of Chrom's fist slamming into his face and shattering his nose.

"Have you lost your mind!?" Chrom roared, wrapping a gauntleted hand around Robin's throat and dragging him bodily back to his feet.

Robin stumbled, the magic that had been sustaining his exhausted body beginning to dissipate and leaving him almost unconscious as he struggled to stand while the symbols covering his bare torso began to fade.

His muscles burned and his limbs felt like lead as he spat blood from his ruined nose onto the floor.

"Look what you've wrought!" Chrom roared, forcing the tactician to look around the Throne Room.

Piles of Valmese corpses lay strewn about, most burned by Robin's initial spell, but a fair amount practically in pieces from his sword-swinging rampage.

The tactician finally looked properly at Chrom. His armour was ruined, scorched black and melted; patches of his clothes were burned through, blackened flesh showing through beneath.

"Chrom… I…" Robin started, looking around in shock.

Before he could finish the Prince laid him flat again, the sound of his fist breaking Robin's jaw echoing around the silent room.

"Chrom, that's enough!" Sumia called, rushing forward and grabbing one of her husband's arms to pull him back.

The blue haired Prince seemed to visibly deflate as his wife clung to him, nodding once as she released him.

"You put us all in danger. Thank Naga Morgan wasn't here to see that," Chrom hissed as he turned and walked away.

Robin tried to sit back up; realizing blood was starting to pool in his mouth, when Sumia roughly pushed him back down.

"Hold still while I heal you," Sumia said coldly, barely even looking at Robin as she set to work with her staff.

Robin lay there silently as Sumia worked, unable to speak or even move his rapidly swelling jaw. She had improved greatly since Plegia, though, and soon Robin's face returned to its original dimensions.

"Thanks Su-" was as far as Robin got before she abruptly stood up and walked away.

Robin blinked, still looking around dazed and confused. It felt like what had just happened, what the voice had forced him to do, had been a dream; like it hadn't really happened.

With wide eyes the tactician looked around the blood-soaked Throne Room, his breath catching when he realized what he'd been forced to do.

Tentatively, he pulled himself to his feet, surveying the destruction he had caused.

"Robin?" Tharja asked from behind him, her voice small.

The tactician spun back again, tears gathering in his eyes.

Arrayed before him were his closest friends. Tharja, Virion and Cordelia. A few steps behind Virion was Cherche, watching Robin like she would jump him if he tried to hurt Virion.

Beyond her…

Say'ri watched openly, not even trying to hide her concern as she obviously debated approaching him with the others.

"This… this wasn't me," he pleaded under their accusing gazes.

He felt numb… he could barely move, barely think.

"I know," Tharja said simply, approaching and gently wrapping his coat around his shoulders.

"I knew it the second you took of your coat," Virion said with a weak smile.

Cordelia cautiously stepped forward, watching Robin intently.

"This was… just like in Plegia?" she asked.

"Similar," Robin responded numbly, slipping into his coat properly.

Cordelia nodded once, closing the distance between them and wrapping Robin in a warm embrace.

The tactician made a strangled choking noise as her armour plates ground into him, but she released him just as quickly.

"I am glad you are unharmed."

"We should…" Robin said, swaying a little. "We should catch up with the others."

A chorus of affirmatives answered him, and they slowly began to head in the direction the rest of the Shepherds had taken.

" _Rooooooobiiiiiiiin,"_ the voice sang in a hushed whisper, making the tactician stop suddenly as his eyes went wide with fear.

" _I win. I broke you. They'll never look at you the same again."_

For the second time that day he fell to his knees, coating the floor around him with the contents of his stomach.

" _I'm all you've got left."_

*

"There we go," Virion said, sitting Robin down on a crate in the anteroom at the base of the Throne Room stairway.

He hadn't been able to walk on his own, so Virion had offered to help.

Patting him once reassuringly on the shoulder the archer moved to consult with Frederick on the next step of their plan; the women had already rushed ahead, needed for other duties. There was still a war to fight, after all.

Robin's mana was exhausted, his muscles burned, and his head swam with regret now that he had had a chance to let his mind catch up to what he'd done.

_How did I even manage that?_ Robin thought, mind flashing back to the conversation with Validar in Plegia.

Robin registered that Flavia and Basilio had joined them at some point, both dirty and obviously fresh from battle as they crowded around Chrom.

"We have a problem, milord," a scout was saying to Chrom. "It's the Resistance forces. They… they came out of nowhere, and instead of linking with our units, they backed the Valmese forces and forced our own back!"

"No," Say'ri whispered from his shoulder. "It can't be."

_When did she get behind me!?_ Robin thought with more alarm than was probably necessary.

Chrom cursed, looking up at the woman.

"Words cannot express my regret and my shame," she said darkly. "I finally succeeded in uniting the Resistance, but only against us."

"Walhart's army and Yen'fay's army have all but destroyed our northern and southern forces!" a second scout reported in a panicked tone. "Most of Lord Liung's force has turned coat and is siding with the Empire! He's on his way here with the remainder of his loyal forces now, mostly the Lancer units!"

"Liung had a hundred thousand men!" Chrom shouted. "Are you telling me they all betrayed him!?"

The scout shrunk away from the Prince, nodding assent.

"The Emperor obviously had more troops," Basilio sighed.

"Or perhaps better trained or better equipped," Flavia added.

"Where are the armies now!?" Chrom shouted.

"Marching towards this fortress," the first scout said, bravely stepping forward. "It is only a matter of time until they reach us, a few hours at best."

Basilio sighed loudly, running a hand across his bald head.

"So much for fortune favouring the bold… This war was lost before it even began."

"Even after everything we have yet to even dent their Empire," Chrom growled.

"We need to leave," Robin rasped, his mind running with tactics.

Flavia and Basilio both caught sight of his blood-stained appearance at the same time.

"Gods, Robin," Flavia groaned. "What did you do, roll around in their corpses?"

"Don't you look every bit the warrior today!?" Basilio said with a hearty laugh.

Robin ignored them, looking directly at Chrom.

"Chrom, we need to get away from here, right now," he said again. "The fortress is still crawling with Valmese soldiers, and we can't possibly pull all our forces inside in time. We have to retreat."

"Did you take a blow to your head!?" Flavia shouted. "We're surrounded, boy!"

Robin lifted himself off the crate Virion had sat him down on, taking a moment to steady himself as he strode towards the leaders.

"And when Walhart and Yen'fay get here we'll be trapped for certain," he explained. "I'll say it again; we need to go, and we need to go now."

"He's right," Say'ri said hopefully when Chrom remained silent. "The dynasts outside betray us only in fear of the Empire. They will only offer token resistance without their masters watching."

"We can't keep running forever," Chrom said finally. "If we retreat now, how do we turn the tide?"

"By striking at either Walhart or Yen'fay before they combine their armies," Robin said, the thought occurring to him suddenly.

"Either one seems a death sentence," Chrom said bitterly, not making eye contact with Robin. "One would be on us before we finished with the other."

"Which is why we attack both," Robin said with a little energy returning to him as the plan formed in his head.

It was a long shot, but…

"Our army is in tatters and you want me to divide it by half again!?" Chrom shouted, closing the distance between himself and the tactician.

"I didn't say by half," Robin said calmly, preparing to have his nose broken again. "Do you still trust me or not?"

Chrom stepped back, glaring at Robin as he crossed his arms.

"Well?" the Prince asked. "I'm waiting."

Robin nodded.

"You lead the Shepherds and the majority of the army against Yen'fay," Robin explained quickly, weakness nipping at his consciousness as he spoke. "While a small diversionary force engages Walhart's army to keep them busy."

"That's suicide," Flavia pointed out.

"A smaller force!?" Basilio burst out, much more animatedly than his female counterpart. "We couldn't defeat the man if we had triple our number, and you want to send a smaller force against him?"

"Not defeat," Robin elaborated, growing annoyed. "I said distract; engage and disengage repeatedly, not getting bogged down in heavy fighting."

Basilio went quiet, obviously deep in thought.

"The smaller force would face our most dangerous mission yet," Chrom said. "It would need a leader with experience in such tactics, possessing unparalleled bravery and skill…"

"Alright already," Basilio cut in, laughing heartily. "You don't have to ask twice! You'll embarrass me if you don't lay off with the compliments!"

"Are you up for it?" Robin asked the bald man with a nod and a grin.

He knew that if anyone could pull off such an insane plan, Khan Basilio could.

"I'm being serious, lad," Basilio said with a grin. "I'll make preparations and be off!"

"Well, good luck," Robin said with a tired grin.

"You can't!" Laurent said suddenly, coming forward and barring the big man's way.

"Laurent, what…?" Chrom started before the thin mage began speaking again.

"I cannot allow you to go!" Laurent warned. "Khan Basilio, if you face Walhart today you will perish! I know this for a certainty!"

"H-he's right!" Yarne stammered, backing his friend up.

"Laurent, Yarne, what are you talking about?" Robin asked, his tired mind trying to figure out what was going on.

"In the future Khan Basilio is slain by Walhart this day," the mage explained. "I would usually allow Lucina to interfere like this, but her absence forces me to."

Robin glanced around, not seeing Lucina, Morgan or Severa among the Shepherds watching them.

_Where are they?_ Robin wondered, fear growing in his stomach.

"Walhart himself, you say?" Basilio said, adopting Robin's thinking pose before bursting out laughing.

"Yes, I'd say that would be a worthy death!"

"We must make plans to change this course," Laurent insisted, looking to Robin.

"All I needed to know," Basilio said, clapping a hand on Laurent's shoulder and giving Yarne a grateful nod. "Thank you, lads. I'll take matters from here."

"You can't honestly still be planning to-" Laurent started, being cut off by Basilio's booming voice.

"I heard you the first time, boy," he said. "But we don't have time for another plan. I'll simply avoid Walhart on the field. Trust me, lad; you don't grow this old and handsome without learning how to avoid trouble."

_No one else dies…_

"Wait," Robin said, holding a hand to his forehead and scrunching his eyes. "I'll come up with something better… just give me a second. Some ornery blue-haired bastard sucker-punched me and now I can't think straight…"

"We don't have time," Flavia agreed. "The oaf'll be fine; he'll have me there to keep an eye on him."

"Like hell!" Basilio growled, rounding on the woman. "You're reigning Khan!"

"So you can't order me not to come!" Flavia shouted back, poking Basilio hard in the shoulder. "You're now responsible for the lives of both Khans! So I dare you to die now!"

They glared at each other for another moment, and just as Robin thought a fist-fight would break out Basilio stepped back, gripping his stomach and bursting into laughter.

"All right, all right," he said. "You can come, too, if you must steal my glory so badly."

"You can't!" Yarne insisted in a meek voice. "The future-"

"Can kiss my big brown Feroxi arse!" Basilio laughed. "I fully intend to outlive all of you sprogs! Just you watch me!"

With a wave Basilio was gone, Flavia following after him.

_No one else dies…_

"We need to move," Robin said numbly.

Chrom nodded and the other Shepherds began to file out towards the entrance to the fortress where the rest of the army was gathering.

Chrom stopped the tactician with a hand on his chest.

"We're going to have a very long, very frank conversation about what just happened once we're safe," Chrom said, his voice low and dangerous. "But I need to know right now if you're going to lose it like that again."

Robin shook his head, smiling sadly.

"No, Chrom," he said truthfully. "I can barely stand. You don't have to worry about a repeat performance of that… whatever that was."

" _You know damn well what that was, and you know even better that once I get some rest you won't be able to stop me."_

Chrom nodded, still frowning.

"Good. Fall in and make ready. We march at the head of the army."

Robin nodded as Chrom strode away, swaying a little as his strength faltered.

All of a sudden a thought occurred to him. The ghost of a plan forming in the back of his mind…

"Basilio! Flavia! Wait!"

*

Severa struggled forward, her breath coming out in ragged gasps as she forced one foot in front of the other.

She… she was almost there.

She recognized the surrounding area; she was near the main corridor that Sword team had assaulted from.

"Hold… hold on, Morgan," Severa muttered, desperately wishing that she could wipe the sweat from her eyes.

She'd fought her way through two more Valmese patrols since her initial encounter. She was exhausted, hungry, wounded, but she was so close now.

She drew to a silent halt as armoured forms passed in front of her.

After a few seconds comprehension dawned on her face, and with a half-laugh half-sob she cried out "Hey! Somebody! Anybody! Help!"

*

Robin was so busy concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other he didn't even realize he was outside until his forward progress was halted with a hand on his chest, lest he get run over by the mounted Knights riding by.

"Thanks," Robin mumbled, finally looking up.

Much to his surprise it was Say'ri that had stopped him.

Say'ri smiled, but it was brittle.

After everything that had happened, she was helping him now?

Before Robin could ponder further on these events he spotted a group forming around one of the command tents. As he watched, Lissa and Maribelle pushed their way through the crowd.

"Let's see what's going on," Robin suggested, beginning to shuffle to the tent.

He stopped at the back of the crowd, Say'ri at his shoulder as he tried to peek over Donnel's. The young recruit spun and paled when he saw Robin, stepping to the side.

Confused, Robin watched as the other Shepherds spotted him and cleared a path to the tent for him and his shadow Say'ri.

Robin was about to ask what they all were doing, before the words died in his mouth.

Lissa, Maribelle and Libra were all leaning over Morgan, staffs held out and obviously feverishly working while Severa looked on, stoically trying not to cry at the sight. Chrom stood to one side, watching intently as Sumia tried to distractedly heal his own wounds.

Robin's world crumbled as he watched his daughter gasp for breath, writhing in pain as her wounds slowly closed.

He closed the distance instantly, tears streaming down his face as he wordlessly knelt by Morgan's side.

He reached out tentatively, gently taking her hand in both of his own, Say'ri at his shoulder looking utterly lost.

Her coat had been taken off and lay to one side; the clothes beneath were scorched and burned, melted to her flesh in places.

She moaned weakly as Robin took her hand, opening one eye and smiling at him.

"Hi dad. Hi mom," she rasped painfully through chapped lips, breaking out into a coughing fit.

"Try to lie still," Libra said soothingly, resting a hand on her forehead.

Robin watched the burns on her flesh slowly shrinking as the three healers worked.

"She'll be fine, Robin," Lissa said sympathetically. "Severa got her to us just in time."

Robin looked up at the girl, his fatigue forgotten.

"What happened," Robin demanded.

"We were lured into a trap by the Resistance," Severa said quickly. "It wasn't our fault! They said they needed help and Morgan couldn't resist and Lucina had to come and-"

"What!?" Chrom cried. "Where's Lucina now!?"

Severa looked up guiltily.

"She said she would be just behind us…"

Chrom's face went pale as he started walking back towards the fortress, Sumia standing stock still as she tried to process the information she had just heard.

"Chrom, where are you going?" Robin called to the man, the crowd of Shepherds suddenly remembering they all had somewhere else to be and dispersing.

"Where do you think!?" Chrom snarled over his shoulder.

Robin darted forward, catching Chrom's shoulder and fully expecting to be laid flat again.

"Dammit Chrom, stop and think for a second!" Robin shouted. "You can't leave the army now! They need you here to lead them against Yen'fay! And that fortress is literally crawling with Valmese soldiers that we missed! You can't fight them all!"

Chrom whirled, slapping the tactician's hand away.

"So I'm to just leave my daughter to the mercy of these monsters!?" Chrom shouted back. "I can't do that, Robin!"

Robin nodded.

"I know," he said, bringing his voice down. "Do you still trust me?"

"What does that have to do with-"

"Do. You. Still. Trust. Me?"

Chrom stopped to look Robin in the eye a moment.

Time stretched out as Say'ri, Severa, Morgan, Sumia and the three healers watched the tense encounter.

"I never stopped," Chrom admitted quietly.

"Then protect my daughter while I save yours," Robin said, clapping a hand on the Prince's armoured shoulder.

"You cannot be serious," Say'ri said from behind him.

"Robin, you said yourself you could barely stand," Chrom said.

Robin ignored them, turning to Severa.

"Can you lead me back to where they captured Lucina?" he asked the red-haired girl.

"Yeah… Of course I can," she said quickly, her old personality falling back into place.

"Then go find Lon'qu and Gaius and tell them to get over here," Robin said.

Severa nodded, taking off at a run, her earlier exhaustion forgotten.

"Robin…" Chrom began. "I can't let you-"

Robin cut him off, waving his hand.

"I made a promise," he said. "I made a promise that no one else would die. That no one else would get left behind. I'm not breaking it. Not now, not ever."

Chrom shook his head. "I can't fight this war without you."

"I know," Robin said. "As soon as Morgan's back on her feet she'll take my position until I get back. Until we all get back."

Chrom still looked unsure until Say'ri stepped forward.

"I will be with him the entire time, Prince Chrom," she said. "I know the fortress as well as any that live in its halls, and I will see your daughter returned to you safely."

Robin turned and gave the woman a confused look, but she avoided his gaze, instead staring directly at Chrom.

The Prince finally nodded.

"Alright," he said reluctantly before walking away in the direction of the command post. "Good luck."

Robin sighed with relief and sunk to a nearby crate.

"You should stay here with Morgan," Robin said quietly.

Say'ri shook her head, silently eyeing the tactician.

"Why are you so insistent on helping me?"

She stared down at Robin.

"I gave my reasons, tactician," she said in a level tone. "Excuse me. I must make ready."

Leaving Robin with more questions than answers Say'ri strode off in the direction of the supply convoy.

The tactician sighed and rose again, walking over to Morgan's side while the three healers still worked on her, Say'ri's behaviour being added to the list of enigmas that needed pondering.

"Dad," the girl said, her voice stronger than before already as she opened both eyes.

"Think you're up for another temporary promotion?" he asked, leaning down close to her and stroking her face with the back of his fingers.

"Sure," she mumbled. "'S long as you promise… it's only temporary."

Robin chuckled, kissing Morgan on the forehead.

"I promise."

He went to move away, but Morgan stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Wait," she said, pointing over to her coat. "Breast… breast pocket… on the left…"

Robin followed her directions, reaching into the coat and wrapping his hand around a small glass vial.

"Think you can use that… more than me…" Morgan mumbled, closing her eyes again.

Robin held up the last two vials of Gregor's tonic, unstoppering one and downing it in a single gulp.

"Forgot how bad this stuff tasted," he muttered with a cough, depositing the other into his coat pocket.

Morgan laughed a little, before descending into another coughing fit.

"What… happened to your… shirt?"

"Take care of her," Robin said to the healers with a small laugh, who all nodded, too busy to reply properly.

Robin strode out to the small space before the tent as Severa returned, Lon'qu and Gaius in tow.

Say'ri showed up a moment later, handing Robin a plain cream shirt at least a size too big for him, which he accepted gratefully.

"What's up, bubbles?" Gaius asked.

He had been with Vaike's group and missed Robin's little episode; Lon'qu glared silently at the tactician, but nodded once, almost imperceptibly when their eyes met.

"We're going on a rescue mission," Robin said as he dropped his coat and pulled the shirt on.


	33. Chapter 33

Basilio ignored the rain as it pattered on his bald head; he ignored the cries of the wounded as they were dragged back from the front; he ignored it all, focusing instead on the thrill of battle.

"It's been too long since I've done this!" the giant of a man roared happily as he barrelled through a squad of Valmese swordsmen.

"I feel ten years younger!" he added with a laugh. "Come on, you were the one begging to come along! Keep up!"

Flavia glared at him, rainwater splashing off of her red armour as a fresh wave of Feroxi soldiers formed a new line on the flank; that had been his goal, distract the Imperial forces long enough for a proper line to form, and he had done just that.

He chuckled as Flavia slapped him in the back of the head, the two Khans moving back to the front line.

They had taken barely a thousand of the finest Feroxi veterans they could get, and so far they had held their own against the tens of thousands Walhart commanded.

Basilio was having the time of his life; he hadn't been exaggerating when he said he felt ten years younger.

And Walhart was still nowhere to be seen.

Basilio reined his enjoyment in, lest it cloud his judgment. He jogged to the top of the small hill that the Feroxi archers and snipers, men and women covered in leather armour and camouflage netting shooting steady torrents of arrows at the Valmese forces, were currently stationed.

"Get ready to pull up, boys!" the older Khan shouted, holding his axe high as the Feroxi beneath him tightened their formations.

"Fighting retreat! Move into the forest and back to the field we passed earlier!"

_Destiny my arse_ , Basilio thought with a vicious grin. _Walhart's welcome to try me…_

"Come on you lazy bastards!" Basilio called to his men, laughter in his voice. "I'm twice your age! You all need to train more if you can't keep up!"

He was distracted for a moment by the cawing of a big crow, circling above them.

_A good omen?_ He wondered, watching the bird's progress.

_It doesn't matter. Today I am the master of my own destiny._

*

Robin bent low, the hem of his coat brushing the dusty stones beneath his feet as he snuck through the cellars of Fort Steiger, hunting for any sign of Lucina.

He hesitated for a moment, blending into the shadows behind a pole for a moment as a guard walked by, completely oblivious of the tactician's presence.

_Do I need to silence this one?_ He thought. _Is he going to see me? Does it even matter?_

As far as Robin was concerned, everything wearing Valmese colours was a target right now. They had hurt Morgan. They had kidnapped Lucina. Anything in red needed to be punished…

Robin shook his head, letting the guard pass unmolested before he continued his silent journey.

_I'm a soldier, not a murderer_ , he reminded himself as he slunk away down the corridor, his hand relaxing from the grip on his sword.

_Wait, no, I'm not a soldier either! I'm a… tactician? Guy? Oh forget it… I'm not a murderer. It doesn't matter what else I actually am._

" _Killer,"_ the voice whispered in him mind. _"Murderer. It makes no difference how you justify it. One more to add to the body count. Go ahead."_

The voice growled in his head, obviously not happy about being ignored as Robin slipped into a doorway, carefully closing the door behind him as he lit a weak fire spell at the end of his finger, creating a small cone of light and glinting off the sword poised to strike his throat.

"It's just me," he whispered.

Lon'qu nodded, lowering his sword and moving back.

"Find anything?" Severa whispered, her voice barely audible.

The tactician shook his head.

They'd been searching for hours; it was hard to tell exactly how long without the outside light, but there had been at least two changes of the Guard shifts upstairs that Lon'qu had noticed. They would need to stop to rest soon; night was wearing on, and it might be the only chance they'd get. Thoughts of Lucina being tortured or worse kept him from calling a halt, though, terrified for her.

They'd come upon the place where the encounter with the traitors from the Valmese Resistance had taken place, but there were no clues to be found. All that remained in the room was the magical resonance of a powerful spell and blood-stains on the floor.

They'd split up after that, finding an unused room to useas a rendezvous point, hoping to overhear something from the guards or find some trace of a trail to track.

Seiko and her spies were supposedly combing the rest of the fortress buildings, leaving the main structure that housed the throne room for Robin and his team. The spies could cover more ground anyway, so leaving the smaller area to the Shepherds had seemed like a good idea until Robin recalled that the 'smaller area' was still twice the size of the Ylisstol palace.

Severa had opted to remain in the room, her steel armour and lack of stealth training making her a liability on an operation like theirs.

Robin didn't regret taking the girl, though; he could see in her eyes the same guilt he felt for Lucina's kidnap. She needed to reclaim her confidence on this mission as much as Robin needed to rescue the Princess.

The tactician chuckled under his breath at his thought process.

_Is that what I am now?_ He wondered absently as the trio waited for Say'ri and Gaius to return.

_Am I a valiant hero, rescuing his Princess? That's a funny mental image after what happened today._

Lon'qu looked up questioningly, his insanely acute senses having picked up Robin's laughter.

The tactician shook his head, making the universal sign for don't worry about it.

So far they'd gotten lucky and hadn't needed to kill any guards; it looked like most of them were busy trying to secure the upper levels. Robin had no doubt that they'd eventually be sending squads down to secure the labyrinthine maze of cellars and storage rooms beneath the fortress, but he didn't intend to stay that long. If the worst came to pass and his calculations were off about how fast the Valmese forces would send squads into the cellars at least they had a lot of space to hide in. He shuddered, recalling the last time he had underestimated the response-time of the Valmese army's elite cavalry.

Robin hastily extinguished his magical flame, drawing his sword silently as the door opened and someone slipped inside.

"Tis just me," Say'ri whispered.

Robin relaxed a little and reignited his finger, shedding light on the small room again.

"Any luck?" he asked as the four Shepherds all leaned in close together.

"No," she said simply. "At one point I thought I had found a trail, but it merely turned out to be sacks of flour being dragged through the dust."

Robin cursed softly, going to run a hand through his hair before Severa stopped him.

"You're finger's still on fire," she whispered to his confused expression.

Robin snorted with barely contained laughter, earning a sour look from Lon'qu.

Say'ri shook her head as Robin ran his opposite hand through his hair.

"Old habits die hard," he muttered with a grin.

Say'ri brushed past him, moving deeper into the chamber they were occupying now that she had delivered her findings.

_She confuses me,_ Robin admitted to himself as he watched her go. _First she insists on coming, now she's back to hating on me? Women… I'm never going to understand them._

*

Gaius sniffed a little, watching from his position on an abandoned landing above the squad of soldiers as the five men marched by.

He was only supposed to case out the basement, but he'd smelt roast meat coming from the kitchen, and as much as he loved sweets unfortunately he couldn't live off them alone.

He dropped down to the main corridor, aware of the thirty feet of sheer walls and nothing to hide behind as he sprinted silently towards the smells of the kitchen, slipping behind a post as he reached the end of the corridor.

_Just in time_ , the ginger-haired thief thought as another couple of soldiers walked by, these two obviously off-duty.

Gaius couldn't help but grin; the thrill of near-misses like that one was why he'd become a thief in the first place. His skills were going to waste in the Shepherds, though; scouting wasn't stealing.

This, however, was espionage; espionage was kind of like stealing, just secrets and information instead of items.

_I can always spice up any espionage missions, though,_ Gaius thought with a smirk, reaching quickly around the pole and snatching a pouch of coins off the belt of another passing soldier.

_Like candy from a baby,_ he thought, tucking the pouch into his pocket.

Listening carefully before he stuck his head out to check the coast was clear, Gaius slippedfrom one column to another, until he was just outside the large kitchen.

"Did you hear the news?" one of the soldiers on cooking duty was asking as Gaius slipped into the room, ducking low behind a counter in the back.

"What news?" the other asked disinterestedly as Gaius reached up, snatching a piece of meat off the countertop.

_Ooooh… Pork…_ Gaius thought happily as he began to wolf the roast down.

"They've got the Ylissean League on the run!"

"Yeah, so? They didn't stand a chance against General Pheros anyway."

Gaius scoffed. Didn't stand a chance? Apparently Robin had nearly torn her apart with his bare hands.

"Well…" the other soldier said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Did you hear about the prisoner they took?"

"Prisoner?"

_Prisoner?_ Gaius thought, peeking over the counter to glance at the backs of the two men cleaning dishes.

"Yeah," the first soldier said excitedly. "They caught her during the fighting; apparently she even has the Brand of Ylisse! That means we have foreign royalty as our hostage!"

"I call bull-shit," the second soldier scoffed.

"No, seriously!" the first man insisted. "They've got her locked up in the fancy dungeon up in the General's tower! I saw her myself!"

_All I needed to hear,_ Gaius thought triumphantly, snatching the entire roast from above him and slipping back the way he had come.

"Oh bloody hell!" he heard the second soldier shout when he was at the opposite end of the corridor.

"What stupid bastard thinks it's funny to steal the General's dinner, huh!?"

Gaius grinned again, cradling the roast to his chest.

*

Robin glanced up as the door opened again and Gaius slipped in.

"Who's hungry?" the thief asked slyly, holding up a tender looking roast in his hands.

"Where did you get that?" Robin asked cautiously, eying the thief.

"Kitchen," he replied around a mouthful of meat. "It's really good, too."

"Gaius, we were supposed to stick to the basement levels."

The ginger thief shrugged.

"I know that, Bubbles. But I got the information we needed, so no harm no foul, right?"

Robin perked up instantly.

"What? Where are they holding her?"

"Some fancy-sounding private dungeon in the General's tower," Gaius answered. "But before we head out we all need to eat something."

Robin nodded, resisting the urge to disagree with the man. The fact that his stomach was doing a one-voice opera at the scent of the meat helped his resolve.

"Alright, everyone dig in," Robin said. "We need to keep our strength up."

They ate silently after Gaius split the roast evenly, Robin tacitly leaving out the fact that it seemed like a sizeable chunk was already missing. Severa and Say'ri were hesitant at first, obviously not enamoured by the thought of eating like barbarians, but hunger soon overcame their social graces.

Their impromptu meal finished the small group rose and made ready to depart.

"You couldn't have swiped some wine too?" Severa grumbled, wiping her hands on her pants.

"Next time, Red," Gaius promised, taking a long swig from his waterskin.

"Are we ready to move?" Robin asked to a chorus of positives.

"Alright; Say'ri, you and Gaius lead, very carefully. Severa, you're with me. Lon'qu, watch our rear."

*

Morgan limped toward the forward command post, rain pattering off her coat and holding a hand to the burns that had only been partially closed on her chest in a vain attempt at steadying them.

She had to dodge around soldiers hurrying to and fro, using her sheathed sword as a sort of walking stick when she stumbled, hissing in pain.

Her father had said as soon as she was up and about she was supposed to be helping Prince Chrom with strategy, and she had slipped out of the wagon she was being forced to ride in…

She assumed that counted as 'up and about'.

"Dammit," Chrom cursed, leaning over a map with Sir Frederick, Duke Roark and Lord Liung. "Cordelia's scouts say that the eastern road is already blocked."

"We knew we were going to have to leave the roads eventually, milord," Frederick said evenly. "We must leave the wagons behind."

"Many of my men are wounded," Liung added. "We cannot abandon the wagons yet."

"It's still the dry season," Morgan said, her voice hoarse but firm as she approached the table. "If we follow the riverbed here we should be able to get further south and around Yen'fay's advance force."

"The girl is right," Roark said after a moment studying the map.

"I'll prepare the orders for the direction change," Frederick offered, waving down a passing runner.

"Morgan, are you sure you should be up?" Chrom asked worriedly.

Morgan waved his concern off.

"I promised Dad I'd help as soon as I was up and moving," she said, studying the map, before pointing to an area of low hills overlooking the road.

"If we send a group of archers here we can ambush the Imperial forces and drive them further back, too."

Frederick scratched his chin as Liung began to laugh.

"I like this girl," he said loudly. "She is young, but has the eyes of a hawk in flight! I will prepare what archers I still have immediately."

"I'll ready a mounted escort for them," Roark offered.

Chrom nodded as the man bowed, hurrying off with Roark and shouting orders in his harsh native language, accepting a long-bladed spear from one of his men as he walked.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Chrom asked softly, standing beside her as she studied the map.

"Honestly, I'm fine," she said without looking up. "I'm more upset about losing my favourite shirt than anything else."

Chrom chuckled.

"You are your father's daughter, I'll give you that much."

Morgan nodded, blushing at the unintended compliment.

"Sir?" one of Cordelia's Pegasus Knights asked, swooping in low and landing near the tent.

"Enemy's on the move again; Wing-Commander Cordelia insists we have to keep going."

Chrom cursed.

"Alright, ready the men to move out."

The Pegasus Knight nodded, kicking her mount back into the sky as horns began to sound a further retreat.

"And you," Chrom said, turning to the tactician-in-training. "I don't want you out of my sight, understood?"

Morgan nodded, silently falling in with the rest of the retreating soldiers.

*

Basilio roared as he swung his axe, the weapon cutting through the rain as it flew through its arc, smashing aside the shield of the soldier he was facing. With a vicious backhand the Khan brought the man to his knees before bringing his axe back around and down with a satisfying crunch.

They were still fighting. They were still holding out.

His men still moved around him; good, strong men from the western peaks of Regna Ferox, their skin the same deep mahogany as his own, still fighting despite their fatigue.

Basilio was proud of them, but his heart skipped a beat as he watched a cavalry force decimate his front lines.

"Fall back and form up!" he shouted over the din of battle. "Don't let them surround us!"

Flavia was at his elbow, the younger, lighter skinned blonde Khan panting and covered in dirt and gore, her sword resting over an armoured shoulder.

"Easier said than done," she growled. "Their cavalry's riding right over top of us!"

Basilio scoffed, confidence filling him once again.

"We can hold them," he said, beginning to stride forward again. "Come on, woman; I'll show you how a true Khan fights!"

"Was that a creak in your voice?" Flavia asked cheekily, keeping pace with him. "Do I see fear in your eye, old man?"

The older man scoffed again, flexing his huge arms.

"Not bloody likely!" he roared, thumping a fist on his chest as the Valmese cavalry rounded for another charge.

"Alright, boys! Let's give these Imperial bastards a taste of our Feroxi pride!"

A cheer went up from the nearest Feroxi soldiers, falling in with the Khan as he began to charge.

"Now that's the oaf I know and love," Flavia muttered, falling in with the others, a vicious grin on her face.

They met the cavalry charge, many of the young Feroxi soldiers falling under their hooves while others threaded around the horses, striking out with swords and axes at the riders.

Basilio twirled and spun with the grace of a dancer, moving like water through the Valmese men and leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. Flavia shook her head as she beheld the standard she had to live up to, before redoubling her own efforts, her large sword swinging in wide arcs and knocking men from their mounts.

Flavia looked up as a new wave of heavily armoured cavalry swept in, smashing aside any resistance they encountered.

"Dammit," she cursed. "Oaf! Enemy soldiers, over-"

Her voice died in her throat as the cavalry parted, a man easily larger than Basilio towering above them atop the biggest warhorse she had ever seen slowly coming forward.

A few of the braver Feroxi troops moved to attack, but the newcomer threw his axe around in a massive figure-eight, slaying the three Feroxi soldiers without even looking. He continued to charge, gaining speed as he scythed through the frontline, killing every soldier he came across while the other Valmese cavalry hung back.

"They're swatting our troops like flies…" Basilio growled as he came up to Flavia.

"It must be some form of elite cavalry," Flavia guessed, before she looked at the apparent commander again.

"No… wait…" she breathed, her eyes going wide. "It's just one man!"

"You there!" the man called, reining his horse in and dismounting in one fluid motion, striding towards the two Khans purposefully, a booming, harsh voice that made even a veteran like Basilio's blood run cold.

"Do you command these forces!?"

His thick plate armour was the colour of fresh blood, his slab-faced features hard and cruel. Long white hair was tied back in a thin ponytail beneath a horned crown, two jutting red horns emerging from the front of the crimson metal circle.

"Aw crap," Basilio breathed, a tremor in his voice.

Before Flavia could stop him the Khan charged forward, brandishing his axe and shouting a traditional Feroxi warcry.

The red-armoured man stopped, stepping back with one foot before bringing the thick steel boot forward with blinding speed, smashing into Basilio's stomach and stopping the man dead as he fell to his knees, the wind knocked clean out of him.

Basilio rolled backwards as the man's axe descended, narrowly missing cleaving his head in two and carving a deep furrow through his shoulder-guard and the flesh beneath.

Flavia rushed forward, standing guard over the other Khan.

"Impressive," the red-armoured man said impassively. "You are the first to survive beyond a single stroke since Yen'fay."

"I don't… stand a chance," Flavia heard Basilio groan.

"Run!" the older Khan shouted to his surviving men. "Run while you can! Retreat, gods damn you!"

Flavia shook her head, brandishing her sword again.

"I'm not leaving you here!" she shouted over the rain and the fighting while the red-armoured man watched impassively.

Flavia shuddered as she met the man's eyes; cold and cruel, but more disturbingly milky white and dead.

_Is he blind?_ Flavia wondered. _He can't be… not with the way he fights…_

"He's a… a demon, woman," Basilio gasped, forcing himself back to his feet. "I can only… keep him busy… while you escape!"

"Looks like the lad was right," Basilio muttered, referring to Laurent's warning. "D-damn…"

With another mighty roar Basilio threw himself forward again, axe high as he brought it down with blinding speed.

The red-armoured man, Flavia had no doubt he was actually Walhart, brought his own weapon up, sparks flying as the two axes collided.

The Emperor pushed Basilio back effortlessly, bringing his huge axe back around, only to have it bounce off of Flavia's sword.

"Get up out of the mud, old man!" she shouted to Basilio as she began hacking at Walhart's iron defence. "I'm here, aren't I? That means events can still be changed! Damn it all, oaf, you're not getting away from me that easily!"

Walhart swept her guard aside as if she was a novice, his gauntleted fist flashing out like lightning and smashing into her face, throwing the Khan off of her feet.

"Cease your incessant prattling!" Walhart roared, bringing his axe down in a high arc.

Basilio was suddenly over Flavia, the axe buried deep in his back as blood began leaking from his mouth and down his bare chest.

"Basilio!" Flavia screamed in terror.

The older Khan smiled as he fell when Walhart withdrew his axe.

Before the Emperor could press his attack a crowd of younger Feroxi soldiers, at least a hundred, charged toward Walhart to defend their Khan.

"Get him clear!" one of the shouted as the sheer numbers began to push the Emperor back.

Flavia nodded, taking the other Khan under one arm and dragging him away from the frontline.

Basilio coughed wetly as he reached into the pouch at his hip, shaking himself from her grip.

"Take this," he growled, forcing a gemstone into Flavia's hand as he collapsed to the sodden ground. "Make sure… make sure Chrom gets it…"

"Give it to him yourself you one-eyed clod of a man!" Flavia shouted, her voice cracking. "I'm not going anywhere and neither are you! Just hold on! Remember Robin's plan!? You can't die yet, you'll… you'll ruin everything!"

Basilio coughed as he laughed softly.

"F-fool woman…" he muttered, his one eye going hazy. "I… I'm done… get out of here… don't make it have… have been for no-nothing!"

Basilio reached one thick, bloodstained hand up, gripping the side of Flavia's face.

"For once just do what I say!" he shouted with the last of his strength, staring directly into her eyes. "Go, gods damn you! GO!"

He fell back, his hand dropping as he breathed laboriously, wet sucking sounds coming from his cloven chest.

Flavia looked up desperately, frustrated tears mingling with the rain running down her stricken face as she looked for a medic or a priest or someone, _anyone_ that could save her friend.

*

Robin grimaced a little as he bumped his shoulder against the wall he was hiding next to, jarring a wound he had received a few hours ago assaulting the throne room.

_Gods, it feels like that happened days ago now…_

It had taken hours to sneak the party through the fortress' upper levels, where the guards were on high alert, on top of the hours they had spent skulking around the basement levels; Robin calculated that they had been moving through the fortress almost all night. Once dawn came their job would be all the harder; they had to move faster, or they would lose their chance.

Fortunately Gaius was an expert at infiltration; the former-thief moved like a cat, calling halts and telling others where to hide, creating distractions for the guards to chase after by throwing his voice or knowing exactly how a sound would echo to make it seem like it came from the opposite direction.

The ginger man's skills were almost awe-inspiring as he led the group through the Fort, never once making an unnecessary sound. For Robin, who had grown used to seeing Gaius as an unprofessional lout since their first meeting, this professional side of him was a marvel to behold.

So far, much to Robin's immense relief, they hadn't needed to silence a single guard.

Gaius was getting tired, though; Robin could tell by the way he shuffled up to corners rather than hop the way he usually did; it was evident in his posture when they stopped to rest; Robin could even see it in his eyes.

Checking a door to make sure the room was empty Robin waved the group inside, closing and bolting the door after them. There were still a lot of empty and unused rooms in the fortress; some even had beautiful wooden furniture, covered in white dust sheets.

The room Robin had chosen was another such room, looking like it hadn't been used in years.

Clouds of dust puffed around his feet as he crossed the room, looking out the barred window into the compound below. With a start Robin realized he was looking out onto the eastern fortress wall, and that they were already in the General's tower.

Spotting the river running parallel to the wall beneath them Robin began to formulate a quick-exit strategy for the group once they got to Lucina.

_If we get to Lucina_ , Robin corrected himself bleakly.

"Get some rest here," he said. "Eat, drink, nap, I don't care; we move out again in fifteen. Severa, you take first watch."

The red-head nodded, positioning herself with an ear to the door, listening for any approaching soldiers or guards.

The tactician watched as both Gaius and Lon'qu removed their equipment; the thief carefully laying out his 'espionage kit' as he called it, full of grappling hooks, ropes, lock picks and whatever else a thief used in their line of work, while Lon'qu unslung the short bow he had acquired for the mission, laying it next to the quiver of arrows next to him.

Both men fell into a light sleep almost instantly, telling Robin all he needed to know about their current state of energy.

Severa looked up, giving Robin the signal to let them sleep, indicating that she'd keep watch the entire time. The girl was resilient, and had done much less than the other two men so far. She wasn't trained for this kind of mission, but if push came to shove and they had to fight their way out he was glad for the extra sword.

Say'ri sighed tiredly as she perched on a white-sheet-covered table across from the chair he was resting on, eying him intently.

"So far we have met success," she said in a voice little more than a whisper.

_Now she wants to talk to me?_

Robin nodded, stifling a yawn.

Night was wearing on, and they had been running and fighting all day. There was only so much further he could push them without proper rest.

In truth he was about to drop from exhaustion himself; he was still exhausted from the earlier fight that day, and his mana reserves hadn't yet had the chance to replenish, so he would be reduced to little more than parlour tricks and distractions if he had to rely on spells.

Gregor's final gift, the last vial of his revitalizing tonic that Morgan had been holding on to, had worn off hours ago, leaving Robin feeling tired and worse than before. Well, second last vial, but the last one he was saving.

Robin let out an involuntary shudder as he recalled the events leading to their current predicament. All his plans had been met with only partial success. People were being hurt, Lucina had been kidnapped, Morgan had almost been killed numerous times in the last twenty-four hours. His one small favour was that the voice had been mostly silent for the last few hours. He could still feel it, though, in a way it hadn't affected him before. He could feel a pulsing, burning sensation at his very core in his chest, like a smouldering ball of embers inside of him that he instinctively knew was the voice. It was still there, silently watching everything, waiting for him to slip up again so that it could take control permanently.

He realized with dread that he could lose control again at any time.

Robin glanced down to his covered hand. It wasn't wounded, but rather the bandages hid the six-eyed purple symbol that refused to dissipate.

The tactician nudged the bandages aside for a moment, resisting the urge to sigh when he caught sight of the purple line beneath.

Say'ri sighed, looking down and interrupting Robin's train of thought.

"I am sorry, Robin."

"For… for what?" he asked hesitantly.

Say'ri cast a quick glance at the others before shifting so she was sitting right next to Robin. Her armour brushed his shoulder as she took a seat next to him, making Robin a little nervous as he remembered what had happened in Valm Harbour.

"For everything," Say'ri said so low Robin was almost unsure he had heard it.

"This… this is a dangerous mission. Tis a hopeless situation. I wanted to say this to you… just in case."

Robin blinked a few times as the woman grew silent.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I don't intend to die," Robin said with a weak smile.

Say'ri looked back up at him, and Robin's breath momentarily caught in his throat.

_I'd forgotten how beautiful she is when she's not glaring at me._

"We're all getting out of here," Robin assured her. "All of us. Lucina included."

Say'ri nodded once as she scooted a little further away from him, letting out a soft, bitter laugh.

"When you speak this way, I almost believe we will succeed."

"It's my job to make sure we do," Robin said with a tired laugh before growing sombre again. "Even if it is a job I've been failing pretty miserably at lately."

"I must be going mad," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I drag you all on this suicide mission, and for what? To recue someone who's probably already dead… someone who-"

Robin's whispered rant was cut off as something slapped him in the back of the head.

He looked up into Severa's furious face as she grabbed him by the collar, hauling him to within an inch of her face.

_Did I say all that out loud?_

"You listen and you listen good," she growled, her voice a low, harsh whisper. "I followed you here to rescue my friend, and I can't do it alone. She's not dead, we're not dead, and that's the way it's going to stay, got it? Pull yourself together **!** We've already followed you this far, and now you're gonna bring us the rest of the way, okay!?"

Roughly releasing Robin's collar she returned to her position at the door, glaring at the handle as she listened through the thick wood again.

"She's right," Lon'qu said, while Robin was still staring at Severa's back in shock.

The tactician looked over to where both Lon'qu and Gaius were sitting up and looking at him.

"We've all followed you this far because we trust you, Bubbles," Gaius added, grinning as he stuck a candy into his mouth.

Robin was at a loss for words.

"But… I'm… In the throne room I could have killed you all… I'm not worthy of your tru-"

"Shut up," Lon'qu said flatly, cutting the tactician's self-pity off. "Were you not worthy of following, I would not have followed."

"We trust you, Robin," Gaius repeated as he and Lon'qu rose to their feet. "And so does Blue- er, Lucina. So let's not keep her waiting."

"Thank you, all of you," Robin said after a moment, looking away and trying to blink away the tears gathering in his eyes. "I don't deserve such loyal friends."

"You don't," Severa huffed from the door. "But we're here anyway, so get used to it. And get your head in the game already! Jeez…"

_Thank you,_ Robin said in his head. _All of you. You have no idea what… thank you._

Robin stood, Say'ri at his side.

"We all trust you," she said simply, looking away as he tried to make eye-contact.

Robin nodded, turning to her as the others prepared to move out, gathering their equipment.

_Lucina… We're coming. Please… Just be okay._

*

Lucina woke with a cough and began looking around slowly, pain blossoming in her neck and shoulders as she did.

_Where… where am I?_

The room was small, but it was obviously a cell.

Memories flashed in her mind of a trap sprung in the cellar of Fortress Steiger; of Morgan being wounded and shouting for Severa to carry the girl to safety; of being overwhelmed in the split second she had dropped her guard and beaten into unconsciousness.

As she moved she realized her hands were manacled to a short chain, bolted to the stone floor beneath her. The manacles and chain were both thick and heavy, and her tired muscles struggled to move either.

As she managed to shift a little the bruises on her side flared, making her hiss and wince in pain. She realized that her long hair was matted to her face on her left side, no doubt a result of the head-wound that had rendered her unconscious.

Without even thinking hope blossomed unbidden in her thoughts.

_They will know I am missing. Panicking will achieve nothing. I must remain calm and wait patiently. Father and Robin will come and recue me._

Her thoughts turned sour as she thought of the tactician.

He had… done exactly as he was supposed to. He deserved no ill will; he had only acted the way fate had intended.

_Foolish girl. Stop living in your fantasies. You knew that the two of you could never…_

And still, she had dared to hope.

He had been the first man to ever treat her as something other than a leader or a Princess. He had a way about him that relaxed her, and before long she had grown to trust him more than any other; as they spoke she had found herself opening up to the strange amnesiac, even before she had joined the Shepherds officially in Plegia. During her time disguised as 'Marth' his small and simple acts of kindness towards her, a complete stranger, had made the crushing loneliness of her task bearable. For two years as she had stood vigil over her parents and her present, infant self she had held the thoughts of her brief encounters with Robin close to her heart, allowing them to soothe her during periods of sadness and pain.

It wasn't until she realized she could never be with him that she seen the truth. That she loved him.

She had been a fool to hope that the flow of time would be altered and that he would somehow, magically choose her over the woman he was destined to be with.

_Why am I dwelling in this now?_ She wondered, cursing her own weakness as she wiped her tears away on the sleeves of her tunic.

He was where he belonged, with Say'ri. Lady Say'ri would give birth to a young Morgan, and the older one would have the family she lost in the future.

Lucina couldn't help but imagine a small, blue haired Morgan of her own…

_Stop it!_ She chided herself. _It will never happen! He doesn't even know how you feel; he never will, so focus on escaping._

Lucina's gaze snapped up as voices were raised outside of her cell.

She had to move quickly if she wanted to escape.

With all her might, Lucina began to tug on the chains holding her down.

*

Pheros growled as Excellus popped into existence inside her personal apartment unannounced just as she was pulling her newly restored armour back on.

"What did I tell you about doing that, worm?" she ground out, glaring at the pudgy, toad of a man.

"My, my," Excellus sneered. "You had best hope the wind doesn't change, or your pretty face will be forever stuck in that sneer."

Excellus was Emperor Walhart's chief tactician and strategic adviser, if he weren't Pheros would have rid the world of the slime's taint years ago.

"What do you want?" she ground out, making a show of checking her sword before sheathing it at her hip.

Excellus clapped his hands together and smiled, his bloated lips puckering in such a way that made Pheros nauseous.

"I'm here to interrogate my prisoner," Excellus purred.

The way he emphasized the word 'interrogate' gave Pheros no doubt as to what he really meant. Her lips curled downwards in disgust as she grabbed her staff, holding it towards the man like a lance.

"Listen well, toad, for I shall not repeat myself," Pheros said in a low, dangerous voice.

"The woman in there is one of the Ylissean leaders, of the Exalted bloodline, and I will not allow your disgusting disrespect to go on a second longer. I will interrogate her myself. Get out of my sight."

Excellus' façade of good cheer dropped as he clicked his tongue in an annoying fashion.

"She is my prize, General," he said, his tone matching hers. "I will not be denied my victory."

"This is my fortress," Pheros growled, advancing with her staff still held out before her.

"In it every member of this great Imperial army is under my jurisdiction. The only man that may give me orders within these walls is the Conqueror himself."

Excellus had been steadily backing away until his back hit the wall behind him, Pheros' staff stopping inches from his shivering, red face.

"Do I make myself clear? Get. Out."

Excellus made his disgusting clicking sound again before teleporting across the room with the magical ring that their Lord had entrusted to him.

"You will not be able to hide behind these walls forever, witch," he snarled petulantly from a safe distance.

"Remember who is in command when you are outside these walls."

And with that final line he teleported away in a flash of light.

"I know who commands me," Pheros said softly, letting her staff fall.

"Emperor Walhart, until my dying breath."

Pheros turned, motioning forward one of her red-clad assistants.

"Prepare my tools. As unpleasant as I find it, the prisoner must be interrogated."

The man bowed low, rushing to retrieve the small box with Pheros' interrogation tools.

"For the good of the Empire," she added in a low tone, preparing herself for what was to come.

"General, perhaps you would allow one of the other officers to carry out the interrogation?" one of her Lieutenants asked hesitantly and in a low voice. "We know of your past in the church, ma'am. We know this isn't easy for you."

"I cannot give an order I would not carry out myself," Pheros said decisively, accepting the wooden box presented to her.

For someone like her, trained as a cleric and forced by circumstance into the hell that was war, someone that had grown used to the magical resonance and lingering death that accompanied it, the feeling the small box gave off was disconcerting. An aura of lingering pain and desperation surrounded it, pervaded it, and made her sick to her stomach.

"Open the cell," she ordered coldly, striding towards the small prison.

*

Robin worriedly glanced out the window as they climbed another set of stairs, coming out onto an abandoned apartment's main room.

_This must be the General's quarters,_ Robin thought, looking around. _Pretty messy for a woman's place._

"Through that door and to the end of the corridor," Say'ri said, indicating a wooden door to one side of the large room.

Robin nodded, gesturing Gaius forward.

As the thief began to pick the lock, Robin turned to the other three.

"No more games. No more hiding," Robin said, his voice returning to its natural volume.

"We go in, get Lucina and kill everything in our way. Then we make for the fortress wall, and escape via the river beneath it."

"Define 'via'," Severa asked hesitantly.

"Jump," Lon'qu said, drawing his sword and spinning back to the heavy door they had come in through.

"Ah, crap," Gaius cursed. "This door was magically warded; I just… broke the ward. Bad guys incoming."

Robin could already hear the sounds of running feet from the stairs they had just climbed and a second doorway leading out to the wall they would need to escape to, Severa and Say'ri fell in beside Lon'qu with their own swords in hand.

"Move, Gaius," Robin said, beginning to cast a wind spell. "I'll just blow the damn door down. We're busted anyway."

The thief nodded, withdrawing his lock picks and drawing his short, dagger-like sword, standing just behind the initial line of Shepherds.

"We'll hold them and secure the wall," Lon'qu said, dropping a bar across the door they came through. "Get Lucina."

The tactician nodded, focusing on the magic he was struggling to cast as the others ran towards the wall through an open doorway. Through it Robin could make out the pre-dawn light, filling him with confidence that they could actually escape in time.

With the extra boost in morale Robin grunted, releasing a powerful arcwind spell that blew the door clear off its hinges and threw it back into the guards behind it.

A few guards stumbled around, disoriented by the sudden explosion of the door. Robin was merciless, slicing and bashing the three guards out of his way, before he yanked the cell door at the end of the hallway open.

Inside Robin sagged and almost let out a sob. Lucina was hunched forward, breathing heavily and trembling as she held her shackled arms close to her chest, clearly severely beaten and yet still straining to pull the pin securing the heavy chain to the floor loose.

Robin slid to his knees next to her, hands going for the shackles as he began casting a small but powerful fire spell to burn through the locking mechanism.

Lucina started, pulling away and looking up with wild, panicked eyes.

"Lucina," Robin said softly, reaching out a hand to cup the side of her face. "Lucina, it's okay… it's me. I'm here to save you."

She stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment as the sounds of battle echoed through the hallway behind them as the first of the Valmese guards began engaging the Shepherds on the wall.

All of the sounds faded away as Robin watched comprehension dawn on the Princess' face, tears beginning to gather at the corners of her eyes.

"I… I had begun to give up hope…" she said brokenly as she brought her forehead to rest against Robin's. "But you came for me… you actually came for me…"

"Of course I did," Robin replied with a grin, reaching into his coat pocket and producing the last of Gregor's tonic.

"Here," he said gently, holding the open vial to Lucina's lips. "Drink this."

She did so, coughing as the harsh liquid passed her throat.

"Give it a few minutes and you'll feel good as new," Robin said, tossing the empty vial aside, a jet of blue flames emerging from the tip of his finger as he went to work on the lock on her manacles.

"I made you a promise; just because I made it to you doesn't mean you're exempt from it."

Lucina let out a light sob as Robin continued to work.

"They locked me in here," Lucina said, barely conscious. "They beat me… and chained me up like an animal… tortured me… told me terrible things… about what they would do to mother and father… and… you…"

Lucina looked into Robin's eyes as he glanced up.

"I gave them nothing."

Robin watched her as his spell kept cutting. Her armour had been taken away, and her clothes were dirty and torn. She was covered in wounds, her hair matted to the side of her face on one side with dried blood. She looked like she hadn't been fed or cared for at all; perhaps she hadn't been taken as a hostage, but as a future execution.

She shifted again as the sounds of fighting drifting through the main room intensified, her forehead still resting against his. Robin rolled his eyes as he tried to keep his spell aimed at the small key-hole without burning her, the metal finally beginning to melt.

"You should go," she said weakly. "I'm not… not worth the lives you'll spend to save me. Father needs you to… win the war, not me… Get the others to safety, Robin…"

Robin growled, shaking his head as he sensed the end of his task approaching.

"I'm not spending anyone's lives and I'm not leaving you behind, Lucina," he said seriously.

"I love you."

The Princess drew her head away from his, eyes wide at his declaration.

"But…" she said hesitantly. "But Lady Say'ri…"

"And I are not lovers," Robin said bluntly, speaking passionately and from his heart. "Nor will we ever be. How could I be with her when the only one I can think of is right in front of me? To hell with your future; it's already changed now that you're here with us. And… with me."

"I love you, Lucina," Robin repeated, his gaze firmly on his task of burning through the manacles. "I love you with all my heart."

" _If I had a mouth I would be puking right now."_

Lucina went silent as Robin concentrated on his spell.

With one final burst he melted the lock and tore the manacles from her wrists with a violent tug.

_Oh gods, I'm about to get punched, aren't I?_ Robin cringed, shutting his eyes as Lucina rushed forward.

An impact indeed drove him back, but it was nowhere near as powerful as he had been expecting, and centred on his chest, not his face.

When he opened his eyes he realized the girl was holding onto him tightly, weeping into his shoulder.

"I never dreamed to hear those words from you," she whispered. "For you are in my heart, too."

Robin let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, returning Lucina's hug briefly before pulling back and shrugging his coat off.

"Here," he said, wrapping it around her shoulders to cover her ruined clothing. "This will protect you. We've got a lot to talk about, so stay close. We're getting out of here."

Robin rose to his feet, smiling grandly, a new lightness in his heart as he pulled Lucina up with him.

Leading the Princess by the hand and with his sword in the other Robin returned to the now silent main room, his heart sinking as he beheld the vision before him.

"Crap."

General Pheros stood there, sword drawn and facing the Tactician and the Princess, a cold look on her face as she faced them.

"I knew I'd find you at the centre of this mess," she hissed to Robin, her eyes glaring daggers at the man.

"What's so special about me?" he asked, careful to keep himself between the woman and Lucina as he slowly approached, rotating them so that she would be closer to the path leading to the wall.

"You have it too," she said quietly. "The same aura… the same power as Walhart… I saw it in your eyes yesterday, the eyes of a true warrior. Just like my Emperor."

"And what do you want from me?" he asked hesitantly.

"I want to kill you for the glory of Valm!" Pheros said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "A creature such as you has no place in the world my Lord is trying to build!"

Robin finally dropped Lucina's hand, falling back into a defensive stance with his sword.

"Lucina, make a break for the wall. Find the others and get out of here," he said, eyes never leaving Pheros'. "I'll take care of this one. Go, I'll be right behind you."

"Are you sure?" Lucina asked worriedly.

"Go!" Robin hissed. "Get out of here!"

Lucina nodded once and darted for the doorway. Pheros didn't even look at her.

"I am not without manners," Pheros said, drawing herself upright and saluting with her sword in a duellist's pose.

"I am General Pheros," she said in a clear, proud voice. "Right Hand of the Conqueror, Custodian of Fortress Steiger and proud warrior of Valm."

Robin drew himself up, emulating her salute.

"Robin, Tactician of the Shepherds," he said quickly.

Pheros nodded, satisfied.

Her sword flashed forward almost faster than Robin's eyes could follow. He somehow managed to get his own rapier up, but he was knocked back by the sheer brutality of the blow. Righteous fury in the name of her Emperor giving the woman strength, she pummelled Robin back across the room as he desperately tried to parry the blows.

Robin dodged underneath a high strike aimed at his neck, lashing out with his rapier as he desperately tried to put some distance between them. Pheros hesitated, her hand going to the fresh gash opened on her arm in mild surprise before she returned to glaring at the tactician.

" _Yes,"_ the voice hissed in his mind. _"That's the spirit! Come on! Send her to hell with a story to tell when she gets there!"_

Robin watched with a sickening sensation in his stomach as Pheros poured a blue liquid from a vial in her belt onto the wound, the rubbery substance sealing it almost instantly.

"You know," Pheros said almost conversationally as she cast the empty vial aside. "The woman was very strong. Even with all my ministrations, I could not get her to talk. It is rare that I am impressed like that."

Robin stayed silent as he watched her assume a ready stance, completely ignoring the wound at her side.

_Holy crap, what do I do against this lady!?_ He thought, desperately bringing his sword up again. _She's way more prepared for this than I am!_

" _All you have to do is ask…"_

_Not a chance. You stay out of this and keep quiet._

A familiar headache began to blossom behind Robin's eyes as Pheros darted forward again, their swords clashed and hollow laughter echoed through his head.

"You would stand at the side of a ruler that faces a God among men," Pheros said as they traded blows. "With such dark powers!? Such evil, serving the blood of Anri!?"

Her voice broke as she struck Robin's bruised shoulder, hard enough to make the tactician drop to his knees. He rolled to the side, again trying to desperately make enough space to fight back as his arm went numb.

"You do not deserve the honour!"

" _If you don't let me fight we're going to die,"_ the voice warned.

_I'd rather die than cede control to you again!_

Robin dodged again as her sword flashed out, bringing his own up and cutting a small line along her shoulder.

Pheros stopped for a second, ignoring the wound as she glared at Robin.

"Where is the darkness from yesterday?" she asked in a genuinely curious voice.

"That wasn't me!" Robin growled.

"Liar!" Pheros shouted, moving with lightning speed.

Robin yelped as she brought her pommel down on his shoulder again, driving him into a wall.

With a gasp the tactician doubled over as she drove her sword through his chest faster than he could react.

"What is this?" Pheros asked, her face mere inches from Robin's.

"You tear apart my honour guard like paper yesterday, and fell me in one stroke and now… you barely manage to hold your sword up as I beat you? What insolence is this!? How dare you mock me this way!?"

Robin groaned, feeling his consciousness ebb as he slipped into shock.

" _Too bad, so sad,"_ the voice sang as it exerted its dominance, Robin's eyes flooding with Dark Magic and turning black almost instantly.

" _My turn."_

Robin caught a flash of blue and black over the General's shoulder.

"Get off of him you bitch," Lucina said from behind her, bringing Falchion downwards in a wide arc, shearing Pheros' arm almost entirely from her body.

The woman shrieked in agony, falling off of Robin as Lucina pulled the sword from his chest, shocking him back to his senses.

The magic faded almost instantly as the voice, howling in rage, was forced back into the depths of his mind.

_Like hell it's your turn. Stay where you belong. Better yet, find some other poor bastard to bother._

"Nice timing," the tactician mumbled, leaning on her shoulder. "But I thought I told you to get away."

"I forgot my sword," Lucina answered lamely, holding up her Falchion and smiling at Robin. "The others are holding the wall. Can you walk?"

"What's the point… of having a tactician… if no one listens to him anyway…" Robin muttered. His breathing was starting to become difficult.

Lucina chuckled and held her head close to his again for a moment, their brows touching again before she began dragging him.

_The General's punctured my lung_ , he realized, pressing a hand to his chest.

"You look… good… in my coat…" he mumbled, every word a struggle.

"Do not try to speak," she said, trying to move him without being too rough.

Robin glanced up and wheezed an amused chuckle as he watched Lucina blush a little at his compliment.

Lucina dragged him out to the wall top where Severa, Say'ri, Lon'qu and Gaius were busy fighting off a horde of Valmese soldiers pressing them halfway across the massive wall.

Robin took a deep breath as he limped on Lucina's shoulder, letting his mana pool, before thrusting a hand upwards so hard and violently that the Princess nearly fell over from the movement.

A wall of ice, the same spell that he had used in Plegia to buy them time to escape from Gangrel's enslaved Risen, leapt up between the Shepherds and the soldiers.

_Why do I only seem to use that spell when I'm half dead?_

The Valmese began futilely beating on it, trying to break through the thick ice to no avail.

"Everyone over the wall! Now!" Robin ordered, lifting himself off of Lucina's shoulder and trying to hide the fact he was most likely dying.

"You don't have to tell me twice," Gaius said, sheathing his short sword and swan-diving off the top of the wall.

Lon'qu raised a questioning brow when he spotted the red stain spreading on Robin's new shirt, but the tactician gave him an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Nodding, the stoic swordsman leapt after Gaius, his sword still in hand.

"Uh… I probably should have mentioned I can't swim earlier," Severa said, a note of panic in her voice.

"Say'ri, can you take her?" he asked quickly, securing the pouch at his hip so his spellbook wouldn't get soaked.

The woman nodded, grabbing Severa tightly by the arm and dragging her to the wall.

Thankfully the Princess from Chon'sin obeyed his order with a stoic nod before dragging a screaming Severa over the ledge.

Robin looked over the opposite side of the wall and into the fortress. Thousands of red-armoured men milled below him, unsure about how to react to the infiltration team's presence without orders from their superiors.

"Time to go," Robin said to Lucina, taking her by the arm and dragging her to the edge.

"Not without you," she said, turning her hand in his grip and holding it tightly.

Before Robin could reply movement from the corner of his eye made him look up, Pheros rushing to the edge of the wall facing into the Fortress, leaving a wide trail of blood in her wake.

"They're escaping!" she shouted. "Send troops to the river! Kill them all in Walhart's name!"

Robin watched with dread as the soldiers began to coalesce into units, squad leaders shouting orders to prepare the pursuit now that they had a purpose.

_We'll never get away in time,_ Robin thought as Pheros sunk to her knees, trying to remain upright as a pool of blood formed around her, her wounded arm hanging uselessly.

"You will die here with me," she growled to Robin. "I may not see the world my Lord is going to create… but I have seen it in my dreams… and that is enough…"

_We're out of time,_ Robin realized as Lucina shuddered next to him, watching the Valmese soldiers preparing to exit the fortress after the Shepherds.

"Come on!" Lon'qu shouted from the shore below them.

They would never escape in time. Not unless…

Robin looked up, meeting Lucina's piercing blue eyes.

"Do you remember the promise I made to you?" he asked. "That no one else would die?"

She nodded, eyes never leaving his.

Robin leaned forward, wrapping an arm around her as his lips sought hers. For a brief second he was worried she would pull away, but Lucina softened in his arms, returning the kiss.

Her lips were soft as they parted slightly, accepting the tactician's kiss, Robin pressing her even tighter to his chest, willing the universe to stop so that they would never have to break apart.

For a fleeting moment Robin thought that everything would work out; that they would escape, he would get to live with and love Lucina forever, and when the war ended they would grow old together.

All of those thoughts faded as they finally separated.

"I have to break that promise now," he whispered.

Without warning Robin grabbed her and lifted her close to his body.

"Lon'qu!" he shouted, throwing Lucina into the river.

She called his name as she fell and Robin turned away, back towards the fortress, the image of her shocked face burning into his memory.

_I can stop them_ , he told himself as he began pooling what little mana he had left. _I can make sure they escape. I can make sure she lives. That they all live._

He could hear the Shepherds calling his name as he crossed the wall. They would go, though; there was no way for them to get back to him.

"Robin!" Lucina's hoarse voice shrieked from below him as she spluttered in the water.

Clenching his fists, Robin began to cast.

_It's not enough…_ Robin realized instantly. _I don't have enough mana left…_

Robin swallowed hard, realizing the only way he'd make his plan work.

"You can't stop us all," Pheros muttered from where she lay bleeding.

"I don't need to," Robin answered, switching tracks for his spell and concentrating on a new one.

The tactician called and the darkness answered instantly, gleefully almost.

" _So now you ask for my help?"_

_I'm not asking you. I'm telling you. Give me your power._

He felt more of the dark energy from the previous day begin to flood him as the voice laughed, and the brand on the back of his hand flashed, burning through the bandages. His shirt seared away almost instantly, scraps of fabric falling about his feet as dark purple concentric symbols began burning beneath his skin again, spreading up his neck and across his face.

Pheros began laughing.

"You are damned…" she spat. "You will… never see the… Earth Mother's para…dise…"

Robin looked over to the demented woman, his eyes going black with dark magic again as he opened his soul to the darkness.

" _I'm going to need your body."_

_Take it_ , he offered, beginning a third spell. _Just give me the power to protect her._

"Do you know what happens when opposing magical forces meet?" he asked Pheros, power beginning to flare from his hands.

"There's a chain reaction. Often resulting in a very, very large explosion."

Pheros paled, coughing wetly as she tried to pull herself back up.

"Fool. You… you'll die too…"

"But they won't," Robin said, nodding over his shoulder to where the Shepherds were still screaming, trying to get his attention on the opposite shore.

Lon'qu had just dragged Lucina out of the water and held her around the middle, the Princess desperately trying to get back to him.

The tactician turned, bracing one foot on the lip of the wall overlooking the fortress interior, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

"The earth will burn," Robin muttered, raising one hand as the ground began to quake beneath the fortress, opening and releasing magma and jets of black fire.

"The wind will slice to the bone," he growled, raising his other as green-blue twisters beginning to form and instantly tearing into the heavy stone structures.

Valmese forces began panicking, all thoughts of pursuing the Shepherds gone from the minds as they rushed to find shelter.

"The sky will shatter!" Robin roared, raising his hands high above his head as dark clouds coalesced, purple and normal lightning beginning to rain down, destroying buildings and leaving craters the size of houses in their wake.

Robin looked over to Pheros, who was watching the wholesale destruction of her fortress numbly.

"Death has come for us all," Robin whispered, releasing the final spell he had been working and sending a plume of dark magic into the centre-vortex of spells with an outstretched hand in an almost lazy motion.

The spells immediately reacted, folding in on each other and trying to occupy the same space. Under normal circumstances elemental magic would coexist harmlessly, but the addition of dark magic sent the spells into a state of flux as they wildly spiralled out of control.

" _I'm beginning to regret this course of action,"_ the voice said hesitantly as the Dark Magic faded from his eyes.

Robin glanced up, spotting what was probably Huginn circling overhead.

_Good_ , he thought. _At least Tharja can tell Morgan how I died…_

Robin looked down as the spells finally lost shape and form, sucking in on themselves all at once. With a sound like a whip-crack they exploded outwards in a ball of blue magical fire, obliterating everything in its path.

"Luci-" Robin began, looking up to the sky, unable to finish her name as he was swallowed by the flames.


	34. Chapter 34

The wind whistled forlornly through the crater that was once Fortress Steiger. Rubble was everywhere, and the land itself reeked of death. Standing on the very precipice of the crater was a solitary giant clad in red armour, his beloved axe held head down and resting on the scorched earth as the lone man stood vigil above his soldiers.

Below him in the crater men and women worked tirelessly to find survivors, to clear away rubble in the vain hope of finding something living in the mess that was once one of his most prized fortresses.

Water from the ruined river was already beginning to pool at the bottom of the crater; soon this would be a lake, mercifully hiding his shameful defeat.

Walhart’s red-gauntleted hands tightened on his axe’s haft, his normally impassive face breaking into a scowl as his milky white eyes stared unseeing at the devastation.

But he could hear it.

He could hear the footsteps, the heartbeats and the breathing of every one of his soldiers in the crater, desperately digging for survivors.

After decades of training his senses Walhart could ‘see’ with his hearing and smell; his dead eyes meant nothing to him. He would carve them out if he weren’t so constantly busy, just to be rid of their nuisance. His other senses were more acute than ever, and he was more aware of his surroundings now than before he had lost his sight in a training accident to…

It didn’t matter anymore. It was ancient history he had forgotten; he was far superior now than he ever had been in the past, and that was all that mattered in the end.

But that’s how he could tell they wouldn’t find any survivors.

He could already tell the only living things in that crater were the men he had brought with him, but still he let them dig. He let their frustration and their anger grow. He allowed the fires of hate and war to be stoked by their raw emotions, giving them a reason to fight.

Walhart was a conqueror, but he understood human emotion. A man with a cause or purpose, especially one such as vengeance, was a dangerous adversary.

He took a deep breath, snorting out through his nose much like the horned bull his crown was made to represent.

The men feared him, but they respected him. He led them to victory, showed mercy against those that would follow his rule, and united men under his banner for one common goal.

He had long given up such trifling matters such as human emotion to better reach his goal of a unified world.

But for the first time in a long time, he felt something stirring in his breast.

Irritation.

Irritation quickly became anger, which quickly became rage.

How dare the Ylissean league strike at him thusly!? He would crush them beneath his boot like-

His thoughts interrupted as his head snapped up, his long white pony-tail flapping with the motion.

Without a word he leapt into the air, sliding down the ledge of the crater towards the disturbance he had heard, admonishing himself for being too distracted to notice it earlier.

He raced by the confused soldiers, an impossibly fast red blur leaping rubble like an antelope as if it were nothing.

At last, as he neared his goal, a single word erupted from his throat.

“Healer!”

The men around him scrambled to obey, General Cervantes beginning to shout orders from nearby while priests surged forward to their lord’s summons.

Walhart slid to a halt, barely slowing his momentum as he dug in his heels and gripped an impossibly huge piece of wall rubble.

The giant of a man strained against the boulder-sized chunk of wall, other smaller soldiers rushing to assist him; even Cervantes heaved, the portly man’s face going red with effort beneath his massive moustache as they lifted the boulder off of…

“Pheros!” Cervantes exclaimed in surprise.

Walhart resisted the urge to grimace as the giant stone fell away to one side, knowing his efforts had been for naught.

He couldn’t see her, but he could tell she wasn’t long for this world.

He could hear her shattered bones grinding against each other, stabbing into her flesh from the inside. She was barely breathing, only one lung still working, the other crushed by the boulder. Her heart beat erratically, but still he caught the sound of her eyelids fluttering open.

“Lord… Walhart?” she asked in a broken voice.

Wordlessly the Conqueror knelt down beside his General.

“I’m sorry… sir…” she said in a wet voice as blood bubbled up past her lips.

Behind him Walhart heard Cervantes wave away the healers. There was no point. The other soldiers bowed their heads in respect as they stepped away, leaving the Conqueror alone with his two Generals.

“I let… them get… away…” Pheros wheezed. “I failed you…”

Walhart shook his massive head, not sure if Pheros could still see from her eyes.

“You followed your duty, General Pheros,” Walhart said in a proud voice. “You failed no one. You were defeated, and now you pay the price honour demands, but you have not failed. Such is the way of our creed.”

He heard the woman breathe out a shuddering sigh of relief.

“Thank you… Lord… But I must… warn you…”

Walhart leaned in closer, the scent of blood becoming overpowering.

“The Tactician, lord…” she said, desperately trying to warn him as she brought her head up to look directly into Walhart’s dead eyes. “He is… not human. He is… like you… be-beware… Lord… Walhart… his… power…”

Her head lolled to the side, and he heard her lips turn upwards one last time.

“I would have… followed you… to the end… sir…”

“I know,” Walhart said, reaching out as if to stroke her cheek, his face still impassive.

With a violent jerk he broke Pheros’ neck with one hand, mercifully ending her suffering.

“Rest easy, General Pheros of Steiger. I will avenge you myself.”

*

The Conqueror leaned forward in his chair, thumping his axe on the ground of his tent once in irritation.

“Cervantes,” he called out.

The General quickly bustled into his master’s private tent, a rare privilege that until a few hours ago had been Pheros’ alone.

“Status report,” Walhart ordered simply.

Cervantes cleared his throat, his breath whistling through the whiskers beneath his nose in an irritating fashion every time he took a breath.

“We have integrated the last of the survivors from the Central Army and the defectors from the Resistance into your Northern Army, Lord Walhart,” Cervantes said quickly. “Yen’fay is in pursuit of the Ylissean League with the Southern Army. He should have no trouble defeating them.”

“Where is Excellus?” Walhart asked distastefully.

He made no secret of his dislike of the tactician; the loathsome man was trying at the best of times. Lately, however, he had gone so far as to begin to usurp Walhart’s power to his own ends, as if the Emperor was ignorant to the fact; once the Ylissean League was dealt with Walhart would take great pleasure in killing the man himself. But until then he was still necessary.

“He was in his tent, milord, going over plans for the defence of the Capital in case Yen’fay is defeated.”

“I want to speak to him. Now.”

“Thy will be done, Lord,” Cervantes said, bowing low as he backed out of the tent.

Walhart resisted the urge to growl under his breath as he hefted his axe and sat it across his lap. The sounds from the camp around him were overpowering, and a lesser man with the Conqueror’s enhanced senses would have been driven mad by the cacophony.

He could hear the screams of anguish from the medical tents; of men so far gone their pride was forgotten as they begged for the relief of death.

He could hear orders being shouted; men running to and fro, preparing to march at the behest of their ruler once his mind was made up.

He could hear the incessant hammering of the smiths, who would be working through the night to ensure his army was properly outfitted for their march tomorrow.

At last he heard what he was listening for; the sounds of Cervantes’ heavy stomping followed by Excellus’ terrified shuffling.

Walhart allowed himself a rare smile.

He could smell Excellus’ fear from here.

The tent flaps opened, and Walhart heard Excellus’ sharp intake of breath. Laid out before him on a funeral pyre that would eventually be moved out into the main square in the camp was Pheros’ cleaned and prepared body.

“I have called you here tonight,” Walhart said in a low, dangerous growl without rising from his throne, his voice a deep, resonant boom reverberating within the chests of those present in the tent with him.

“To explain this,” he finished, indicating with one massive hand to the body of his favoured General.

Walhart, unable to see traditionally, had run his bare hands over her face once preparations had been finished for her funeral, making sure she looked at peace. She was in her dress uniform, her shattered sword gripped in her hands over her chest. It made his blood boil to think that she was dead; she, his right hand, had been taken by the Ylisseans.

Walhart’s jaw unconsciously clenched.

She had been taken, and Steiger lost, after Excellus’ promised fool-proof plans.

The Tactician audibly gulped; Walhart could smell the man’s fear-sweat. He didn’t have an excuse this time.

Excellus quickly prostrated himself, begging for mercy and forgiveness like a dog.

Walhart stood, his axe blade glinting dangerously in the torchlight.

“Stand up, Tactician,” Walhart ordered.

Excellus did so, a quivering disgrace to the red uniform of Valm he wore beneath his robes.

The Conqueror brought his axe down in a blinding red flash, shearing through the table beside the two men and sticking fast in the hard earth beneath the tent. Walhart grasped Excellus’ fat, almost non-existent neck with a single hand and lifted him off the ground, bringing them face to face.

“You are to go to Yen’fay,” Walhart ordered in a cold voice. “You are to ensure his victory by any means necessary. If you fail me again there will not be enough of you left for a funeral pyre.”

Walhart threw the Tactician bodily out of the tent, the fat man flying past General Cervantes and through the tent flaps.

“Do not stain my presence again until the Ylisseans have been taken care of, worm.”

With a wordless yelp Excellus fled into the night, and Walhart returned to his throne at the back of the tent, overlooking his favoured General.

Cervantes approached slowly, stopping to tug Walhart’s axe, the Wolf Berg, out of the ruins of the table and running a finger along the edge of the weapon.

Walhart already knew what his General was going to say; during the battle with the bald Feroxi man he had become overzealous and cracked the blade while fighting him and the damnable woman that had prevented the Conqueror’s kill.

“My lord, you may wish to have a smith reinforce the blade,” Cervantes said evenly. “There appears to be a new crack in it.”

Walhart nodded absently. He liked Cervantes; the man was a good General and a fine leader, but lacked the spark that had made Pheros worthy of his right hand.

“Very well,” Walhart said with a sigh like a bull snorting. “Bring me Sol in the meantime.”

The thin, curved blade fashioned after the wing of a wyvern was much lighter than his axe, but its durability was absurdly high for such a frail looking weapon. Originally a peace-offering from Yen’fay after his surrender, Walhart usually only wore the blade ceremoniously; but it would have to make due for his main weapon for the time being.

*

Excellus trembled; not with fear, but with rage and anger. How dare an unrefined creature such as Walhart, suited only for war and destruction, threaten him?

Him!? Excellus, most learned of all the Valmese Tacticians, whose very thoughts were what gave the Conqueror’s army life!?

Without him, the Conqueror would still be warring with Chon’sin!

Excellus took a trembling breath in a vain attempt to calm himself.

He still had Yen’fay in his pocket; his biggest obstacle, that annoying Ylissean tactician was supposedly dead; and now the biggest roadblock on his path to claiming power in the army, General Pheros, was dead, too.

Just these thoughts forced a smile to his greasy lips.

Sitting at the desk in his opulent tent he began to draft a new plan, involving the consolidation of the Central and Northern armies now that Pheros was dead. Once he was done with that, he would have some serf deliver it to Walhart as he made his departure for Yen’fay’s position.

There was a pawn he held absolute power over; as long as Yen’fay’s dearest sister was on the board, the man and his army was putty in Excellus’ hands.

*

Chrom sighed as the last piece of his ornate armour fell noisily to the ground, allowing himself to show rare weakness and swaying a little in exhaustion now that he was finally alone again.

A pair of soft, strong hands caught him from behind, holding him up until he’d regained his composure.

“Better?” Sumia asked quietly, resting her chin on his bare shoulder.

Chrom nodded, sighing as he felt some of the tension leave his body just from her mere presence.

They had put enough distance between the armies for a few hours rest before they would have to continue the retreat; Morgan, Virion and a number of the other division leaders were trying to formulate a plan, but the archer had chased Chrom away, insisting that he take what rest he could and assuring him that they could devise a plan worthy of Robin’s skill.

Rotating teams of scouts would be keeping an eye on the Valmese movements; the only good thing about having so many troops was they moved much, much slower than the Ylissean League.

_Or what’s left of it_ , Chrom mentally amended himself. _All told barely a third of our forces remain._

Despite the fact they only had a few hours to take rest Frederick had insisted on setting up a tent for Chrom’s privacy; the Knight Commander was dauntless in his attention to Chrom’s needs, whether they be real or imagined.

Moving for so long in full armour had taken its toll on Chrom, and he’d decided that if they were to continue their flight until someone came up with a plan, it would be in his usual, lighter gear.

No doubt Robin would admonish him for his choice when he returned, but Chrom was just so tired…

“Do you think they’re okay?” Chrom asked guiltily as Sumia led him to one of the two chairs in the tent, the only other furniture being the small table with a pitcher of fresh water in it.

“I’m sure they’ll catch up any minute now,” Sumia soothed as she sat Chrom down, moving behind him and unclasping the other shoulder guard he usually wore before beginning to knead at his tense shoulders.

“Robin had that fire in his eyes,” Sumia said encouragingly as Chrom relaxed beneath her hands. “It’ll take more than the entire Valmese army to stop him right now. You could add the entire Plegian army to the mix and he’d still find a way.”

Chrom nodded silently.

He felt wretchedly guilty about the way he’d treated his friend during the Steiger assault.

On one hand Robin had won the day single-handedly, annihilating the Valmese Honour Guard alone and securing victory by eliminating their command structure. But on the other his terrifying loss of control had put the lives of the Shepherds at risk, including Lissa’s…

His mind flashed back to the sight of Lissa recoiling, falling back through the magical barrier as black fire licked at her arm, burning flesh and cloth… Libra had acted instantly, healing the wound almost immediately to the point the only evidence of the injury was her tattered sleeve, but the look of fear on his baby sister’s face in that moment had pushed Chrom over the edge.

A few of the others had been singed by the flames, including himself. He looked down at the blackened silver breast-plate lying on the floor of the tent where he’d let it drop.

_Robin wasn’t himself_ , Chrom reasoned. _I know that for a fact. Those weren’t his eyes. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone. And I…_

Chrom had lost his composure and decked his best friend. Twice. Broken his nose, possibly his jaw.

His sister had been caught in the blast, and without a word her husband Lon’qu had followed Robin back into the fortress while Chrom had raged and acted like an impulsive child.

“I have to apologize,” Chrom said for the umpteenth time.

“I know,” Sumia repeated, the way she had every other time he’d said it, her hands pausing a moment before resuming their gentle rubbing. “We all do.”

In the brief interlude after the battle the Shepherds had almost all collectively treated Robin like a pariah, whispers and fear at the tactician’s out of character show of magical and physical strength and madness.

And yet still he’d gone back for Lucina, for Chrom’s daughter because he knew Chrom couldn’t. He entrusted the safety of his own wounded daughter to Chrom while he went on a suicide mission to rescue Lucina.

At least, it would have been a suicide mission for anyone else; if anyone stood a chance at pulling it off, Robin did.

Chrom believed that with all his heart.

He believed that any minute now, Robin would come sauntering into the camp, Lucina at his side and the rest of his team at his back, grinning triumphantly and asking why it was taking driving the Valmese forces back so long.

_“I suppose I’d best get to work then,”_ he would say with an exaggerated sigh, grinning the way he always did as he headed for the tactical tables, completely downplaying the role he had played in the mission he’d just undertaken as he dauntlessly returned to work.

The way he always did.

Chrom had to believe it. The alternative was too painful to imagine…

“Any minute now,” Chrom muttered, trying to relax and enjoy his wife’s company.

*

Morgan grimaced, looking down at the maps spread-out on the table before her. Her wounds were all mostly healed, only a little stiffness remaining thanks to the attentive ministrations of the camp’s healers.

Their position could definitely have been better. Of course, her father would take one look at the maps and markings of troop dispositions and terrain, think for a few seconds and come up with a brilliant plan to save everyone almost instantly.

Unfortunately, Morgan still had some way to go before she was as skilled as her father.

“What if we send Roark’s knights out as a distraction again?” Virion offered, staring down at the map opposite her.

Morgan shook her head.

“We’ve done that three times already. They’ll be expecting it now; casualties will be unacceptably high.”

They were being pushed back further and further into the southern hinterlands. Scouts had confirmed that it was the southern army chasing them, made up of mostly Dynast soldiers around a core of Chon’sin’s main army and led by General Yen’fay, one of Walhart’s three most trusted military leaders.

_And my Uncle…_ Morgan thought, momentarily becoming distracted.

She was just finding out now that she had a family and she had to face off against a member of it? Fate truly had a cruel sense of humour.

She shook her head; Father wouldn’t hesitate no matter what, so neither would she.

“Those Dynast traitors were quick to allow us to escape,” Roark pointed out, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t trust them not to attack us from the flanks while Yen’fay takes us head-on to curry favour with the main army.”

“So we need a battleground that essentially corners us in,” Virion clarified. “Well, we have been known to shine brightest while our backs are to the wall, so to speak…”

“What’s this pass here?” Morgan asked, pointing to a spot on the map between two mountains.

“The Demon’s Ingle,” Lord Liung explained. “The mountain on the left is an active volcano. We’d do well to steer clear of the area; it’s treacherous terrain at the best of times.”

An idea sprung unbidden into Morgan’s mind, and she clung to it, letting it take form the way her father had taught her to.

_“If your gut gives you an idea, nine times out of ten you go with it,”_ he’d once told her when she’d been second guessing herself during a game of chess that she had subsequently lost.

“I think we should do the exact opposite,” Morgan said, excitement momentarily overcoming her fatigue.

“That’s it, the girl’s lost her marbles,” Roark said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Before Morgan could retort Virion stepped forward again.

“I’ve seen the same look on her father’s face, Duke Roark,” Virion said in his haughtiest tone. “I would show some respect were I you.”

The two Dukes stared each other down before Roark sighed and mumbled an apology; Virion rarely used his intimidating glare, but when he did few could stand before it.

“We can hardly afford such infighting at such a critical time,” Virion added in a softer tone, looking to Morgan.

“Now what was your idea, child?”

Morgan traced a finger around the pass, through a ravine, tactfully choosing not to point out the fact that he was technically only a few years older than her in this timeline with a barely supressed grin.

“We send the majority of the army through here,” she said, looking into the faces of the men around her.

“And the Shepherds challenge Yen’fay and his honour guard-”

She added, jabbing her finger directly onto the little volcano illustration.

“Right here.”

“That way the main army gets a chance to rest, and we finish this fight without many casualties on either side; the Dynast soldiers let us pass almost completely unchallenged, so I’m reluctant to cause them too much damage, but if we can cut the head off the beast…”

“The beast’s soldiers will follow us for an offer of clemency,” Liung finished for her, a smile breaking out beneath his long moustache.

 “You are indeed your father’s daughter,” Liung complimented her, making Morgan blush a little.

“Plus the flames from the volcano will provide us with protection from flanking attacks,” Virion said, catching on to Morgan’s plan and making some marks with a stick of red wax. “If we position our surviving mage forces here and here we can fan the flames into an impenetrable barrier.”

Morgan nodded excitedly.

“Miriel, Laurent, Ricken and Henry can lead them,” she said, making some notes on the roster sheet.

“You’ll lead the soldiers around the volcano through the pass, Duke Roark,” Morgan continued. “Lord Liung, I need you to form a small rearguard of your best warriors and follow the main army at a distance; no doubt the Valmese will take this chance to go after the retreating army again.”

“I shall lead the rearguard myself,” Liung said proudly, clapping a fist over his heart.

“I will prepare the Shepherds for battle,” Frederick said, silent until now. “Come, Roark; I will also assist you in preparing to lead the army. There are things you will need to be clear about.”

The three leaders left the open planning tent and Morgan slumped forward onto the table letting out a breath.

Virion laughed softly as he laid a comforting hand on her back.

“Intimidating, to be ordering around the leaders of an army, no?” he asked kindly.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Morgan mumbled as she fell into the chair Virion produced for her. “I don’t know how my father makes it seem so natural.”

“You may trust me when I say he was not always so,” the archer said with a smirk. “In fact, he used to be much more awkward about it than even you are now. It was indeed very amusing to watch.”

Morgan remained silent as she let her hand drop to her collar, brushing against the new burn scars that were mostly hidden by her clothes.

Severa had done her best to get Morgan to help quickly, but the longer one waited to magically heal a wound the more the chance of leaving a scar increased. Morgan now sported several large, leathery discoloured scars along the skin of her right shoulder and side as a result of Excellus’ sneak attack, mostly on her back.

“I hope father returns soon,” Morgan huffed, forcibly distracting herself. “He really makes this look much easier than it is.”

“I’m sure he will return any minute now,” Virion said soothingly. “However do we not have preparations to attend to now that we have a plan?”

Morgan nodded, and the two began to pack up the maps that covered the table. Frederick would organize for someone to come and stow the tent and furniture later.

“I notice you didn’t include the lady Tharja in your plans for the mages,” Virion added slyly as he clapped a folder closed.

“Please,” Morgan said dismissively. “At a time like this do you really think anything will get her more than a few feet away from me and Noire? It’s a tactician’s duty to know their soldier’s strengths and weaknesses; she’d go if I ordered her to, but she’ll only perform at optimal capacity where she can keep an eye on the two of us.”

Virion laughed heartily, wiping an exaggerated tear from his eye.

“Too true, dear Morgan,” the archer laughed. “Too true. You are indeed your father’s daughter.”

Morgan grinned a little before sobering.

_Come on, dad,_ Morgan pleaded internally, stopping to look up at the storm clouds looming in the distance as she stepped out of the tent into the weak sunlight.

_Don’t keep me waiting like this._

_*_

Rain fell in sheets around the small group of Shepherds huddled under an outcropping around the small fire that Lon’qu had deemed necessary to stave off hypothermia.

The seasons continued on their never-ending march through time, completely oblivious to the struggling and suffering of the humans at their mercy, dumping rain on them whether it was convenient or not.

Ever since they’d been forced to start running, Lon’qu had simply taken charge and so far no one had complained.

Lucina sat staring blankly into the fire, wet hair plastered to her face even though Robin’s magically altered coat had kept the rest of her mostly dry, holding it tight around her as if she would disappear if her grip on the leather lessened.

Severa was pressed close to her shoulder, the two women forced into close confines in the small space while Lon’qu, Gaius and Say’ri all sat around the rest of the fire. Lon’qu was on Lucina’s other side, but whether from his old gynophobia or respect for Lucina’s current mood had opted to leave a little distance between them.

Since the explosion that had marked the end of Fortress Steiger and Robin Lucina had barely said a word, mutely following the group and clinging to Robin’s coat for dear life.

Severa let out a soft sigh, shifting a little in the small space to try and get further away from the torrential rain without disturbing Lucina too much.

Severa had watched as Robin had thrown her from the top of the wall. She wasn’t sure if the others had noticed his wounds at that point, but even without the explosion there was no way he would have survived their flight back to the main army in that shape anyway.

He’d obviously known that, and chosen to ensure their escape.

But for both Severa and Lucina it was the second time they’d lost him now.

Severa had lost a man that was like an uncle, almost a surrogate father to her.

Lucina had apparently lost much, much more.

But still he’d died a hero.

Still, though, Lon’qu had raised his usually quiet voice to urge the tactician to follow them, and Gaius had voiced his confusion. Say’ri had caught on at about the same time as Severa when both women had seen the sad smile he’d directed down at them.

She’d already seen that look on the face of too damn many friends in her lifetime.

Tears began to prick at the corners of her eyes again, but she quickly blinked them away. With all of her suffering Lucina had yet to shed a single tear, despite obviously having been one of the people to have lost the most with Robin’s death.

No one present had missed that kiss. It was almost clichéd, but the shock had been quickly overwritten by the giant explosion that had thrown them all flat; Robin’s parting gift, the destruction of a fortress and the thousands of soldiers within it.

Then they had run, and kept running most of the day, ignoring the rain and only stopping when someone fell down to help them back to their feet. They had run until even Lon’qu was barely moving, and finally found this small alcove that Lon’qu had deemed ‘acceptable’ for their needs.

“We’ll need to keep moving soon,” Lon’qu said in his regular monotone, breaking the ephemeral atmosphere that had descended as everyone finally reflected on what happened that day.

“Lon’qu, we’ve barely slept or had rest for nearly two days now,” Gaius pointed out.

“It won’t matter if the Valmese find us,” the swordsman pointed out.

“Agreed,” Say’ri said shortly, not meeting anyone’s gaze.

“A few more minutes,” Severa said, indicating slightly towards Lucina with a slight nudge of her head.

Lon’qu looked to be about to protest, but silently nodded agreement.

“No,” Lucina said suddenly, rising to her feet and stepping out into the rain. “We should keep moving. The army needs to know that all they face for the time being is Yen’fay’s force. If we are to strike back now is the time.”

“If you’re sure,” Lon’qu said hesitantly, standing and kicking dirt onto the fire.

Grumbling incoherently Gaius stood, Say’ri and Severa wordlessly following as the group set off at a much slower march, led this time by Lucina. How long they could keep even this slower pace up Severa was unsure.

She didn’t have the heart to tell Lucina that there was no way they could strike back with the army’s current condition anyway as she followed her friend through the rain.

*

Yen’fay stood at the head of his rapidly assembling army, heedless of the rain pouring down around him.

The scouts were reporting that the Ylisseans had halted ahead, and he desperately wanted to close the gap and engage before they put any more distance between the two groups.

Although the only reason he was so desperate to engage, of course, were Walhart’s orders and his sense of duty. Deep down he was terrified of what he was going to find when battle was joined; or rather who he was expected to face.

“Must you stand out in the rain, General?” a high-pitched, mocking voice asked from behind Yen’fay, making his knuckles turn white on his sword’s hilt.

“Excellus,” Yen’fay spat, not even turning to face the tactician.

“Oh?” Excellus asked, clearly taking great lengths to remain out of Yen’fay’s weapon’s reach. “Is that any way to greet a friend?”

The toad of a man drew alongside the general, still just out of reach.

“My, my,” he purred. “Such a melancholic air about you today. Whatever is the matter?”

Excellus made a show of batting himself in the head like he’d just remembered something obvious as Yen’fay glowered at him.

“Oh, that’s right! Your beloved sister is marching with the Ylisseans, isn’t she? Dear me, I suppose I’d be in a foul mood too if I were in your boots!”

Yen’fay knew Excellus was testing his resolve. It was painfully obvious to the point of almost being insulting.

“Say’ri is a rebel and a traitor to the empire,” Yen’fay ground out, each word a dagger in his heart. “I have no sister.”

Excellus let out a high-pitched cackle. “Oh, very good, very good – right out of the book, that one!”

The tactician finally drew closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, just barely rising above the sound of the pounding rain.

“And I commend your acting ability,” Excellus hissed. “Very convincing. I think all of your men heard you, too.”

Yen’fay growled and nudged his blade an inch clear of its scabbard with his thumb, making sure Excellus saw the movement.

The damnable tactician simply drew back and laughed again.

“In any case I’m so glad I can trust you not to take it easy on her rag-tag little group. Yes, we both know you’d never let any of her comrades escape, don’t we?”

Yen’fay made a conscious effort to still his sword hand, taking deep, calming breaths as Excellus prattled on, eyes glaring murderously at the toad-like visage before him.

“I know this must be difficult, but think of it this way: you still have a family! A big, big family! The whole Imperial Army is your family now!”

Yen’fay finally lost his composure and unsheathed his sword, rounding on the tactician. Excellus was still shaking with mirth, even as the magic circle that grew from the ornate ring on his fat index finger grew to envelop him.

“Well, I should run,” he sneered to Yen’fay’s face. “Do tell your little sister I said hello. And goodbye.”

And with one final cackled laugh Excellus was gone in a flash of light, leaving Yen’fay standing alone, rain water running down the blade of his sword Amatsu, the sword of the ruler of Chon’sin.

Faint, splashing footsteps alerted Yen’fay to the approach of one of his men.

“Milord?” Keiji, Yen’fay’s second in command, asked in their native language, his usual brusque manner a welcome change to Excellus’ snide mannerisms. “The army stands ready. We await your word.”

Yen’fay nodded, not even bothering to sheathe Amatsu as he started walking south, towards the Ylissean positions.

“Close in on the Ylisseans,” Yen’fay said in a dead voice. “Show no mercy.”

*

Morgan looked up as the first of the raindrops began falling to the ground around them, instantly turning to steam on the hot stone beneath their feet.

In a word, it was hot.

In many more words, Morgan was beginning to regret this course of action as she wiped the sweat from her brow with the cuff of her coat sleeve.

“How you’re… wearing that coat…” Noire gasped, looking dangerously close to falling over next to Morgan.

“I’m fine,” Morgan said with an energetic smile.

She and Noire were standing on an outcropping that provided an eagle-eye view of the surrounding area, a tactical advantage that was usually sorely lacking in most battlefields. Morgan had taken the time to carefully analyse the terrain and commit the entire area to memory; every rock, every crevice, every piece of unstable ground; all of it was information she could use to tip the scales.

Beneath and behind them, within the ‘Demon’s Ingle’ proper the Shepherds were set up and waiting, knowing that Yen’fay now stood between them and leaving the hellish landscape, which was in itself enough motivation for Morgan to fight twice as hard as she usually did.

She turned, watching as Liung’s rearguard took up position at the mouth of the small ravine the rest of the remaining army had just finished streaming into away to the west. From her higher vantage point Morgan could see the entire army arrayed before her, and felt pangs of guilt that there were so few soldiers left…

Off in the distance she could see Yen’fay’s soldiers advancing like a line of black insects coating the space between the two mountains around them. There was still a limited amount of space in the pass to manoeuvre around the Shepherds, which was about to change.

“Okay!” Morgan shouted to the twenty-odd mages still strong enough to assist the Shepherds. “Commence operation fire-storm!”

Henry gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up, his eyes wild while Ricken quivered at the man’s excitement over apparent wholesale destruction.  Miriel nodded once, her expression never changing as she pushed the rims of her glasses further up her nose, beginning to lead her team of mages at the same time as Henry.

Morgan shied back from the flames as they practically exploded along the edges of the pass, a signal and challenge Yen’fay would have to be blind to miss. They had set up underbrush and fuel so that the fires would burn on almost indefinitely, but the mages would most likely need to call down a storm before the fires spread to the light woodland to the immediate east of their position.

_So we’ll have to wrap this up fast,_ Morgan thought, falling back to the Shepherds’ position with Noire while the now exhausted mages made their way down the ravine past Liung’s position.

Morgan stepped lightly, placing her feet carefully on the uneven ground. Patches of red hot earth seared the open air, making the whole area smell of steam and burnt vegetation, and now with the addition of the walls of flame to either side Yen’fay had nowhere to out-manoeuvre them.

Morgan’s confidence rose. They were going to beat back Yen’fay, regroup, maybe even make it back to Valm Harbour and unite with the other half of the army, fresh from Regna Ferox. If they dug in their heels here, they-

“M-Morgan!” Noire stammered, face ashen as she pointed to the bottom of the pass they stood atop. “Look!”

Morgan’s heart skipped a beat, thinking that Yen’fay had already sent an advance force to meet them, until she saw a familiar coat among the distant shapes.

She didn’t even pause to count the figures climbing the ravine she was so intent on meeting them.

“C’mon, Noire,” Morgan laughed, ecstatic at her father’s imminent return. “I’ll race you back down!”

*

“General Yen’fay!” Keiji called, sprinting towards the other man. “General! We’ve spotted a small group of Ylisseans in the forest to the east! It looks like stragglers trying to reach the rest of their force!”

“Show me,” Yen’fay said without preamble, following Keiji back to the eastern flank of their force.

Yen’fay’s hawk-like vision spotted them easily; six ragged and wounded warriors making their way as fast as their obviously exhausted bodies would allow them to through the light woodlands to the east.

“Shall we give chase?” Keiji asked, his opinion of the matter plain in the reluctance with which he asked the question.

No warrior of Chon’sin wanted the dishonour of battling wounded soldiers.

“Allow them their brief reprieve,” Yen’fay ordered, turning away. “It will make no difference in the end.”

“Of course, General,” Keiji answered with a low bow, waving away the archers that had already taken up position in case Yen’fay had decided otherwise.

The General’s heart beat faster. There was no mistaking the glint of white lacquered armour he’d seen between the trees…

As Yen’fay and Keiji returned to the head of the army they were momentarily stopped when two jets of smoke and flames shot into the air from the direction of the Demon’s Ingle.

“I knew they were desperate,” Keiji commented as they started walking again. “But they first choose to take to the Ingle, then give away their position?”

“It is a challenge,” Yen’fay said assuredly. “No doubt meant as a distraction while the majority of their forces escape. Send a force of Dynast troops through the ravine to the west. Send… Ji-hun and his men.”

“Milord, Ji-hun’s force is mostly conscripts,” Keiji said hesitantly. “If there is organized resistance they will be destroyed.”

“They are merely a distraction to keep the Ylisseans from regrouping,” Yen’fay explained coldly, telling himself that the fact Ji-hun had been one of the leaders of the resistance that had betrayed his sister had nothing to do with his decision to sacrifice the man and his forces.

“Of course, General,” Keiji said, waving down a runner and sending the orders off.

Yen’fay stood, looking at the smoke rising from the Demon’s Ingle now that the flames had died down again. The volcano itself looked about ready to erupt; there was a reason that the locals avoided the area, so why had…

Yen’fay’s eyes widened, a grim hope blossoming in his chest as he began to understand the Ylisseans’ intentions.

He quickly made his decision. In fact, it was a decision he’d made years ago when he had thrown away his honour and sworn fealty to Walhart… and broken his sister’s heart.

“Keiji,” he asked quietly in their native tongue. “Whom do you serve?”

“Milord?” his second asked confusedly.

“I asked you; whom do you swear fealty to?”

“To you, milord,” Keiji responded without a trace of hesitation, bowing low from the waist. “I and all the warriors of our homeland follow you, and you alone. Who you choose to take orders from is none of our concern. You are the king of Chon’sin. We follow you.”

“You follow the blood of the ruler of Chon’sin?” Yen’fay asked, turning to face his still bowing second.

Keiji looked up, confusion still evident on his face.

“Yes… yes milord. As we always have.”

“Swear to me,” Yen’fay said. “Renew your vow of fealty to the royal blood of Chon’sin.”

Keiji rose slowly, catching on to his master’s meaning, before dropping to one knee. Yen’fay looked up, the entire force of Chon’sin warriors doing the same without hesitation while the foreign conscripts looked on confused.

“I speak for every man and woman of Chon’sin present,” Keiji said, his voice heavy with emotion. “When I say that we serve the throne and royal line of Chon’sin and her ruler.”

“Whoever may bear that burden,” Keiji added in a low tone, looking up and meeting his lord’s gaze.

Yen’fay nodded, satisfied and strode forward, resting a hand on Keiji’s red-lacquered shoulder guard.

“You and our men will hold ground here,” Yen’fay said quietly as Keiji rose. “I will lead the remainder of the Southern Army against the Ylissean League. Remember the oath you have renewed here today, Keiji of Chon’sin.”

“Aye, milord,” Keiji said, his voice thick.

“Conscripts! Men of Valm!” Yen’fay shouted, speaking again in the common tongue. “With me! We will crush the Ylissean league for the glory of the Conqueror!”

A throaty roar went up from the conscripted Dynast forces as they fell in behind Yen’fay, the General beginning to march towards the Demon’s Ingle without looking back.

Keiji and the rest of the soldiers from Chon’sin remained silent, bowing their heads respectfully before taking up positions to hold the ground their lord had ordered them to.

*

The Shepherds had erected a pseudo-camp on some of the more stable ground inside the Demon’s Ingle, consisting primarily of a medical tent, a command tent and the two wagons that followed them everywhere. Jake and Olivia had stubbornly refused to abandon their comrades, even if they were non-combatants.

Chrom stretched his neck as he accepted a waterskin from Olivia, rolling his head back and forth a few times. Sumia had left his side some time ago to make ready with Cordelia and Cherche. The three fliers, along with the two manaketes, would according to Morgan’s strategy be playing ‘crowd control’ by making sure that the enemy force didn’t spread out too wide and overflow the small opening that had been left by the ravine and magical flames. Everyone else was fighting on foot; the superior mobility of the mounted Shepherds really counted for nothing in such close confines.

Yen’fay was close, Walhart no doubt not far behind him, and after so long spent running Chrom was restless; he wanted to fight again.

“Alright, Shepherds!” Chrom called to the waiting soldiers, Knights and assorted warriors.

“The enemy is almost upon us! Let’s be done with this and see to it that our comrades have a peaceful welcome!”

The tired roar that answered his speech lifted his spirits, which lifted even further when he caught Sumia’s gentle smile directed at him across the camp.

“Too late!” Morgan chirped, practically dropping out of the sky right in front of Chrom as she leapt from a higher vantage point, Noire climbing down much more cautiously.

“They’re here already!”

The excitement that spread through the Shepherds was almost a palatable thing as they bustled to close in on the ravine’s opening; shades of people could be seen through the ever-present gouts of steam, and the Shepherds were jostling to get a better look.

“Alright, that’s enough!” Frederick shouted. “Resume formations! We’re on the cusp of battle, here, people! Healers prepare for wounded! Everyone else back into formation!”

All the Shepherds except for Tharja and Virion grudgingly followed orders, reforming their ranks while Maribelle and Lissa pushed to the front, Olivia and Jake moving to assist them. Panne, too, looked like she was about to ignore Frederick’s orders, but instead her face took on an unnoticed look of confusion as the shapes in the steam solidified.

Lon’qu, limping a little and holding a wounded arm close to his body; Say’ri, shuffling tiredly but still holding herself up tall and proud; Gaius, obviously about to drop as he stumbled; and Severa, supporting Robin as they both made their way back to camp.

“Where’s… where’s Lucina?” Sumia asked quietly, suddenly standing with Chrom and Morgan, the reins of her pegasus firmly held in an anxious looking Cordelia’s hand.

Robin’s team drew closer, obviously hastening to reach the safety of friendly lines before Yen’fay’s attack began; but… they were a person short.

Had Robin been unable to rescue Lucina? No; no, Robin wouldn’t have returned empty handed, not after the way he’d set off to find her.

Chrom felt as if his heart stopped beating as he realized it wasn’t Robin being supported by Severa, but Lucina wearing Robin’s coat as the two women stepped out of the steam.

“What…” Morgan mumbled dumbfounded. “What’s going on? Where’s…”

She trailed off as the small team of Shepherds finally reached the lines, all practically collapsing as Olivia, Jake, Maribelle and Lissa moved to help them back to the medical tent.

“Where’s my father?” Morgan asked in a desperate voice.

Virion looked away, biting his lip so hard in frustration he tasted blood.

Tharja put her shaking hands on Morgan’s shoulders, holding her back as the girl desperately looked around, back towards the cloud of steam.

None of the team would meet anyone else’s eyes as they were led to the safety of the medical tent except Lucina, who picked herself up off of Severa’s shoulder and limped towards her father and the small group with him.

“I’m sorry,” was all she said, shrugging off Robin’s coat and handing it to Morgan, her face an emotionless mask.

Chrom couldn’t believe it; he wouldn’t believe it! The thought that Robin was dead, it was… it was ludicrous! It was laughable to think that a man that had defied the odds so many times, that had laughed in the face of death more often than he’d like to admit was…

“How?” Chrom finally managed past the lump that had formed in his throat.

“He… he gave his life so that we could escape,” Lucina said in a dull monotone, wavering a little as she spoke. “He managed to delay the… the majority of the army. All you face is Yen’fay’s force.”

Sumia gently took Lucina by the shoulders, tears streaming down the Pegasus Knight’s face, and led her in the direction of the medical tent.

“I’m sorry,” Chrom heard her repeat again, Lucina’s voice breaking.

Morgan was silent, staring down at her father’s coat clutched in her hands, her knuckles going white as she held it, her face hidden by her long bangs.

The young tactician took a few deep, shuddering breaths.

“This… this doesn’t change anything,” she said at last.

“The plan remains unchanged,” she said again in a stronger voice, still not looking up. “We… we can still win here today.”

“Morgan, we’d understand if you-” Chrom started before she cut him off.

“No!” she cried, face snapping up as tears ran freely down her cheeks. “I will not falter! It would be an insult to his memory if I were to falter… to fail now.”

Her head dropped again.

“I will put this somewhere safe,” she said in a shuddering voice, indicating to the coat in her hands. “I will compose myself, and I will lead the defence with you, Prince Chrom. They way my father would have. I… we don’t have the luxury of mourning now.”

Chrom nodded, and Morgan began to move back towards the wagons. She swayed, and Tharja caught her, supporting the girl as she walked.

“This… this is outrageous,” Virion hissed in a tone that Chrom had never heard from the man before.

“That they would dare to take Robin from us… merely the thought of it...”

Chrom nodded his agreement, a similar emotion rising unbidden in his chest as he strode forward to address the Shepherds.

It wasn’t sadness. It wasn’t loss or guilt. Those would come later, no doubt in crippling quantities.

At that moment Chrom felt a pure, white-hot rage the likes of which he had never experienced before; not even when Emm had sacrificed herself.

“Shepherds!” the prince roared. “This day the Conqueror has stolen someone from us that cannot be replaced!”

The Shepherds were silent as they watched their leader. Some had tears in their eyes. Some looked ready to explode with rage. All looked focused and prepared to face what was to come.

“Today we fight not for our homelands,” Chrom continued, “But for the memory of the man and friend that led us for so long, never faltering, never asking anything in return except our trust and friendship!”

Over his shoulder Chrom could hear the sounds of Valmese horns blaring and booted feet marching towards them; excellent timing on Yen’fay’s part.

“Today we fight for vengeance! For justice!”

Chrom spun, unsheathing Falchion and holding it high, facing the encroaching enemy. The blade blazed with blue fire from within, a sign that his cause was just.

“For Robin!” Chrom cried, taking the holy sword in a two-handed grip and charging forward.

“For Robin!” the Shepherds cried as one, thundering forward behind him without a hint of hesitation.

For a moment Chrom almost felt pity for what Yen’fay was about to face.

*

Morgan collapsed to her knees once she was out of the sight of the others behind Anna’s wagon, hugging her father’s coat to her chest and sobbing openly.

Tharja knelt down next to her, gently embracing the distraught girl.

“I’m okay,” Morgan said, forcing her emotions down as she stood and carefully folded her father’s coat, gently placing it in the wagon.

“Come on,” Morgan said without looking at Tharja as she jogged back to the front, wiping at her face with the cuff of her coat. “Prince Chrom needs us.”

Tharja hesitated a moment, a single tear running down one of her perfect cheeks as she reached out and stroked the carefully folded coat before closing her eyes and composing herself.

In one swift movement the Dark Mage drew her ceremonial dagger and ran it across her palm, adding a third scar to her hand and letting the blood drip to the scorched earth at her feet. She silently swore to the ghost of the man she had followed all over the world, the man she loved more than anyone else, that she would watch over his daughter and avenge his death.

Feeling the power of the forbidden spell ‘Vengeance’ beginning to course through her Tharja glowered in the direction of the battlefield and began to purposefully stride towards it, eyes blazing with excess mana the way she’d only ever seen one other person’s.

*

“No!” Lucina cried, struggling to escape from the hands holding her back. “I must go to the front! Father needs me! He-”

“Lucina, you can barely stand!” Lissa shouted over the hysterical woman’s screaming, trying in vain with Severa to hold her down. “You’ll just hinder your father and everyone else like this! Please, let us tend your wounds!”

As soon as Chrom had started his speech Lucina had gone berserk, desperately trying to get back to the fighting and doing her best in her weakened state to go through Severa and Lissa while Maribelle treated Gaius and Lon’qu and Say’ri waited off to one side.

“No!” she shouted, almost rabid. “I will not let his death be meaningless! I have to fight!”

Severa grunted as Lucina brought her knee up into her stomach, the air rushing out of her lungs as she reeled. Sensing an opening Lucina jerked an arm free, shoved Lissa off her other arm and lunged forward, fingers beginning to wrap around Falchion as-

“Enough!” Lon’qu roared, suddenly appearing before her and grabbing her by the throat, forcing her back onto the medical tent’s cot in one fluid, brutal motion.

“If you die then his sacrifice was meaningless!” Lon’qu continued as Lucina quieted, staring up at the swordsman with tears in her eyes.

“But I-”

“Am worse than useless right now!” Lon’qu cut her off. “Accept that or go off and get yourself killed!”

Lon’qu’s glare jerked to the side as Lissa laid a hand on his arm, and the appendage holding Lucina’s throat went slack, releasing her and falling to his side.

“I will not allow his sacrifice to be in vain either,” Lon’qu said quietly. “His sacrifice was for you, Lucina. If you die, then he died in vain. Let your wounds heal and have your vengeance; don’t throw your life away meaninglessly.”

Lon’qu quickly reached up to stroke Lissa’s cheek before returning to the cot he’d been sitting on while waiting for treatment, head bowed low.

Lucina rolled onto her side, facing away from the others as Lissa returned to the task of healing her, the blue-haired princess’ shoulders and back shaking with silent sobs.

Severa massaged her bruised stomach; by far she was the least wounded of the six that had returned from Steiger, so she was helping with the others as best as she could.

It cut her like a knife to see Lucina so broken; she’d watched her friend bottle up her emotions and become a ruler overnight when news of her parents’ deaths was delivered, never truly grieving for them. After watching the woman actually relax a little and behave like a normal human being for a few months Severa had hoped that her mental wounds were finally beginning to heal, obviously due in no small part to Robin.

Losing him had brought back all the pain Severa had already dealt with personally; what would it do to someone who had never actually grieved for any of her fallen friends or family?

Averting her gaze Severa looked to the other end of the tent to where Lon’qu sat with his head bowed and fists clenched, next to…

“Wait,” Severa said. “Where’s Say’ri?”

The white-armoured princess from Chon’sin had disappeared.


	35. Chapter 35

Yen’fay resisted the urge to choke on the mist and smoke hanging over the battlefield; the Ylissean tactician was a shrewd one, being able to turn their disadvantage of being cornered by superior numbers into an advantage by utilizing the unique terrain of the volcanic area.

He could already see some of the conscripted soldiers beginning to slow and tire from the heat, and many were choking on the smoke. Visibility was low, and their charge had quickly slowed to marching speed; Ylisse definitely held the upper hand here.

Yen’fay was prepared to die, and he would not sell his life cheaply by any means, but he had gravely underestimated his opponents, and his men were little more than farmers and herdsmen in armour, not true warriors like their enemy. They were scared, but they still outnumbered the Ylisseans ten to one. Even the vaunted Ylissean tactician’s plans would fall against a continuous press of bodies.

“Lancers, move up!” Yen’fay called, trying to organize his men into something resembling a line. “Archers behind! Damn you all, must I fight this battle myself!?”

The men hastened to obey, forming a line in front of him and taking up proper formation far, far too slowly for Yen’fay’s liking. But they were moving, squad commanders shouting orders and slapping helmets, kicking at rears and otherwise bullying the men into something resembling a coherent line.

Without warning three shadows fell from the sky in amongst his barely-formed left flank.

Three mounted women, two riding pegasi and one atop a much larger wyvern, lashed out with various weapons, and before Yen’fay or the squad commanders could order a counter-attack with the archers two more much larger forms dropped from the sky over the unsuspecting archer squads, crushing many underfoot, flames exploding from reptilian maws before the five fliers were gone in a gust of wind, stirring up the smoke without dissipating it.

“Regroup!” Yen’fay desperately called, shoving men toward the reeling left-flank and ignoring the cries of the burnt support units.

“Regroup! Fill the gaps, form a line! Healers, tend to the wounded archers! Now, damn you!”

The priests, pilgrims that had been pressed into service in Walhart’s army that was sorely in need of those with knowledge of any arcane art, let alone healing, hastened to obey; they moved fast, fear for their lives and the lives of the other men making them forget their circumstances for the present and focus on the task at hand.

Any second now Ylisseans would start assaulting the left flank, destroying it and he needed the archers in case…

“Shepherds!” a strong, noble voice called from the right flank. “Attack!”

Yen’fay spun, his eyes widening as heavily armoured soldiers began to assault the untouched right flank, led by a tall man in white and blue armour wielding a huge lance like it weighed little more than a stick of bamboo.

Six or seven other soldiers were with him, although in the smoke it was hard to tell exactly how many.

Yen’fay watched a nimble, green-armoured man weave through the line wielding a longsword in a style he’d never witnessed before, a muscular crimson-armoured woman just behind him swinging and stabbing, a lance in each hand, with ferociousness akin to berserk fury. A man in much heavier orange-rimmed white armour took a glancing blow for another man who was practically unprotected, leaning aside and using his fist to clobber the soldier that had attacked him while the man he’d saved leapt forward, bringing an axe down in a fluid motion and ignoring the small wounds being inflicted on him as he did.

“Surviving archers, target the right flank!” Yen’fay called.

So far barely more than ten soldiers had almost broken his line! Scores of red-armoured Valmese bodies already littered the scorched earth, but if he could halt the Ylissean forward momentum for just a moment he could reorganize his lines and drive them back. The Ylissean Knights were monstrous, true masters of the battlefield that strode across his line like it was barely there, but they had to have more units waiting to strike in the smoke behind them.

Glancing over his shoulder Yen’fay cursed, seeing the men on the left flank milling about in a confused daze as they tried desperately to reform the lines around the few remaining squad leaders desperately trying to organize them.

“For Robin!” a strangely flanged voice called from the smoke before the left flank, and this time two creatures resembling giant rabbits burst forth, rending and tearing at his men with teeth and claws in a display of ferociousness completely at odds with the gentle creatures they resembled.

More shadows were emerging from the smoke behind the rabbit-creatures and the Knights assaulting his right flank, but the men quaking before him in the centre remained untouched. Three shapes darted overhead, spears raining down on the left flank as two pegasi and a wyvern made another pass.

Arrows began to rain down on the healers trying to get his archer unit back into the fight, indiscriminately striking down the priests and wounded archers alike. The sheer volume of arrows spoke of a unit at least the size his own had been before those damned manaketes, at least that’s what Yen’fay assumed had assaulted his rear, had gotten to it.

The wind shifted, blowing some of the smoke clear and giving Yen’fay a view of a blue-silver haired man and a younger, black-haired girl both pointing their bows and firing arrows so fast it was almost as if they were strumming an instrument from atop their position on a small mound of rocks some way back from the front.

_Two archers!?_ Yen’fay realized, watching the hail of deadly arrows in astonishment. _Two archers caused all this!?_

Shadows fell across his centre line as the manaketes made another pass, raining down fire on the previously unmolested central unit and scattering some of the squads of sword-wielding men.

“Stand your ground, dammit!” Yen’fay barked. “You are men of the Imperial army! Act like it!”

As if to punctuate Yen’fay’s shouting small balls of black fire began to fly through the central unit, detonating at random and causing more havoc among the already reeling soldiers; glancing up Yen’fay caught sight of a bewitching beauty with long ebon tresses, her coat and hair flapping in the wind of a magical updraft as she set about dismantling his line single-handedly, her eyes blazing white with potent magical energy.

“Forward!” Yen’fay cried desperately, realizing that his only chance lay in retaking the initiative and rallying the terrified men around him with force of will alone, meaning to assault in the direction of the woman.

The Ylisseans were monsters, of that he no longer held any doubt; Yen’fay’s force outnumbered them ten to one, and yet they were still being taken apart. He had yet to see a single Ylissean so much as falter, let alone fall.

As the central unit began to move forward ahead of him Yen’fay watched as a blue-haired man, who judging from the description that had been given to him was the Ylissean leader, leapt forward from the smoke, a familiar-looking sword-wielding girl in a large black coat at his side as they assaulted Yen’fay’s central line with only the black-haired mage as backup.

“What manner of monsters are these soldiers?” Yen’fay whispered, watching the Ylissean leader and his much younger comrade tear through his men with barely any effort.

_Retreat,_ Yen’fay realized, the word forming on his lips. _That’s our only recourse now; but I cannot retreat from this… I must make things right._

The choice was taken away from him regardless; a wall of magical flames roared up from behind his force, unseen mages penning his scattered army in with the Ylissean force.

Yen’fay looked around, his face a cold mask, watching as the army of conscripts was slain before him as the Ylisseans hacked away with a singular, bloody purpose.

Just as he was preparing to engage the Ylissean General a familiar voice that chilled his very soul rang out in a tone he’d never heard from his gentle sister before.

“Yen’fay!” Say’ri roared, crossing the battlefield like a white wisp of smoke she moved so gracefully, striking out with the old sword their father had given her as if it were an extension of her very self.

 “Monster! I cannot let you live! Draw your blade, and let it sing your final words!”

_I had hoped she would not take the field this day… It’s time_ , Yen’fay thought, oddly calm in the face of his death. _My redemption is finally at hand._

*

Morgan knelt behind the same rock as Prince Chrom, sword in hand and spells running through her head as they listened to the other teams launch their attacks.

From what she’d seen Yen’fay was moving about a third of his army towards the Shepherds at the base of the volcano, while another third was sent off after Liung and Roark and the last were being kept in reserve.

It was really too bad for him that her plan was to box his soldiers in with the Shepherds and cut off any hope of reinforcement or retreat.

It would take careful timing on everyone’s part, not just the group leaders. There were smaller ‘reaction’ teams that would have to wait and watch, striking from the cover of the smoke when the time was right.

The flying team circled around, and Morgan heard Frederick call his team’s charge.

Lady Cordelia and Lady Sumia, along with Nowi, Nah and Lady Cherche came to rest near Chrom and Morgan, Nowi and Nah panting heavily as they shifted back into their human forms; Nah seemed especially out of sorts as she doubled over, resting her hands on her knees.

“Take five, girls,” Morgan said to the two manaketes.

“Ladies, make ready for another pass,” Morgan instructed to the three mounted Shepherds, who all nodded and readied their weapons. “Left flank, as soon as Panne and Yarne engage.”

The two Taguel would be in amongst the Valmese faster than the other Shepherds, and it was pointless to try and rein them in at a time like this; especially Panne, who looked like she had been about to bite the arm off of Gaius as he had attempted to console her earlier.

_Dammit, Morgan, focus!_ She urged herself as her mind slipped backwards to the source of everyone’s pain.

Morgan’s attention was diverted from internally berating herself as Cordelia urged her mount back into the sky first, Sumia and Cherche both following soon after.

“What about us?” Nowi asked.

She was like a completely different person as she stood waiting for orders; no play, no snide remarks… she was a soldier at this moment, mourning the loss of another friend.

“As soon as Nah catches her breath make another pass over the centre line, try and soften them up a little for Prince Chrom and myself,” she said.

Nowi nodded and went off to where Nah was drinking greedily from a waterskin, preparing to make their attack.

Panne’s shout of ‘for Robin’ echoed out, and the sounds of battle increased.

Morgan winced a little and her grip tightened on her sword, but otherwise she said nothing.

When she returned to where Prince Chrom was waiting the two manaketes were already transforming, preparing to make their second attack. Morgan caught the repeated sounds of bows firing and factored in the fact that Noire and Virion had engaged; a little earlier than she had been expecting, but Virion never acted without purpose, so he’d have a good reason.

“Alright Prince Chrom,” she said, glancing around the rock they were behind. “We’re next.”

She looked up, meeting the Prince’s gaze; he had a strange, pained look on his face, but said nothing, nodding and rising to his feet.

Morgan glanced up and back as a wall of flames spread across the opening to the small valley they’d set their trap in; unfortunately Miriel, Henry and the other mages would all be forced to maintain the spell, effectively removing them from the battle.

_Well,_ Morgan thought, watching as Tharja strode past them, her eyes glowing with incandescent concentrated mana. _Most of the mages, anyway._

She stood off to the side some way, opposite to the direction of the boulder Virion and Noire were using as a sighting platform through the smoke, and began casting.

Morgan could feel a huge amount of mana being collected, and as she watched Tharja waved her elegant hands, fist sized balls of black flames darting out and detonating among the Valmese forces.

Morgan noticed Chrom’s expression darken and jaw tighten as he watched Tharja work, but he shifted his attention back as he realized their turn had come.

“Stay close to me, Morgan,” he said without turning around. “I always trusted your father to watch my back. Those are some pretty big shoes to fill, but…”

Chrom looked over his shoulder as he went to step around the rock they were using as cover.

“I know you’ll do fine,” he said with a sad smile.

Morgan nodded resolutely, and the duo charged towards the Valmese line.

Chrom roared wordlessly, venting his rage and frustration as they neared the terrified Valmese soldiers, Morgan emulating him as they tore into the line of men like a blade through warm butter.

The line buckled around the two Shepherds, Chrom becoming an unstoppable force of nature as his sword darted left and right, up and down, blazing with blue fire the entire time. Morgan did her best to keep pace, but had to keep pausing to check the Shepherds’ positions and progress, and she quickly fell behind, relying on quick spells when she did to thin the soldiers crowding the Prince’s flanks.

Tharja had completed her incredibly destructive Dark Magic, and had returned to casting the smaller, but no less effective, nature-based spells she used when she was tired. Panne’s group had caught up with her, and they were making good progress on the left flank, while Frederick’s team had reduced the right flank to ribbons. Arrows continued to rain down from Virion and Noire, but now that they had the enemy’s location committed to memory they constantly moved along the front line at a safe distance, striking indiscriminately with deadly accurate shots. Lady Cordelia and the other fliers circled above them, causing havoc every time they threw a spear or swooped down, taking turns and randomizing the places they attacked, never striking the same place twice.

And among all of the carnage, while Morgan had hung back to survey and make sure her plan went smoothly she caught sight of the enemy general, her Uncle Yen’fay, standing his ground and calmly watching the battle unfold, occasionally shifting his head to one side and barking an order. She could only liken him to an immovable rock being battered by a fierce storm.

Before Morgan could point the General out to Prince Chrom a white blur sped by her, racing toward Yen’fay.

“Yen’fay!” her mother roared, crossing the space in the blink of an eye. “Monster! I cannot let you live! Draw your blade, and let it sing your final words!”

*

Chrom ran forward as fast as his legs could carry him at the Valmese line.

He roared incoherently, bringing Falchion up as the blade blazed with blue fire from within. The red-armoured men at the front actually began to retreat a few steps, bumping their comrades behind as they did so in the face of the Prince of Ylisse’s wrath.

Falchion cut through the air in a wide circle, a trail of blood following in its wake as Chrom spun amongst the closely-packed front line, forcing his way further in and hacking laterally with his sword as he did.

He glanced back, noting with some satisfaction that Morgan was keeping pace with him in the melee, but the girl kept glancing up at the rest of the battle, looking over the Shepherds the way another tactician used to.

_The way her father would have._

Chrom roared again, redoubling his efforts and trying to banish the painful thoughts. There would be time enough for mourning later.

He glared around him, closing with the next knot of soldiers faster than they could react and leaving Morgan behind as she surveyed the field.

Chrom spun and twisted, avoiding haphazard reprisals to his brutal charge and taking the unit apart man by man until he was surrounded by bodies, ready to move on to the next as random spells created space around him thanks to the efforts of his new tactician.

He stopped suddenly as a white-armoured form darted in front of him, angling for a soldier wearing a black head-dress desperately trying to marshal some form of resistance.

The whole battlefield seemed to stop to watch as the woman charging at Yen’fay shouted her challenge, Chrom included.

*

Yen’fay recoiled from his sister’s wrath, bringing Amatsu up as fast as he could to fend off the ferocious strength of her maddened blows.

They separated, Yen’fay taking a few steps back to open space between them and gauge his opponent. The battlefield faded to nothing, the sounds of his men dying becoming a dull roar in the back of his mind as they faced each other.

_She was here…_

With a wordless growl of pure rage and hate Say’ri launched another blistering offensive, striking with more speed than Yen’fay could counter and breaking through his guard more than once, her blade bouncing off of his thicker armour.

Say’ri hesitated at the last moment, though, and Yen’fay hopped out of her range again as the woman held her side, breathing raggedly. She was already wounded, and yet she had chosen to cross blades with him? He’d always been the superior swordsman, always; why would she put herself at risk like this?

All he had to do was wait for the wound to take its toll. She would get tired, and very soon at this rate…

He didn’t want that. His redemption demanded a fair fight when Say’ri was at her full strength, not while she was wounded. He wanted, no, needed, her to strike him down without hesitation, but honour demanded could not simply let her.

“You are wounded,” Yen’fay said, his voice as carefully expressionless as his face.

“Silence!” Say’ri screamed, her voice breaking.

“It’s your fault!” she roared, charging in again and forcing Yen’fay to remain on the defensive. “He’s dead because of you! They all are! Mother and father, too! I name you coward! Craven! Traitor!”

Yen’fay fell back, her verbal assault stinging as it hit its mark; but she wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t already come to realize himself.

Yen’fay spotted an opening, and silently put his sister on the defensive, taking long, elegant swipes with the tip of his longer sword to put some space back between them.

Realizing she was losing ground Say’ri pushed back relentlessly and the two siblings traded blows, neither giving up ground to the other as sparks flew from their clashing swords.

After five blows in quick succession Yen’fay struck low on Say’ri’s wounded side, where she was just a fraction too slow to block, and scored a deep wound on her unprotected leg.

She staggered back and he let her go, opening space between them as she glared at Yen’fay with undisguised disgust and loathing.

“Brother,” she said, calming a little. “I won't ask you why... We are well beyond that point now. I will speak it plain: I cannot forgive you, and neither can I let you live.”

“I've asked you for nothing, Sister, least of all your forgiveness.”

Yen’fay was surprised his voice didn’t break as he said that. He wanted nothing more than her forgiveness.

_I do not need to ask for what I seek, though. I know you will be my death, sister._

“But you will have my justice, like it or no!” Say’ri roared, roughly tearing a strip from her skirt and tying it around her leg wound.

“You, who stood by in silence while everyone around you suffered! While villages were razed and fields burned, you watched but said nothing... When Father and Mother were murdered—you said nothing! Nothing, before you ran to the arms of the one man responsible for all of it! Your silence was deafening. Maddening. Even now...have you nothing to say?!”

Yen’fay was struck silent by her accusations; every word of it cut him to the very bone because every word was true. His grip tightened on Amatsu, his father’s sword.

He held his tongue; to try and excuse his actions would heap more shame upon his already tarnished honour, so he said nothing.

“Damn you, Yen’fay,” Say’ri said in a broken tone, looking away from him. “You’ve cost me everything.”

The fire returned to her eyes as her gaze snapped back up and she rushed forward.

“You will die here by my blade!” she promised, slashing high. “You will take no more!”

Yen’fay countered, the hate in her glare breaking his heart.

They continued to trade blows, Yen’fay actively ignoring the openings her wounded, tired swordsmanship left him. She was more than just wounded physically, though; he had to wonder at what had happened to her to break her spirit so, she who had turned her back on her family and homeland to defend her ideals with her head held high.

Who did she refer to besides their parents that he had stolen from her?

Had he truly caused this? Had his weakness and fear for her life caused this result?

He had gone to Walhart to protect her from the assassins that had killed their parents; he’d tried so hard to shield her from everything, and yet still she’d chosen to fight against him.

Across the battlefield, out of the corner of his eye he noticed a quick flash of a black coat, and in his distraction he turned his head, eyes widening as he stared at a younger version of Say’ri wearing strange, outlandish clothes, watching their duel. She even had the same sword…

Yen’fay hesitated for a split second as his mind wandered, jumping a little as fire exploded in his chest.

He looked down, Say’ri’s sword buried almost to the hilt in his chest-plate.

She glared up at him defiantly, no remorse for having killed her last living family member.

Amatsu fell from nerveless fingers, clattering loudly on the burning stone beneath their feet.

_Perhaps… not her last kin after all,_ he thought, looking again at the girl in the black coat.

Yen’fay looked back into the eyes of his sister and smiled, reaching up a trembling, blood-coated hand to stroke her face.

“You have grown… so strong… sister…” he gasped, his hand falling away.

Say’ri gnashed her teeth together, forcing her sword deeper into his chest as she growled before looking away.

“Do you… do you mock me!?” she said, her voice wavering. “I’ve seen your best swordplay, brother; that wasn’t it.”

Say’ri tore her sword free, and Yen’fay sank to his knees, blood bubbling to his lips and leaking out of his armour, even as he grasped at the hole in the front.

“Why did you go easy on me?” she asked in a genuinely curious tone.

_Did I?_ He wondered absently as darkness began to gather at the corners of his vision. _Did I pull my blows, unaware I was doing it? It would be just like you to make me do such a thing without even thinking, dearest sister…_

“What I could not tell you in life... I say with my death...” Yen’fay gasped instead, still smiling up as Say’ri knelt in front of him.

“Yen’fay,” she said, reaching out her hands to his wound uncertainly.

He caught them, feeling her strong, thin fingers in his own one final time.

“You have found...strong comrades... I no longer need fear for you... I die... in peace...”

Tears started to fall down Say’ri’s cheeks as his hands went limp, falling to his sides.

_I am sorry, sister,_ he thought, no longer able to speak. _Even in my last moments I cause you pain… Please, lead our people better than I did._

“Yen'fay, wait!” Say’ri shouted, grabbing him by the shoulders and holding him up as he swayed, strength leaving him as the darkness closed in.

“What do you mean?” she pleaded. “Why?! Don't leave me with more silence - not this time! Yen'fay!”

_I love, you, sister. I’m sorry._

*

Chrom watched as the siblings faced off, resulting in Yen’fay’s death.

Where Say’ri had come from during the fight he wasn’t sure; he had thought to spare her the pain of having to fight her own brother, but…

Weapons hit the ground as Valmese men closest to the Prince gave up, the last of the fight leaving them as they watched their general die.

“Shepherds!” Chrom called out, specifically in Frederick’s direction. “Secure the prisoners! No man is to be harmed as long as they surrender unconditionally.”

Some of the Valmese men around him actually sagged to the ground with relief, and as one the rest of them threw down their weapons, the sound echoing in the small valley. With no more need of it the mages maintaining both the wall of flames and the smoke cover were finally able to let the spells finish, and the air instantly started to clear.

The Valmese began to group together under Frederick’s watchful glare, hands on their heads as they sat in a large knot in the middle of the empty space.

The Shepherds began to return to where the healers were waiting with Jake and Olivia, some looking quite beaten up, in Vaike’s case, but all moving under their own power. Still, a melancholy hung over all of them as they reassembled, leaving the Knights to watch over the unresisting prisoners.

Chrom looked around, his gaze stopping when he realized that Morgan was standing away from everyone else, unmoving since her mother’s duel with Yen’fay had started. He debated going over and trying to lead the girl away, but hesitated.

Now that battle was over he wasn’t sure he could face Morgan.

Chrom sighed, watching as Virion appeared next to Morgan, taking the girl by the arm.

“Come,” he said gently, steering her away from where Say’ri still knelt by her brother. “We should leave her grieve in peace.”

Morgan nodded numbly, looking down. Chrom nodded his thanks to the archer as they drew nearer. Virion grinned and winked at the Prince, before his face grew sombre again.

He glanced over to Noire, back to shuddering and trying to hide behind her bow as she hesitantly approached the group, watching Morgan with concern. Her dual personalities had concerned Chrom at first, but the other future children never mentioned it and it definitely made things more interesting around camp, so he’d chosen to leave her be.

Her eyes briefly met Chrom’s and he gave her a tired smile and an encouraging nod, and she rushed to help Virion with Morgan, latching on to the other girl’s side.

“Our victory is secured,” Virion said, his voice much flatter than his usual flamboyant tones as he left Morgan with Noire. “Yen’fay has fallen.”

Morgan winced a little at his words, clinging tighter to the archer girl’s arm.

“Well then let’s tend the wounded,” Chrom said tiredly. “We need to-”

Everyone spun, facing to where the Valmese prisoners were being herded when an explosion scattered the surrendered soldiers, flames devouring the entire area. Frederick, the closest Shepherd to the blast, was thrown back several feet, landing heavily while the other Knights were simply bowled over by the blast.

The Valmese men weren’t so lucky, many being reduced to ashes almost instantly as those on the periphery frantically tried to smother the magical flames licking at their flesh.

“Fools!” a high-pitched voice roared from above the canyon. “Emperor Walhart does not tolerate failure!”

Another blast of flames flew down, finishing off the Valmese soldiers still standing and knocking Chrom and many of the others off their feet.

Say’ri was suddenly beside Chrom, pulling him up and looking around the tops of the valley.

“Excellus!” she shouted, her voice hoarse but strong. “Show yourself and I will grant you a swift end!”

There was a bright flash of light, and appearing within a golden magical circle was a short, greasy looking man that Chrom knew only by reputation.

Excellus ran a fat tongue over his lips before he spoke.

“Oh?” he said excitedly, as if he were speaking to an old friend he had not seen in a long time. “A swift end like you granted your dear brother? Ah, but what an end that was!”

Excellus laughed as Virion released three arrows in quick succession, all of them deflecting off of a golden magical field before he continued his mocking tirade.

“I managed to get a good view of your fight,” Excellus chuckled as he stepped closer, the barrier moving with him as he ignored the archer’s efforts. “Did you see the grief etched on his face? The mixture of pain and longing in his eyes? He had become such an accomplished actor, but in the end that was all too real!”

Excellus began to chortle, before giving in and laughing fully in Say’ri’s face, before sighing like he’d just savoured a particularly tasty meal.

“It was truly magnificent that you cut him down, never knowing how he truly felt. Or… why he bent his knee to my lord.”

“Loathsome toad!” Say’ri raged, striking futilely at the barrier surrounding Excellus. “What do you know of my brother!? Tell me!”

Chrom grit his teeth at Excellus’ bearing, trying to figure out a plan of attack. Morgan watched on, obviously doing the same while instinctively shielding Noire from the confrontation; the fire had returned to the other girl’s eyes, though, and she stood close to her friend with an arrow nocked and ready. Virion did the same near Chrom, edging further away and trying to get a better angle on the Valmese tactician.

_How such a man can call himself by the same title that Robin had inspired so much respect and trust in..._ Chrom thought indignantly, his fist tightening on Falchion’s grip.

Excellus continued to laugh, even when Say’ri stepped away from the barrier, her shoulders heaving with exhausted gasps as she glared at the man.

“Oh, I’d say I know a little more than you, Princess,” Excellus taunted. “But I’d watch my mouth were I you. I am honouring Yen’fay’s sacrifice by not killing you right now, but even I have my limits.”

“What do you mean ‘sacrifice’?” Say’ri asked, freezing in place as his words sunk in.

A chill passed through Chrom at Excellus’ words, and he finally understood why Yen’fay had split his forces, advancing with the conscripts rather than his vanguard.

“Say’ri, don’t listen to-” Chrom tried to say, reaching for the woman’s arm, his speech being cut off as Excellus burst out laughing again.

“Oopsie! Did I spill the beans!?” He giggled hysterically. “I’m so sorry, I promised your dear brother I’d never tell-”

“Explain yourself, snake!” Say’ri shouted, striking again at Excellus’ barrier.

“Give up, Princess; you cannot harm me,” Excellus said, his face growing cold as the false cheer finally dropped. “You live only by my good graces right now, so show some respect you ungrateful harlot!”

The rage on Say’ri’s face intensified as she drew back her sword to strike again, only to hesitate at what Excellus said next.

“I could have killed you dozens of times over the last few years,” he purred. “Valm Harbour… Chengshi… the Capital… even in your precious Chon’sin! I’ve always, always been one step away from ramming the knife in your ribs, woman; were it not for Yen’fay’s… ‘conditions’ of his service to the Empire.”

Say’ri reeled, falling back a few steps before Morgan caught her, glaring daggers at the other tactician.

“N-no…” Say’ri gasped. “You lie!”

“Oh? Did Yen’fay not groan out the truth as you pierced his heart?” Excellus whispered to her, drawing closer. “No, I suppose not. He always was a quiet one; and so honourable, don’t you think?”

Say’ri trembled, her eyes wide as the full realization of what she’d done fell upon her. Excellus didn’t relent though; the sick bastard was obviously enjoying himself.

“Yet he swallowed his pride and bent his knee to another, casting aside his vaunted honour to serve my lord. All for the sake of his beloved kin…”

“No…” Say’ri begged, closing her eyes tightly and facing away.

“He did it for you, Princess,” Excellus said with relish.

“Silence!” Say’ri shrieked, falling to her knees in Morgan’s protective embrace. “Liar! You lie!”

Excellus scoffed. “No, I’m actually telling the truth, which I do admit is a rare treat, so were I you I would shut up and enjoy it.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I feel so much better with that off my chest!” he added after a tense moment’s silence, laughing and spinning away from Say’ri to face Chrom like some grotesque dancer.

“Prince Chrom, I take it? Your little rag-tag group is exhausted from that fight, no? What if I told you that just outside this valley are nearly a thousand of our dear, departed Yen’fay’s finest soldiers, merely waiting for my order to advance, hrm? I could save you from them, though… all you would have to do is serve me! What do you say?”

Chrom opened his mouth, about to tell the tactician that the Shepherds would fight him and whatever he threw at them to the death, but his words never got the chance to leave his mouth before three lightning bolts struck Excellus’ barrier in quick succession, throwing up a thick cloud of smoke as the golden glow finally winked out.

“I would say,” Tharja said, her tone more menacing than Chrom had ever heard before, eyes blazing with mana as she lowered her outstretched hand from just behind him. “That you should start running now, toad.”

The smoke settled in a matter of seconds, Excellus quaking in a circle of thick burns on the ground around him, his jaw hanging slack as all the confidence he had had earlier disappeared instantly.

A golden light flashed again, but Virion had wasted no time and let loose three arrows at once.

Excellus disappeared as the arrows buried themselves in the ground where he had been standing.

“Damn him!” Chrom roared. “Shepherds! Prepare for imminent assault! Form ranks around me!”

He noticed Frederick among the press of Shepherds pushing to create a line, his clothes and armour scorched black. Chrom couldn’t tell from this distance if he was wounded, but he moved easily enough, so the Prince let his retainer be.

“I hope I did not overstep my bounds, Prince Chrom,” Tharja said with a light bow.

Chrom shook his head as the other Shepherds that were still mobile began to crowd around him, grinning at the Dark Mage.

“No, that was much more eloquent than what I was about to say,” he told her with a chuckle. “Good work, Tharja.”

The Dark Mage nodded, stepping away and retreating a few more feet so she’d be out of the way during the fight. But… after so many spells, shouldn’t she have been exhausted? How was she still capable of fighting?

Chrom put it out of his mind as he watched Morgan haul her mother to her feet.

“I am fine,” Say’ri said, stepping back from her daughter and trying to hide the tears falling from her eyes.

“Mother, enough already!” Morgan pleaded. “You’ve done enough today! Please, just-”

“Say’ri,” Chrom said, cutting Morgan off and stepping in close to the two women. “Are you sure?”

The woman in white armour nodded while Morgan gaped at the Prince in astonishment.

“Then stay close to me in this fight, both of you,” Chrom ordered, turning and moving to where the line was forming.

Chrom took a few steps, halting when he realized Virion was kneeling in the circle that had been Excellus’ barrier until Tharja had broken through it.

“Virion?” Chrom called.

The archer glanced up, grinning as he rose, holding two arrows between his fingers.

“I got him,” Virion said triumphantly, twirling the two arrows between his fingers before slipping them back into his almost-empty quiver. “I shot three, and there’s only two here. I got the wastrel.”

Chrom nodded with a satisfied grin, beginning to move again as the archer headed to where Tharja and Noire were setting up; he could see Jake rushing out with more arrows for them, and a big waterskin no doubt courtesy of Olivia.

As he walked he could hear the sounds of two pairs of boots following him.

_Good,_ he thought. _This is their fight, too. Say’ri needs to see this through to the end, or it will break her. As for Morgan… well, she’s strong like her father. She’ll be alright._

*

Excellus stumbled as he rematerialized just outside of the small camp that the Chon’sin soldiers had set up outside the Demon’s Ingle, gripping the shaft of the arrow buried in his shoulder.

The blasted Ylisseans had actually broken through the magic of Walhart’s ancient relic-ring and wounded him…

It was unthinkable!

He stumbled into the camp, glaring around as the soldiers eyed him silently and unmoving.

“Well are you all going to sit there or is someone going to get me a healer!?” Excellus shrieked, his rage building as none of the grey and red armoured soldiers moved to assist him.

One of them, Yen’fay’s lieutenant, stepped forward.

“Our General,” he said slowly. “What has become of him?”

“The fool is dead!” Excellus roared, falling to his knees as he pulled at the arrow buried in his flesh.

By the gods it _hurt…_

“I see,” the lieutenant said softly, turning away from Excellus.

“Somebody kill the tactician,” the lieutenant added in his native tongue, probably unaware that Excellus spoke it, waving dismissively over his shoulder. “His head will make a fine peace offering for our new Queen.”

Now the soldiers began to move, slowly advancing on Excellus as they drew their weapons.

_What?_ Excellus thought, eyes wide with panic as he looked around him.

_What what what what WHAT!?_

The pudgy tactician paled as they stepped closer, willing the ring to take him away, anywhere far, _far_ away from them…

*

In a blinding flash, Excellus was gone.

Keiji spun around, cursing in his own language.

“You should have moved faster!” he shouted to the nearest men. “He’s gotten away!”

“Peace, Keiji,” a feminine voice said from near his shoulder. “Lady Say’ri would not have been won over by such barbarous means, anyway. She is peaceful at her core.”

Keiji nodded, not surprised by his cousin’s sudden appearance and taking a calming breath.

“Seiko, I want you marching at the front with me,” he said to the master spy that had contacted him after the destruction of Fortress Steiger.

It was good that she was still alive; Keiji had been unsettled by the prospect of informing his Aunt and Uncle that he’d let their daughter perish in the war, opposing Chon’sin, no less; and he was quite fond of her, which was why he had risked his life harbouring her after the explosion at Fortress Steiger.

“Me?” she laughed as the soldiers around them returned to their stations. “That’s a little different than what I normally do…”

“We are not actually marching,” Keiji explained as four other men, the leaders of the four main divisions, strode up behind them.

“We, Yen’fay’s Lieutenants, will go to the Ylisseans.”

He turned to face the Demon’s Ingle.

“And we will throw ourselves on the mercy of our new Queen,” Keiji added quietly.

*

“No prisoners!” Liung roared over the heads of his men, scouring any trace of the red-armoured force that had assaulted them from the land.

The King of Chengshi thrust his spear into the back of the Valmese soldier he’d just knocked to the ground, looking up when one of his men called to him.

“Lord! The men of Chon’sin are on the move!”

Liung spat onto the grass near his feet before pulling his spear out and jogging up the edge of the low valley they’d set up in to get a better view.

The Valmese men had blundered right into Liung’s superior positions with nearly two-thousand men; the King of Chengshi had chosen only five-hundred of his best men to mount the rearguard with him.

The Valmese men had never stood a chance, Liung thought with a dark grin.

His men were dirty, and they were tired, but still they were the masters of combat with the weapons of their choice, trained from early childhood to handle the weapons. They were his honour-guard, and had slaughtered the Valmese men foolish enough to step foot into the valley behind the Ylissean League.

Liung squinted in the afternoon sun, shading his eyes as he tried to see what the scout had.

The King let his hand slowly drop before he nodded and turned away.

“Lord, shall we prepare to engage?” the scout asked eagerly.

“No,” Liung said, thinking fondly of his fallen friend, Yen’fay. “They do not march to war, lad. This has nothing to do with us. Tend to the wounded and see to the dead. Rout the enemy and leave their corpses to rot.”

*

Chrom watched suspiciously as five armoured figures and one smaller, lighter figure strode towards the waiting Shepherds.

None of them held weapons in their hands, but all were still armed and armoured. However their armour was more ornate then an average soldier’s, denoting them as at least mid-ranking officers.

“We come on behalf of the forces of Chon’sin!” the man in the lead, the afternoon sun glinting off his red and grey polished lacquer armour, the same style as Say’ri’s called as they approached.

The woman in question stirred as the Chon’sin soldiers stopped about twenty meters away from the Shepherds, eying them curiously from over Chrom’s shoulder.

“We come to surrender to the Ylissean League on the condition we first be allowed to speak to the Lady Say’ri, Princess of Chon’sin!”

Say’ri pushed forward, limping a little on her wounded leg as she stepped out. With only a moment’s hesitation Chrom and Morgan followed her.

“I am the Lady Say’ri,” she said in a regal voice, reminding Chrom once again that he wasn’t the only royalty in the Shepherds anymore.

The five men looked at her for a moment, as if to be sure of her identity before the man in the lead nodded and dropped to his knees, legs tucked beneath his body and prostrating himself before them. As one the four other soldiers followed suit, their brows practically touching the stone beneath them they were bowed so low.

“Lady Say’ri, we ask your forgiveness and your mercy,” the lead man said without looking up.

Chrom and Morgan both gaped, mouths wide open as Say’ri looked at the men, unsure how to proceed.

“What…?” she asked, hesitating.

Her gaze met that of the woman standing behind the prostrate soldiers, and Seiko gave her a little smile and wave, nodding towards the soldiers encouragingly.

“I am Keiji, my lady,” the lead man said. “I was Yen’fay’s second, and my lord bid me serve you after his death.”

The other four men repeated this phrase, replacing Keiji’s name and rank with their own while Say’ri watched on dumbstruck.

“We are all sworn to serve at your will, my Lady,” Keiji said, finally sitting up. “If it is your will, we are prepared to offer our lives as payment for betraying our honour and our homeland.”

Keiji looked up at her expectantly, his hand resting on the hilt of a dagger on his belt.

“That will not be necessary,” Say’ri said after a moment.

“Then… you will accept our sworn service?” Keiji asked hopefully.

“I… will,” Say’ri said hesitantly.

“Then I speak for all soldiers of Chon’sin when I say that we swear to serve you until death, Lady Say’ri, Queen of Chon’sin.”

*

“That was… unexpected,” Chrom said as he leaned on the map table in the command tent.

“True, but a powerful boon nonetheless,” Virion said, tapping a finger to his chin in thought.

“Indeed,” Liung agreed, glancing around at the tired faces. “The soldiers of Chon’sin are great warriors, not mere conscripts like the bulk of Walhart’s armies. They have honed their martial skills to an art-form, seeking perfection on the field of battle.”

“And now their armies are ours,” Morgan said, making a few notes on a paper.

“Still seems a little too good to be true,” Roark muttered, forever playing the Devil’s advocate.

Chrom nodded again, stifling a yawn.

It had been a long day, and evening had finally fallen. This impromptu war council was the last thing they would be doing before he retired for some well-earned rest. Say’ri had gone with the Chon’sin soldiers intending to organize them to fall in with the rest of the Ylissean League, although Chrom suspected that she likely wished to bury her grief in work.

It had been a day of great loss for all the Shepherds, and their grief was finally starting to catch up with them.

“If that is all, my Lords, I shall take my leave,” Virion said, bowing with a flourish. “I find myself in desperate need of rest. I bid you all good even.”

Chrom nodded, and the archer left the tent. He had been fairly stoic throughout the day’s events, especially considering how close to Robin he had been, and had earned his rest.

“I’ll organize the guard roster for the camp tonight,” Roark said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Since Knight-Commander Frederick is incapacitated.”

The Duke nodded and took his leave, off to find the lesser tacticians among the Ylissean force and sort out a rough duty roster.

Frederick had been a little scorched by Excellus’ attack, but was otherwise fine. The burns to his face had been healed without leaving a single scar, but he was physically exhausted by the ordeal and Lissa had been quite firm in her orders that he take proper rest. Chrom had no doubt that he was in his tent buffing his burnt chest plate back to its usual lustre instead.

“Your men were truly indispensable in protecting our troops today, Lord Liung,” Chrom said gratefully. “If you wish to you may retire. I would say you’ve earned some rest.”

“Haven’t we all, lad,” Liung said, casting a glance in Morgan’s direction.

The young tactician was still scribbling away undaunted at the papers around her, occasionally pausing and consulting the maps and troop rosters spread out on the table as she worked.

News had spread about Robin’s demise, and rather than celebrate their hard-won victory this day, the entire army was mourning the well-liked tactician’s loss.

“You should get some rest as well, Prince Chrom,” Liung said kindly. “A ruler needs his rest, and I say this from ample experience.”

Chrom nodded.

“Of course. My next stop is my tent; I may swing by the mess first, though. A ruler can’t fight on an empty stomach.”

Liung nodded, casting one final glance at Morgan before leaving.

As far as the King of Chengshi was concerned Morgan was nothing more than Robin’s apprentice, but the bond between the two was plain to see if you watched them for more than thirty seconds, and as stoic as the warrior King tried to be he had truly liked Robin. That he was worried for the man’s apprentice spoke well of his compassion as a ruler, making Chrom feel that his decision to reach out to the man had been well placed.

“Come on, Morgan,” Chrom said, rising from the table.

“I’m almost done,” she said absently, not looking up from her work.

If he were dealing with Robin Chrom might have simply taken the writing implement out of the tactician’s hand, thrown him over his shoulder and forced him back into his tent. But Morgan wasn’t her father, and Chrom was still unsure about how to deal with her.

“Of course,” Chrom said quietly. “Just… don’t stay in here all night. I need you well rested, after all.”

“Yes, Prince Chrom,” Morgan said, glancing up and giving him a small smile. “Pleasant dreams.”

Chrom left the tent with an odd feeling in his gut; something was bothering him, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something Morgan had said…

Chrom ruminated on this question the entire way to the mess tent.

*

Virion stood alone, tense and unmoving in the tent he shared with Cherche, his bow gripped tightly in one trembling hand. He had already removed the belts and equipment that he usually wore, piling them all on the small table off to one side of the tent.

He grit his teeth, scrunching his eyes closed and willing himself to be calm.

But as he realized he was alone for the first time that day the dam holding his emotions in check broke, and everything he’d supressed came flooding to the fore.

With and anguished cry he hurled his bow to the floor of the tent, his precious weapon thudding dully and bouncing off into the corner of the small space.

His breath coming out in ragged gasps the archer leaned against the table, his head hanging low as he fought back his grief.

With another wordless shout Virion threw his arms out and swept the equipment off the table in one brutal movement, pounding his fists onto the thin wooden surface over and over, shouting with pain and loss every time his fists hit the table.

He spun, lashing out at the nearest of the two chairs in the tent with his foot and sending the small piece of furniture flying across the space, before finally calming and falling to his knees.

“Dammit Robin,” the noble archer sobbed, his head hanging so low his chin brushed his chest. “Of all of us… why you?”

Warm hands that smelt of wyvern hide wrapped gently around his shoulders, slipping around him as Cherche embraced him from behind, the way she always did.

“Do you feel better now, Lord Virion?” she asked in a quiet voice.

Virion made a strangled half-laugh, half-sob as he reached up, wrapping both of his betrothed’s hands in one of his.

“No,” he admitted. “I merely have bruised knuckles and a mess to clean up now.”

Cherche sighed into his shoulder as she held him.

“I should have been there with him,” Virion said after a long silence, his voice thick. “He needed me to watch his back, the way I always did, but I wasn’t there, and-”

_Now he’s dead._ Virion couldn’t say the words.

Cherche gently shushed Virion, stroking his head in a comforting manner as he quietly grieved for the loss of someone that had been closer than family to him.

*

Tharja swayed a little as she approached her tent, catching herself before anyone noticed.

She’d pushed herself a lot harder than she’d intended after cursing herself with Vengeance, and now her body was paying the price; it was quite possible that she was presently dying.

That was the curse of Vengeance; it lent incredible power to the person afflicted by the curse, but at the cost of draining their life-force years at a time in exchange.

And Tharja had been using it constantly for the entire afternoon.

But, she thought as she swept aside the tent’s flaps and strode in, she couldn’t die yet. Not until every Valmese soldier was dead, and had suffered for robbing the world of such a great man.

Her fists clenched unconsciously as she looked around the tent with an empty gaze.

She went to take another step, but her exhausted legs gave way beneath her and she fell forward, landing hard on her hands and knees as she began to violently cough up blood onto the floor of her tent.

She fought to remain conscious, telling herself that Robin would have been strong enough to handle something like this…

“Good gracious,” a familiar voice said as thin, cool hands lifted her up, bringing her towards her cot.

“I don’t know who cursed you, but they did a real good job,” Henry said as he carefully laid Tharja down.

“What are… you…?” Tharja managed to groan, intending to ask the man why he was here.

Henry ignored her, carefully inspecting her hand; the one she had used to trigger the curse. A deep red line crossed the other two scars on her palm, and Tharja realized for the first time that she didn’t want anyone else looking at those scars.

Henry frowned for a second before his smile returned, carefully and almost intimately running the tips of his fingers over the welts.

“Aw, did you cast Vengeance while I wasn’t around to watch? I always wanted to see how that spell worked. You know, without killing myself in the process.”

He chuckled a little to himself as he stood and began rifling through Tharja’s reagents, taking a few pinches of powder from various jars and holding them in the palm of his hand.

Tharja went to protest at the invasion of her personal space, but could only manage a weak moan before she began to cough violently again, more blood flying from her mouth and making a mess on her chin.

“I may have to work fast,” Henry said, more to himself than to her, as he gently dabbed the corner of a cloth at the blood coating her chin. “Looks like you’re fading faster!”

Henry chuckled again as he brought his ceremonial dagger out from behind his back, holding it up above Tharja. She gasped in surprise as he ran the blade across his own palm, through the small mound of reagents, the powders mixing with his blood in his palm.

“Ouchies!” Henry giggled, his smile growing wider. “Yeesh, that smarts!”

Tharja watched bewildered as he took her wounded hand in his own, before she felt a powerful curse binding the two wounds magically together. In an instant she felt better, stronger, as the curse worked its magic.

After a few moments Henry sank back, their hands coming apart as the man fell to the floor, laughing tiredly.

“I hope that worked,” he chuckled. “Cause I literally don’t have another one of those in me.”

Tharja sat up, bringing her feet to the floor of the tent as she regarded Henry, clenching and unclenching her completely healed hand.

“What did you just do to me?” she asked, genuinely curious. She’d never seen a curse like that before…

“You used up your entire lifespan with that Vengeance curse, right? So I gave you about half of my life,” Henry said offhandly as he inspected the way the blood was trickling down his wrist. “Someone as obsessed with death as I am doesn’t need that much life, anyway!”

Henry started giggling again as he finally wrapped a cloth around his wounded hand, looking up at Tharja and growing serious for the first time since she’d met him.

“But I gave that to you on the condition that you don’t use a Vengeance curse again, got it? Unless I’m dead. Then you can avenge me. Ooh, and Noire too! No, wait, I’ll avenge Noire.”

“Henry… you…” Tharja said, at a loss for words.

“Why did you do that?” she finally managed.

Henry smiled wide and shrugged, splaying his hands out behind him as he leaned back.

“Because I love you, stupid!” he said with a laugh. “Why else?”

Tharja blinked a few times, looking at the smiling man sitting before her with open eyes for the first time. He said he loved her, and gave her half of his life without expecting anything in return. He’d done that for her, who had never been anything but cold and callous towards him…

What a fool she’d been.

Tharja moved forward, coming to her knees in front of Henry’s smiling face and pressing her lips to his.

Henry wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him as their kiss deepened, before pulling away with a sad smile on his face.

“You know I’m not him, right?” he said with a rueful chuckle.

Tharja reached up to stroke Henry’s cheek with her newly healed hand.

“I don’t want him.”

_Not like that. Not anymore. Please… help me forget._

Henry nodded and grinned, apparently satisfied with her answer as he leaned forward, their lips meeting again with a passion and hunger she hadn’t known Henry had possessed.

*

Frederick grunted as he worked at the groove just under the chest-plate of his armour by candlelight, trying to get a stubborn patch of soot to come off the white plate. He’d been buffing and polishing for hours now, ever since the Princess had ordered him to rest in his tent and forbade him from doing any of his usual duties for fear of his health, but he’d finally-

A rustling outside of his small, spartan tent made him look up quickly, barking out “Who’s there!?” in his drill instructor voice as one hand reached for his sword.

There was a surprised squeak from outside the tent, before a small hand drew his tent flap back and a red-haired figure stepped hesitantly inside the dimly lit tent.

At first he thought that Cordelia had come to check up on him, which would have been a welcome distraction that momentarily made his heart beat faster at the thought of, but instead the meek-acting woman before him was…

“Severa?” Frederick asked Cordelia’s daughter as she moved her weight from foot to foot nervously. “What’s the matter? Why were you outside my tent so late at night?”

Perhaps Cordelia had been too busy to come to check on him herself and sent her daughter instead; that would be fine, but Severa was acting very different to the way he had seen her usually acting in the camp.

“I… heard you were wounded today,” she said hesitantly, her voice small.

“It was barely a flesh wound,” Frederick said, drawing his bare torso up in the candlelight. “See? Not even a scar.”

True, he had been hurt quite seriously internally by the force of the explosive spell, but she didn’t need to know that, and neither did Cordelia.

Severa nodded, not looking at him. She was acting very strangely.

“Alright,” she said quickly, making to exit without meeting his eyes or even looking up. “I’ll let you rest, then, Knight-Commander, sir-”

“Wait,” Frederick called out, making the girl freeze in place. “Why did you come to my tent?”

Severa fidgeted again, puffing out her cheeks and trying to look indignant without looking at him.

“I had heard you were wounded,” she said, putting on the ‘I don’t care about you’ act that Frederick had become familiar with, watching her around the camp.

“A lot of Shepherds were wounded today,” Frederick pointed out, reaching for a shirt. “Did you go to see all of them, too?”

Severa deflated instantly, her act being crushed under Frederick’s logic as the Knight Commander hid his torso beneath plain white cloth.

“Er… no…” Severa admitted, wringing her hands together.

Frederick’s eyes went wide as a suspicion he’d held repressed deep within his heart came back to the fore.

“So I’m the only one you’ve come to check on, then?” he asked her.

“N-no,” Severa admitted. “I went to check on… on mother as well.”

Frederick nodded. “So what makes me special?”

Severa didn’t respond.

“Severa,” Frederick asked, moving his breastplate to the side and spinning to face her, deciding to just ask her directly; if he was wrong, he’d just apologize to her and then Cordelia in the morning, but if he was right…

“Am I your father?”

The red haired girl jerked as if struck, nodding once without looking up after a moment’s consideration.

Frederick let out a breath that he felt like he’d been holding for years.

“Why don’t you sit down?” he offered, trying to sound as gentle as he could; a tough task for someone so used to barking orders over the noise of a battlefield.

Severa shuffled over, sitting silently on the ground in front of him.

“Why didn’t you tell me when you first arrived?” Frederick asked curiously after a moment’s awkward silence.

“Are… are you mad I didn’t?” Severa asked instead of answering.

Frederick shook his head. “No, I’m sure you had a good reason. I’m merely curious now.”

“Well, you and mother… aren’t together yet, are you?” she asked. “I didn’t want you to… feel obligated to be with her… for my sake.”

Frederick shook his head, his mind going back to the night of Price Chrom’s wedding when they had spent the entire evening talking alone, and to the various other times they had spent together over the years…

“No, not yet,” Frederick repeated, reaching behind him to his footlocker. “I suppose if I’m going to share this secret with anyone, it may as well be you.”

Frederick retrieved the small ring he’d carried with him everywhere for nearly a year now, working up his courage and waiting for the right time to propose properly, as a Knight should.

“I was going to ask her once the war was over,” Frederick admitted.

Severa’s eyes widened, taking the ring in a trembling hand as she reached her other one to the thin chain around her neck, drawing something on the end of it from beneath her top.

In her other hand, hanging off the chain, was an exact copy of the ring Frederick was showing her.

The Knight Commander let out a tired chuckle as he took his ring back.

“This spoils the surprise for me, doesn’t it?” he said with wry amusement, wrapping the precious ring back in its velvet sheet and placing it safely back in his footlocker.

“Let’s just keep this between you and me, though; I’d hate to spoil the surprise for…”

Frederick’s sentence cut off when he looked back to Severa; she was finally looking up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Daddy!” she cried, throwing herself across the space and latching onto Frederick’s chest, bawling into it and repeating the word over and over.

Frederick was a little lost at first, not used to physical contact off of a battlefield, but he adjusted quickly and began comfortingly rubbing her back.

*

He sat up, holding his head and groaning.

"Where am I?" Robin asked himself looking around at the dunes of sand spread out around him in every direction.

It was night, but a full moon shed more than enough light through the cloudless sky for the tactician to see by. Not that it helped; he didn't even know there were deserts in Valm, let alone where they were.

He turned in a slow circle, unease growing.

This wasn't right… he had just been on the walls of Fortress Steiger, fighting alone to save Lucina and the others, to give them enough time to escape…

All he could see in every direction was sand dunes; no rocks, no shrubs, just the uniform dunes, as far as the eye could see.

" _You're dead,"_ a voice said from behind him. _"Or close enough to come here, anyway."_

Robin spun. He had _just_ looked behind himself, and no one had been there.

"You!?" he asked quickly, hand dropping to a sword he already knew wouldn't be there. "What do you want!?"

He tried gathering mana for a spell, but nothing happened. No sword. No magic…

" _You can relax,"_ the cowled figure said in a calm voice, drawing the hood away from his face. _"I'm only here as a guide."_

Robin nodded, staring into his own face for the second time in his life.

Only this face had the endless black orbs of someone infused with Dark Magic for eyes, just like Plegia's Hierophant.

Robin didn't hesitate. He crossed the distance between them and put all of his anger, frustration and rage into a single punch, laying the copy of himself out on the sand before him.

The copy, no doubt the voice in his head, fell flat on his back. It looked up at him and laughed in the same way it always did.

" _Feel better now?"_

"I should kill you with my bare hands," Robin snarled.

" _If it were that easy you would have done it by now,"_ the copy said, suddenly behind him.

Robin whirled, taking a few steps back.

"What the hell are you!?"

" _You,"_ the reflection said in an almost bored tone, ignoring the thin line of blood leaking from the corner of its mouth as it smiled evilly. _"Or at least a part of you. The part you don't want to admit you have; the dark side that the ladies seem to love so much. Hence the eyes."_

"Okay, well go away then."

_I spend too much time talking to myself as it is,_ Robin added mentally.

" _Believe me, I would if I could. If I go away you're stuck here, and so am I. There's no me without you and vice versa, comprende?"_

Robin groaned, holding a hand to his head.

"This is making my head hurt."

" _No, the concussion is making your head hurt. Once we wake up you might not want to go back to sleep for a little while."_

"I think you mean 'if' we wake up," Robin sighed. "Okay, so you're my guide. Then guide me. Where are we going?"

" _Nowhere,"_ the reflection said, turning in a slow circle with his arms outstretched. _"Everywhere. The question is where do you_ want _to go?"_

Robin kicked at the sand beneath his feet.

"Are you messing with me right now?"

" _Why would I lie?"_ the other him asked seriously. _"What would I gain? I already said I don't exist without you."_

"For all I know, you could be lying," Robin pointed out.

" _Touché, but you don't have much choice but to believe me right now."_

Robin sighed. "So what are you?" He asked curiously again. "You've been giving me bad advice and making me do bad things for months now. Since the war started. What the hell are you, and why are you in my head?"

" _I'm you, genius,"_ the voice answered with a cruel smirk.

"You know what I mean," Robin groaned, rolling his eyes. "And don't tell me you're just my dark side. I don't buy that crap."

" _Fine, you want the truth?"_ the reflection asked, throwing his arms out wide. _"I don't know either. All of a sudden I'm a spectator to your pansy-ass awkwardness, and every time I try to get free I get the mental equivalent of being bitch slapped back into place,or drugged. I'm still rather upset about that one, actually. But I digress; if I knew what I was, I'd know how to get the hell out of your head!"_

"So where does all the super-dark-power junk come from then?"

The reflection shrugged.

" _I honestly don't know. Or care. Power is like money; it's there to be spent, and you seem to have access to a lot of it."_

"So where are we then?" Robin asked, frustration beginning to grow.

" _The simple answer is nowhere,"_ the reflection said with a wink, mercurially shifting moods again. _"This is the space in your mind between life and death. We're teetering on the edge, and our body is just waiting to see what we decide to do from here."_

The reflection's smile finally dropped as he looked down.

" _We're hurt pretty… pretty badly, in all honesty."_

"You know that and you don't know what you really are?"

" _Nobody's perfect; least of all us."_

"Okay… What about the others? Are they safe?"

The reflection let out a low laugh.

" _I think we both know who you want to ask about. That cute little blue-haired Princess you're so hung up on…"_

Robin crossed the space between them, grabbing his reflection's collar and hauling him close.

"Is she okay or not?" he hissed into the soulless black orbs.

" _Heh. You're really fixated on the girl, aren't you? You know, you can't hide anything from me. I live in your head, remember? It's almost a little creepy…"_

"Tell me!" Robin roared in his reflection's face.

" _She's fine. They all are. Although… everyone got a nice long look at that kiss on the parapets. I'm sure her father is going to absolutely love that. Your best friend's daughter? Oh, this is going to be rich."_

Robin groaned, shoving his laughing reflection away as he turned.

_Maybe it'd be better if I did just die before Chrom gets his hands on me…_

" _Ah-ah-ah,"_ the reflection chided. _"That's simply no fun at all."_

"I didn't say anything, though," Robin said irritatedly.

The reflection just looked at Robin with his brows raised and his arms crossed.

"Right," the tactician muttered, running a hand through his hair. "We're the same person…"

" _Well, not quite, but we share a mind… We share our power."_

"Whatever!" Robin snapped, rounding on the reflection. "So if you're not going to let me die, how do I get back!?"

" _Simple,"_ the reflection said with a light grin, holding his arms out. _"Embrace me."_

Robin scoffed.

"You'll bring me back in exchange for a hug?"

" _No you dunce. Accept me as a part of you. Stop trying to hide from me; from the part of us you can't escape from. I am you, you are me. Accept that, and I can send us back. Accept that fact, and the power we wield whenever I gain control becomes accessible all the time. You stop second-guessing yourself all the time and get the power to save your Princess, and I stop getting treated like a cancer you can cut out of your soul. Accept me, and we go back to the happy, snarky bastard the others all know and love, together. You don't have to get rid of me, and I don't have to escape. We both win."_

"Really?" Robin asked. "All that power and none of the loss of control? What's the catch?"

" _No catch. I just want to kill things."_

"Aaaaaand there's the catch."

" _A guy's gotta have a hobby,"_ the reflection said with a wink and a grin.

"The war's not going to last forever," Robin pointed out.

" _But you're a soldier,"_ the voice said, repeating his earlier thoughts on the matter. _"You'll always have to fight. You'll always have to kill, and I want front row seats."_

Robin groaned, letting himself fall to a sitting position on the sand.

"I don't know," he said hesitantly. "Where does all that power come from? Why can you channel it like that? We wiped Steiger off the face of the continent for Naga's sake!"

" _Don't overthink it,"_ the reflection said. _"I want to kill, maim and slaughter, but I'm willing to put up with your insufferable morals. Be a man and put up with a little healthy bloodlust every now and then."_

Robin reached down, running his hands through the fine sand beneath him, letting it fall through his fingers and back to the desert. There was no wind, so it simply fell downwards between his legs.

How could he trust a being that didn't even know what it was?

He scoffed at the hypocrisy of the question. How had Chrom trusted him when he had no memories, either?

The tactician shook his head.

He wasn't done yet. He couldn't die. He still had to make sure Morgan was unharmed. He still had to see Lucina again, even if it meant Chrom breaking his jaw a second time.

He had a war to win, a world to save, and more importantly he had a promise to keep.

_No one else dies._

"How do we do this?" Robin asked, coming to a decision and looking up.

The moon-lit desert around him was empty again.

_You just did. But I give you fair warning; this is going to hurt; quite a bit, actually. Try not to scream like a bitch. It demeans us both._

*

With a deep gasp preceding a terrible, blood-curdling scream of pain as broken bones ground together under seared flesh, Robin awoke, his eyes bulging wide as pain flooded his senses.

He screamed again as rough hands dragged him from the river he laid on the bank of, half submerged in, the sand and rocks like shards of glass beneath his broken body.

_I should have just let myself die!_ He thought with a pained grimace, his vision clouding as his head lolled back and unconsciousness took him.

A world away, sitting on a throne of bones in Plegia, the Hierophant allowed himself a small smile, his dead, black eyes twinkling in the torch-lit night as he began to laugh.

*

_It was dark…_

_He was in a dark place that he couldn’t get out of._

_But he couldn’t stay there; he still had work to do._

_So many things left undone. So many fights unfought; he couldn’t leave those things for the others to finish for him!_

_He stirred, forcing himself to remember._

_A… fortress wall. An uncountable enemy, and a final, last ditch gambit._

_A blue haired beauty, their lips parting as he whispered goodbye…_

_He remembered it all, and slowly his mind awoke._


	36. Chapter 36

“Well? What do we do?”

_Urgh. This seems… oddly familiar…_

“What do you mean?”

_Wait. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me._

“Well we can’t just leave him here!”

_This is… this is a joke, right? A bad joke!? Right!?_

“Screw ‘im, I say. Poor sod’s probly brain dead after all that anyways.”

_Wait… what? Hold on a second. That’s… new. Isn’t this a dream? Aren’t I dead and remembering?_

“But noble heroes cannot leave a wounded man to die an ignoble death like this! My sword hand twitches at the very prospect of such insult!”

_That boy is unnecessarily loud._

“Cram the sword hand already- hey, wait!”

_Oh gods, what now!?_

“CAW! CAW!”

“WAUGH!”

Robin’s eyes flew open as a familiar weight landed on his chest, a large black bird perched on top of him cawing very, very loudly right in his face. He forced himself up into a sitting position in surprise, wincing and grabbing at bruised and bandaged ribs as he did.

Glancing up a little he met the eyes of the four… no, five people standing before him and blinked a few times. Six? Six people? He couldn’t be sure, his vision was still swimming…

“Uh…” Robin mumbled, swatting absently as Huginn made his way to his usual spot on the tactician’s shoulder. “Hi there.”

Robin blinked a few times in confusion, telling himself to remain calm as he took stock of his surroundings.

He was in a tent somewhere. Surrounded by strange people he’d never met before.

Not the strangest thing to ever happen to a man who spent most of his time recently with his unborn daughter from the future, but still up there on the scales.

“So…” Robin said, drawing out the word as he glanced at the faces staring at him.

“Someone wanna explain to me what’s going on?”

“Hark, noble warrior!” a blonde man in familiar looking clothes said loudly, oozing excitement. “My noble compatriots and I happen to be scouting Fortress Steiger, in hopes of-”

“We found you passed out and half-dead in the river downstream from Steiger,” a pretty-boy with pale pink hair that was almost blonde said, before grinning at the outraged blonde man.

“What? You were taking too long.”

“My sword hand twitches at such insult…” the blonde main growled, shuddering in rage that Robin was pretty sure wasn’t real as his hand genuinely twitched where he held it before his face.

“Inigo!” the blonde man roared, throwing out his hand to point in the pretty-boy’s face. “I challenge you to-”

Sword-hand was cut off again when a shorter man in black robes knocked him in the back of the head with a healing staff. The shorter man was… wait, he wasn’t shorter, he was actually taller than the others, just hunched over. The hunched priest had a scar over his left eye and short dark hair, giving him a menacing aura as he glowered at sword-hand.

“Can the sword-hand, Owain,” the robed man grunted.

“Thank you, Brady,” Inigo said with a grin that Robin had no doubt would have left most women swooning.

“Okay, somebody please start from the top,” Robin said over the people around him, wincing a little from pain in his ribs as he scooted up higher in the cot he was lying atop. “Please?”

A girl in armour reminiscent of a Ylissean Pegasus Knight stepped forward, her hair tied in pig-tails and the same colour as Lucina’s. In fact, she sort of resembled the Princess…

“We found you wounded, like Inigo said,” the girl said quickly. “Brady over there healed you, and we brought you back here, assuming you were a Ylissean soldier. Plus, you had…”

She pulled a familiar hilt out from behind her back.

“This gripped in your hand so tight it took three of us to pry it out.”

Robin’s heart broke when he saw what had become of his once-beautiful rapier; the hilt was beaten and the guard was bent in two different places, the blade of the sword snapped off in a jagged edge about a third of the way up.

_Chrom’s gonna kill me,_ Robin groaned internally, gingerly taking the broken sword from the girl.

“Thanks,” Robin mumbled, looking at the sword in his lap.

“So!?” the girl said, leaning in close and resting her hands on the edge of Robin’s cot, radiating excitement.

“Are you him!?” she asked, still speaking quickly. “Are you… Robin? The tactician?”

“Who wants to know?” Robin asked suspiciously, hand tightening on the grip of the broken rapier; the edge still looked sharp enough for him to fight his way out if he had to…

“Sit now and listen to the tale of Owain, scion of heroes and saviour of-” Owain began with a flourish before Inigo cut him off at the same time Brady knocked him with the end of his staff again.

“Do you know Lucina?” Inigo asked without preamble. “Because if you do then it cuts the explaining down considerably.”

Robin relaxed, breathing out a sigh and trying to hide the way his cheeks flushed from just hearing her name.

“Maybe,” Robin said, looking away from the group to hide his reaction.

“So you’ve seen her!?” the girl asked excitedly, talking Robin’s hands in hers. “You know where my sister is!?”

Robin’s jaw dropped as he looked back at the girl, Huginn crowing softly in irritation at the sudden movement.

“Sister?” he repeated slowly.

“Yeah!” the girl, apparently Lucina’s sister, said excitedly. “Surely she’s mentioned her sister Cynthia?”

Robin barked out a laugh.

“Sorry, but if I want her to tell me anything about the future it usually involves me poking and prodding at her a week in advance. Usually with pointy sticks. I don’t know who any of you are.”

“Makes sense,” Inigo said thoughtfully as he rubbed his chin, Cynthia’s face falling.

“She was adamant we not speak any more than absolutely necessary to have our warnings taken seriously. She wouldn’t have wanted to mention unnecessary things like family or that junk.”

Owain, quiet for a change, put a comforting hand on Cynthia’s shoulder as the girl let out a pitiful sniffle.

“So you’re all from the future too?” Robin asked, looking around the room.

He jumped a little, disturbing Huginn again as his eyes settled on a black armoured man wearing a matching black mask leaning on a post at the back of the tent, watching him intently. A black armoured man with very familiar blue-silver hair.

“Yup,” Brady said, beginning to poke at Robin’s bandaged torso. “Now hold still, will ya? I wanna give ya the once-over before I set ya loose.”

“Er… okay,” Robin said as he let the brusque healer do his work.

“You were so beaten up we weren’t even sure it was you to begin with,” Cynthia said quickly, her earlier mood already restored.

“And, well… the older kids all talk about you having brown hair, so that confused us too. But you have father’s sword, or what’s left of it, so you have to be Robin! Right!?”

“Yes, I’m Robin,” he said with a tired grin. “You’ve got the right guy.”

Something she said stuck in Robin’s mind.

“Wait, back up,” the tactician said. “I do have brown hair, though.”

“Er… no you don’t,” Inigo said, raising a perfect eyebrow.

Robin blinked a few times before he reached up and brought a few strands of hair from the side of his head before his eyes.

White. His hair was white.

He grabbed a handful of hair from the top of his head, suddenly glad that he’d never gone ahead with that haircut and bringing it towards his face.

_White._

“Why the hell is my hair white!?” Robin shouted, his eyes going wide.

*

Robin pulled the plain linen shirt over his head, looking around the tent again and hoping his coat would materialize out of thin air.

_That’s not the only thing that’s missing right now, though,_ Robin thought, calling out inside his head again.

_Hello? Anyone there? Anyone else, I mean… I’m starting to feel kinda stupid talking to myself like this! Mister evil… voice… thing? Hell-o!?_

The voice had been utterly silent since he’d awoken, which considering Robin had almost gotten them killed not that long ago was very surprising.

_Maybe I’m just concussed and he’s taking a nap_ , Robin thought while habitually running a hand through his hair, disturbed at how strange he felt being left alone with his thoughts as he sat back on the cot behind him.

He reached out, picking up the familiar weight of his spellbook, feeling it in his hands, letting the familiar magical sensations wash over him as the book responded to his touch, a mental index of the spells within it leaping to the fore of his mind ready to be cast.

It was a familiar and welcome feeling hanging from his belt in its usual pouch, and once again it was all he had left. He didn’t even have his coat this time.

Robin sat back down, sighing and running a hand through his hair.

_Back at step one…_

He was alone among strangers for the second time in his life; granted, they were the children of some of his closest friends, but the detachment he felt from the world around him would take some adjusting to. Again.

Physically, he felt like he’d been pulled through the eye of a needle; everything ached, and sharp pains still shot from his side where Brady had said he’d practically rebuilt his ribs from scratch. The list of physical injuries he’d suffered was so extensive he was surprised he was still alive, let alone up and moving. Brady was truly a gifted healer to have done this much himself.

Robin held out his hand, looking at the dark purple lines making up the six-eyed sigil of the Grimleal on the back of his hand.

_So it hasn’t faded this time_ , he thought with some disappointment.

_It’s so ugly._

The mark itself didn’t bother him, it’s what the others would say when they saw it that did; it was a reminder of what he was capable of, but also served as a reminder for what he’d done.

_What I’ve done…_ Robin thought, leaning back and stretching out his arms to hold him up, ignoring the protests of his aching shoulders.

Everyone was most likely convinced he was dead.

That was going to take some explaining. He’d have to get back to the Shepherds as soon as he could, take whatever punishment that Chrom could dish up for his actions in Steiger, then try and sort out the mess with Say’ri; for some reason he just wasn’t comfortable with her hating him, and then make sure Morgan and Lucina were alright.

Morgan was stronger than she gave herself credit for; she’d be okay while he was gone. The thought of her being sad that he was ‘dead’ still broke his heart, but he had confidence she could hold things together while he was absent.

But Lucina…

Robin tried to fight it, but a goofy smile broke out on his face just thinking about her.

He slapped his cheeks lightly a few times to try and regain some composure before continuing his train of thought.

Out of all the Shepherds she had lost the most once already; Robin’s confession of his feelings definitely could have come at a better time.

It had taken so long to get her to come out of her shell, and in doing so Robin had set her up for an even bigger fall than before.

_Of all the stupid things…_ he berated himself, _why did I promise no one else would die? Maybe there’s a loophole in verbal contract rules that says I can get away with ‘dying’ if I’m one of the parties that made the contract…_

She was strong on the outside, true, but the brief flashes he’d seen of the woman beneath the cold exterior, while some of his most treasured memories to date, hinted that she would be suffering the most out of anyone else.

He let out another sigh, adding it to the list of problems to deal with when he made it back. Most likely with five more Shepherds in tow, now.

The tactician rose, Huginn hopping into his usual spot as Robin moved, stretching out his arms a little as he stepped out of the tent.

The five future children that had been there when he’d awoken were waiting for him out in the camp, intent on taking him to see the ‘True Resistance’s’ leader.

Apparently this group had sprung up while Say’ri was trying to unite the Valmese Dynasts, blissfully unaware that Walhart’s tactician was watching her every move and constantly had assassins in place until recently. The leader of this resistance group had taken the opportunity to gather as many skilled, veteran warriors as he could and form a secret cell while the Empire’s attention was diverted, putting together a force of about a thousand men.

Or so the leader had told Inigo, anyway.

Robin would have to meet the man and judge him himself.

As soon as Robin set foot outside the tent Huginn took flight as the tactician was knocked to the ground, being crushed by something very, very heavy. And scaly.

“No, Minerva!” the man in the black mask called out, speaking for the first time as Robin was tackled by the excited wyvern. “He’s not an enemy!”

Robin laughed a little as the wyvern ran her rough tongue over his face much the way a dog would. He responded by scratching behind her scaled crest the way Cherche had taught him to, and the creature let out a light croon and shudder of pleasure.

“I assume you’ve come from the future, too?” Robin asked the large reptilian form still sitting on top of him.

Judging by the scars covering her sides and the tattered flesh between the webs of her wings she hadn’t had an easy time in the future; Cherche would probably flip if she saw her beloved Minerva in this state.

The wyvern crooned again, laying her head on his chest and forcing the air out of the tactician’s lungs.

“Alright, it’s good to see you too, now off! Off, I say!” Robin called, laughing while trying to shove the much larger creature off of him.

When he finally climbed back to his feet all of the future children were watching him with astonished looks on their faces.

“What?” Robin asked with a shrug, running his hand over Minerva’s crest again while the large reptilian creature shook her haunches and stretched out her wings. “She likes to be pampered.”

“That ornery lizard won’t let anyone ‘sides Gerome go near her,” Brady muttered, shaking his head. “And you’re cuddling her like a freakin’ puppy.”

“Minerva…” the man in black armour muttered, watching as Robin set about giving her crest a thorough scratch, the tactician making the same baby-talk at her that Cherche always did.

“Who’s a pweddy wyvern!?” Robin asked her, momentarily forgetting where he was. “Who’s a pweddy wyvern!? You is! Yes you is! Scratch-a-scratch-a-scratch! You like that? Yes you do!”

The wyvern’s tail thumped down a few times in pleasure, kicking up clouds of dust.

“Yeesh,” Inigo muttered to Cynthia. “If that’s how Minerva reacts I can’t wait to see how your pegasus goes when she sees him.”

“This proves it!” Cynthia exclaimed. “No one but the hero-tactician Robin could tame a beast like Minerva!”

“She’s not a beast,” Robin and Gerome said in tandem, their tones very different.

Gerome sounded offended; Robin just kept the same tone he’d been muttering to the wyvern in, scratching beneath her scaled jaw.

“Okay, don’t we have someplace we gotta be?” Brady huffed impatiently.

“Truly such magnificent skill in taming animals is a heroic trait worthy of song and legend!” Owain said excitedly as he followed Robin once they started moving again.

“I vow to learn from you, master Robin! Teach me, oh hero of the forgotten past!”

“Er… maybe later,” Robin replied, pushing Owain’s face away from his own.

Apparently the boy wasn’t big on personal space.

They passed through rows of deserted tents, giving Robin the impression of a ghost town or something similar. Occasionally in the distance he made out shapes passing between tents, but never managed to get a good look at them as he passed. Sounds carried, too; occasional clanking of armour, light talking or laughter and even the occasional cough reached Robin’s ears, but he still didn’t manage to make visual contact on any other soldiers.

Inigo led the group, now consisting of Robin, the five future children and the future version of Minerva, to another tent just like all the rest, rapping the backs of his knuckles against the thick canvas a few times before a deep voice called out from within.

“Enter.”

The future children all filed in, and Minerva crooned sadly when she realized she wouldn’t fit in the tent. Robin reached back to give her one final scratch before stepping into the tent last while Inigo held the flap up for him.

His first impression was of the Ylissean command tents he’d spent countless hours in over the years; maps were strewn about tables, with various other bits and pieces Robin recognized as rosters, troop deployment information and the like sitting atop them.

His second impression was an armoury; sitting to one side of the bench was a suit of ornate blue and silver armour, worn looking but obviously well-maintained. Around the suit were all the blacksmithing tools one would need to repair it, as well as clumps of raw materials that might be necessary in said repairs.

The tent’s owner, a tired-looking middle-aged man with blue hair a shade darker than Chrom or Lucina’s and a thick coat of stubble on his narrow face glanced up from whatever report he was reading in one hand, his other sitting casually on the ancient-looking sword leaning against the cot he rested on.

“Children, I see your ward is awake,” he said in a disinterested fashion.

“Indeed, sir Priam,” Inigo said, bowing slightly.

“He’s him!” Cynthia added excitedly. “It’s really him! He’s Robin! The great hero!”

_Why does she keep calling me that?_ Robin wondered as he was dragged forward by the excitable girl, seriously doubting her relation to Lucina at present.

Priam glanced up at Robin, no doubt unremarkable looking as he stood there wearing plain clothes with a broken sword tucked into his belt.

“You are Robin?” Priam asked in a quiet tone. “Of Ylisse?”

“I am,” Robin said, standing up straight and feeling like a piece of meat being eyed down by a predator.

“Children, I would speak with Robin alone,” Priam said dismissively, tossing the report onto a pile of similar looking papers.

The others all stiffened, before wordlessly filing out. Cynthia and Owain both cast lingering gazes on Robin as they left, no doubt worried for their ‘hero’.

Once they were gone Priam cleared his throat.

“You were at Steiger,” he said without preamble.

“Yes.”

“Then you will know what happened to it?”

_I blew it up_ , Robin thought guiltily.

“Yes,” he repeated instead.

“I knew General Pheros,” Priam said, never breaking eye contact with the tactician. “I assume it’s safe to assume she is dead?”

Robin nodded.

“By my own hand,” he added, making it clear in his tone that he wasn’t bragging.

“I see,” Priam said.

“She and I had been friends for a very long time,” Priam explained, running a hand through his scruffy blue hair. “Before my defection. Since before she left the path of the priestess for that of the warrior. Did you know that?”

“I don’t even know who you are,” Robin said truthfully. “All I know is your name. I didn’t even know about your resistance until… well, now.”

Priam smiled as if he’d been complimented.

“That’s the way we intended it. Let me introduce myself properly then. I am Priam, leader of the True Valmese resistance movement and former General of the Imperial army.”

Robin blinked a few times.

“I’m sorry, but did you say General?” Robin asked, leaning forward a little.

Priam nodded.

“Okay then,” Robin mumbled. “Just… wanted to make sure.”

“I’d like to know exactly how Fortress Steiger was destroyed,” Priam said.

Robin hesitated a moment, before going into a very brief explanation of events up to his destruction of the fortress.

“I see…” Priam said stroking his chin in thought.

Robin remained silent, vividly recalling the entire ordeal.

“Is he telling the truth, my Lady?” Priam said over his shoulder.

Robin blinked in surprise as a second flap was lifted, and a familiar green-haired form stepped into the tent.

“I sense no deception in his story,” Tiki said as she straightened next to Priam, as half-asleep looking as ever.

“Hello again, Robin,” she said with a warm smile. “I’m glad to find you well. Your new look suits you.”

“I miss my coat,” Robin grumbled before he could stop himself.

Tiki blinked a few times before laughing, her chuckles a musical and soothing sound.

“Yes, you were oddly attached to that garment, if I recall,” she said, still giggling a little. “Sir Priam, perhaps you may have something he could replace it with for the time being?”

Priam nodded absently, looking off into the distance.

“Can I ask you something, sir Priam?” Robin asked.

“It’s just Priam, but go on,” the other man interjected.

“Why haven’t you approached the Ylissean League yet?” Robin asked. “If you have an army of veteran soldiers, even a small one, you could make a huge amount of difference in the war against Walhart for us. So… why haven’t you-”

“I was certain he would have destroyed you by now,” Priam said casually. “The Imperial army was much more ruthless when he led it personally. Since he broke it into three separate armies productivity seems to have decreased.”

“Which has made your cause easier,” Tiki reminded him.

Priam nodded again.

“Besides, I have no interest in bending my knee to another,” Priam added. “Walhart and I were equals in all but name; I was never treated as a subordinate until he hired that tactician.”

“Excellus?” Robin asked quickly.

“Yes,” Priam spat, making a sour face. “The worm drove Walhart apart from his men, making him out to be an omnipotent figure. ‘Good for morale’ he said. ‘Pointless hero worship’ I said. After the third attempted assassination I went to Walhart, but he wouldn’t see me. Excellus had poisoned him against me, so I left.”

Robin nodded, digesting the unexpected story. He was sure there was more to it than that, but realized that he’d been lucky to even get that much out of the man.

“So what are you doing here, Lady Tiki?” Robin asked the Voice of Naga in the ensuing silence.

“I was captured by Walhart’s forces almost as soon as I separated from your League at the Mila Tree,” she explained. “When I was being moved to Fortress Steiger sir Priam rescued me and brought me to his camp. I have lingered, waiting for a chance to rejoin the League for some time now.”

_Well, that explains why the other Dynasts never even gave us a chance…_

Tiki cast Priam a pointed look, and Robin realized she’d been trying to convince the resistance leader to go with her.

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay,” Robin said. “And thank you for your hospitality, sir Priam. But my comrades and I will take our leave as soon as we can for the League’s last known position.”

_Wherever that may be_ , Robin added internally, not entirely sure himself.

Priam nodded once, remaining silent.

“Wanna come with us?” Robin asked.

Priam glanced up at him. “I’m sorry?”

“Do you. Want to. Come with us?” Robin repeated, a big smile on his face. “We could use the help.”

“Yours is a hopeless cause,” Priam said flatly.

“And fighting a resistance against a one-million man army with a thousand isn’t?”

Priam snorted. “Perhaps. But we’re smart about our fight, tactician. We don’t throw ourselves into the jaws of the beast without any thought of the consequences.”

“Okay, so I’ll admit that my plans have faced a few setbacks,” Robin said. “Okay, a lot of setbacks, but we’ve got a real chance at beating him. All we have to do is strike while the iron is hot! He’ll still be reeling from the loss of Steiger; once the League gets some momentum back-”

“The Ylissean League is currently being run to ground by General Yen’fay’s southern army,” Priam said, cutting Robin off. “And without their tactician, I’d say the League doesn’t stand much chance against him.”

“That’s where you’d be wrong,” Robin said in a rush of pride. “They’ll have the second best tactician on the continent running their army now. Yen’fay doesn’t stand a chance.”

Priam raised an eyebrow but didn’t inquire further.

“Actually,” Tiki interjected, “I was hoping that you and the others would do me a small favour first.”

“Of course!” Robin said without thinking. “Anything for the Voice of Naga!”

*

“I am beginning to regret this decision,” Robin gasped, trudging along the mountain path behind Tiki.

Tiki merely chuckled and continued walking without looking back.

Behind Robin the future children that he had woken up to followed silently, apparently over-awed to be getting to work with him; or in Brady’s case just as out of breath as he was.

And then there was Gerome, who apparently only spoke when spoken to. Or grunted, really. He wasn’t much of a talker, unlike his father. Robin found himself reasoning that he must take after his mother in that regard, because he definitely couldn’t ever manage to shut Virion up.

Robin frustratedly adjusted the collar of the ankle-length brown leather duster that Priam had given him; it was of superior quality, as befitting a piece of a former Valmese General’s wardrobe, but it wasn’t his coat. And it didn’t have a hood. And the shoulders were a little tight.

It just wasn’t his coat.

Robin resisted the urge to grumble again; why was it whenever someone asked for his help or sent him on a dangerous mission, it involved stairs? Or mountains? Or…

Tiki stopped suddenly in front of him, glancing back down the side of the mountain they had been climbing.

“We are being pursued,” she said with a far-away quality to her voice.

“Of course we are,” Robin said, throwing up a hand in exasperation. “Because this day was just going so well for me beforehand.”

“You know, for a legendary hero you sure complain a lot,” Inigo said, nudging Robin in the ribs with his elbow when he came alongside him.

“And for the son of a priest and… well, your mother you sure talk a lot,” Robin deadpanned back.

“It’s part of my charm,” Inigo said with a wink before he passed Robin and the tactician realized that the group was moving again.

_That boy is dangerous_ , Robin thought, vowing to keep him far, far away from Morgan.

Robin sighed and pushed his tired legs to keep walking; he wasn’t entirely healed after the incident at Steiger, which was absolutely no surprise, but he’d fought on through worse.

At least he didn’t have annoying voices in his head second-guessing everything he did anymore. Well, for now anyway.

Two shadows passed over the group as Cynthia and Gerome made another pass over them, circling around mid-air as they continued scouting the path for the small group. Cynthia was apparently in possession of her late-mother’s pegasus, which wasn’t surprising considering the animals quite often lived twice or three times as long as the average human. The beast had been dirty and seemed a little wilder than it was in the present, reminding Robin of when he’d first laid eyes on it on the road to Regna Ferox so long ago, but Cynthia seemed to know exactly how to coax it into action the way her mother did.

They were wandering around the Valmese countryside, specifically on the frigid side of some nameless mountain half a day to the east of the Resistance’s camp, where Tiki would be able to meditate and regain her incredible power.

“So what’s following us?” Robin asked, picking up his pace to come alongside the ancient manakete.

Tiki smiled up at Robin, reminding him that while she was over ten thousand years old she was still ethereally beautiful.

“I’m not actually sure,” she admitted.

“Risen,” Inigo called out.

“How can you be sure?” Robin asked over his shoulder.

“With us, it’s always Risen,” the younger swordsman said with a shrug.

“Sir Priam was speaking of strange creatures that had been attacking local villages,” Tiki said. “They could have been these ‘Risen’ you speak of.”

“It is a possibility,” Robin said, silently worried that the taint of the dark dragon was spreading.

“Fear not, Lady Tiki!” Owain said excitedly. And loudly. “For Robin, most heroic of all tacticians in the history of Ylisse comes to your aid, with his pupil Owain, Scion of Legend at his side!”

“Wouldn’t that make ya his sidekick?” Brady snickered, Inigo quickly joining in.

“I am his pupil!” Owain insisted. “Now cease these insults, or I shall unleash the full wrath of my sword-hand upon you!”

“Sure thing,” Inigo said lightly. “Whatever the sidekick wants, right?”

Owain spluttered, obviously about to launch into a very long, very loud tirade in his own theatrical and entirely impractical speech pattern.

“Actually,” Robin said, cutting the boy off. “I haven’t agreed for him to be either yet.”

Owain visibly deflated as they walked, staying silent for a few minutes before perking back up.

“And so it seems that Owain, Scion of Legend must earn his place at the hero-tactician’s side!” he said aloud to no one in particular, devolving into another rant about how he would crush his enemies and earn Robin’s respect.

“Is he always like that?” Robin discretely asked Inigo as Owain began shouting about his sword-hand.

Inigo sighed and dropped his head a little as Brady bonked the third boy on the head, cutting him off mid-rant.

“Pretty much, yes,” Inigo sighed.

Tiki began to chuckle quietly again, listening silently to their conversation; that was two things she seemed to be doing a lot of, listening and laughing.

_I’m glad my life had become a source of such amusement_ , Robin sarcastically thought to himself.

*

They stepped into a small glen at the top of the mountain, and for Robin it was like stepping into another world, one of perpetual spring.

“Wow,” he breathed, looking around at the verdant meadow and the copious flowers around a single, central altar.

“It’s so peaceful,” he muttered, basking in the warm sunlight.

“The air is so sweet here,” Inigo said happily. “It’s calming, isn’t it?”

Brady grunted his agreement, shuffling forward toward the altar.

“These are the Divine Dragon Grounds,” Tiki explained. “Here I will be able to recover the power lost to me during my slumber.”

“Okay, you do that,” Cynthia said with a big yawn. “I might just flop down and take a nap beside you!”

“Tempting,” Inigo said, eying the soft grass and earth beneath them.

“Oh no ya don’t,” Brady growled. “We’re on guard duty!”

“But it’s like magic it’s so nice here!” Cynthia protested. “Right Robin?”

Robin raised an eyebrow.

“Er… it just looks nice,” he admitted. “It feels like everywhere else to me, to be honest.”

“It is said that the Divine Dragon Naga once called this place home,” Tiki went on as the group proceeded to the altar.

“Here I may meditate and commune with the Divine Dragon, asking for her blessing. I will need you all to protect me until I am finished.”

Inigo bowed foppishly. “Of course, milady.”

“We’ll keep a lookout,” Robin assured her as she climbed up onto the stone altar.

“I know you will, Robin,” she said, favouring him with another warm smile before closing her eyes and sinking into a deep trance.

Robin waved his open hand before her face a few times before turning to address the others.

“Gerome, I want you on the perimeter,” he instructed, falling into old habits. “Keep circling around; I want to know the second you see movement on the mountain below us.”

The dark armoured man nodded, climbing back onto Minerva and urging her into the sky.

“The rest of us will stay close to Tiki, keeping a watch on the two paths to the glen,” Robin continued. “Owain and Inigo will watch the eastern path, while Cynthia and I keep watch on the western one. Brady, I want you at the ready to treat any wounds. Any questions?”

“Why can’t I be paired up with you?” Owain asked dejectedly.

“Why do I have to be paired up with Owain?” Inigo parroted.

“Because I said so,” Robin deadpanned. “Now take your positions.”

The two swordsmen spun on their heels, stomping over to the eastern gateway overlooking the glen.

“Brady, maybe you better go with them and keep them from tearing each other apart,” Robin sighed.

The priest nodded, wordlessly following after the two, leaving Robin and Cynthia to walk over to the entrance they had just come through, Gerome wheeling overhead as Cynthia followed the tactician, leading her mount by the reins.

“They’re actually good friends, you know,” Cynthia said after a moment. “That’s why they fight so much. They’re practically brothers in a sense.”

Robin nodded his understanding, glancing over his shoulder to where Brady could be seen animatedly telling the other two off while Owain and Inigo rubbed at their heads.

“What about Brady?” Robin asked curiously.

“He’s their keeper,” Cynthia said with a laugh.

Robin grinned in response to her laughter. She had her mother’s easy smile and mannerisms, but she had her father’s regal bearing. Where the puppy-like tendency to get over-excited came from was anyone’s guess, but she wasn’t at all like Lucina in that regard.

Which was one of the reasons Robin had paired himself up with her.

“Can I ask you something?” Robin asked as they reached the pathway, cold air buffeting at them from the mountainside.

“Sure!” Cynthia chirped, stroking the neck of her pegasus as they idly waited for something to come and try to kill them.

“You said you were Lucina’s sister, right?”

“Yeah! What, you don’t see the family resemblance? I’ll admit, I am the pretty one…”

Robin chuckled. “That’s not what I meant. I wanted to know what she was like in the future.”

Cynthia nodded, sobering a little as her hand paused on her pegasus’ neck mid-stroke.

“She was… serious,” Cynthia said after a moment. “Almost to the point she was severe. But the fate of everyone was resting on her shoulders, so we couldn’t blame her. She did enough of that herself…”

The younger girl added the last line so quietly Robin had almost missed it.

“But she was a great leader, and saved a lot of lives!” Cynthia said, perking back up. “If any one of us was worthy of the title ‘hero’ it was her! She constantly gave everything she had for the survivors, fighting with all her strength and ruling them with all of her compassion. It was inspiring to be around her.”

Robin nodded. She sounded just like Chrom, in a sense.

“She’s… here with the Shepherds now, right?” Cynthia asked hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Robin nodded. “So are all the others. Including my daughter, Morgan.”

“Morgan’s here!?” Cynthia practically shouted, grabbing Robin by the shoulders. “What happened to her!? How’d she get here!? Was she okay!?”

“Easy!” Robin said, shaking her hands off his shoulders. “One thing at a time!”

Cynthia stepped back, looking up at Robin expectantly.

“She has amnesia,” Robin explained. “Kinda a family trait, apparently. All she remembers from the future is me and snippets of Tharja. And apparently that Yarne’s nickname was ‘Bunny’ when he was younger. Apart from that all her tactical and combat knowledge is still there and she’s been fighting alongside us since we got to Valm.”

Cynthia was practically bursting with excitement now.

“Alright!” she said, throwing out her fist. “First we take care of this, then we drag sir Priam’s resistance-leading butt to the Shepherds! No more distractions! The Justice Cabal will live again!”

“I like your enthusiasm,” Robin laughed, choosing not to address the question of what exactly the ‘Justice Cabal’ was.

They quieted for a time, a friendly silence settling over the duo, before Cynthia broke it again.

“So why’d you wanna know about my sister?” she asked slyly. “Got a crush?”

Robin blushed, grinning to himself as he looked away. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

Cynthia’s jaw dropped, and Robin was saved by what was no doubt going to be a brutal tongue-lashing when Gerome dropped from the sky.

“Risen at the west gate,” he said emotionlessly, waiting for further orders.

_That really didn’t take long_ , Robin thought as his mind switched over to tactician mode.

“Gerome, stay here and watch the east gate,” Robin said quickly. “Shout out if you see more coming up this way. Cynthia, get over there and back the boys up. I’ll be right behind you, but don’t get tied down; if something happens and Gerome needs backup you’re the first call.”

“Right,” the blue haired princess replied, swinging up into her saddle and kicking the pegasus into the air, her earlier excitable attitude gone, giving way to cool professionalism.

_There’s the Lucina-influence,_ Robin thought as Cynthia kicked her mount into a faster flight.

Gerome nodded as Robin passed, taking up a position blocking the gate with Minerva’s bulk.

The tactician ran across the glen, sparing a glance at Tiki, who was still meditating peacefully as he passed.

He could already hear the moans of the risen over Owain and Inigo’s shouted challenges, and steel met steel in the beautiful glen. Cynthia swooped in low, Risen being knocked flying from her brutal pass while she brought her mount around in the air, brandishing her lance and preparing to make another pass.

That was about the point where Robin passed Brady, waiting calmly some ways back from the fight so that he’d be out of his comrades’ way but still close enough to offer his healing magic if necessary.

Inigo and Owain were holding the gate like true professionals, creating a two-man wall of swords that none of the Risen could pass while Cynthia swooped in like a bird of prey, clearing the Risen and knocking them off the narrow eastern path.

Robin hesitated, just out of reach of the two boys and realizing that he didn’t actually have a sword any more.

He shrugged, pulling out his spellbook and flipping to a well-worn page, running his hand down the surface of the paper and feeling the mana starting to pool.

“Step back, boys,” Robin called as he began casting a small elthunder spell that would clear a little space for them.

Owain and Inigo nodded, falling back a little and creating a gap as Robin lifted his hand, but… something was off.

Too much mana was pooling.

Robin realized this in a detached sort of way as lightning began dancing on his outstretched hand. He didn’t even have time to shout a warning to the boys, instead focusing all of his concentration on making the spell as narrow as possible.

With a flash of light like the sun had fallen to earth and a sound like the gods stomping on his head Robin was thrown backwards several feet by the force of his own spell.

When he looked back up, head still spinning, Owain and Inigo were back to holding the gate, but no more Risen were pressing them.

A smoking line had been gouged into the path beneath them, the spell having scattered the Risen in its path that it didn’t reduce to ashes outright.

Brady and Cynthia looked at Robin with wide eyes and slack jaws as he clenched and unclenched his hand, still lying on his back. No doubt Owain and Inigo, their backs turned as they watched the gate, wore similar expressions, too.

_Well,_ Robin reasoned, glancing over at Tiki, _she did say this was the Divine Dragon’s home at one point. Perhaps I accidentally tapped into some residual mana or something? Not the weirdest thing to happen to me so far today._

Robin climbed to his feet, dusting himself off and stretching out his neck.

_They’d better stop looking at me like that soon,_ he thought, trying to hide a snicker as the future children gaped at him. _Or I’m going to laugh so hard they’ll have to carry me back to camp._

“Is everyone okay over there?” Robin called out.

“Yeah!” Inigo answered, recovering faster than the others. “But, uh, the Risen are regrouping. Owain and I shouldn’t have any trouble with these, so go check on Gerome!”

“Before ya blow us all up,” Robin caught Brady muttering.

Robin burst out laughing, wiping tears from his eyes as he held his bruised sides.

“Such apocalyptic power…” Owain marvelled, kicking at the furrow in the ground left by Robin’s spell. 

“That was just an elthunder!” Robin called out cheerily as he started walking backwards to Gerome’s position. “You wait til I pull out the big guns!”

_Let’s not mention that the only reason that happened was the ambiance here…_ Robin thought, his grin not abating as he turned.

The tactician’s high spirits were dampened somewhat when Minerva cried out and he looked up to see Gerome fighting off a pack of Risen from the wyvern’s back with precise swings of the long halberd he carried with him, Minerva lashing out with her tail and fore-claws in time with his strikes.

“He almost makes Cherche look like an amateur,” Robin muttered, breaking into a run as Cynthia zipped overhead, little more than a blue and white streak to Robin’s eye.

Robin repeated the steps from before, stopping just out of the way of Gerome and channelling a much, much weaker thunder spell.

“Gerome! Move!” he called as the mana pooled like before.

The man in black armour didn’t even respond, just kicking Minerva into the sky and opening the path for the Risen to come charging at Robin.

Even while he knew what to expect this time the sudden influx of mana was still a shock to his system, over-loading his sixth sense and making him tremble while he tried to consciously control it.

A blast of magical thunder much more akin to an Arcthunder spell shot out of Robin’s hand, jumping from Risen to Risen and leaving clouds of purple ashes in its wake.

Robin sighed as the enhanced mana-flow left him breathless, his hand tingling from the point of contact with the spell.

“Holy crap that is awesome,” he muttered with an excited grin on his face.

Just let any Risen come after him now; he was the master of Divine Dragon magic and none could stand before-

“Robin, look out!” Cynthia shouted in warning from above him.

Robin glanced up, casually pulling the broken rapier out of his belt and sidestepping the jumping Risen, slashing downwards as he did.

The blade was still razor-sharp, and bit into the creature’s back easily before it disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

He spun, holding the blade out and taking into consideration the greatly reduced reach as more Risen began to crowd the gate.

“A little help over here!” Inigo shouted from the other gate as he and Owain desperately fought off a renewed push by the horde of creatures.

Brady was behind them, healing wounds as fast as the Risen could inflict them, but the dark creatures seemed to be endless.

Just as Robin was beginning to entertain the idea of taking Tiki and throwing her over his shoulder so they could escape the manakete’s eyes fluttered open, and the glade was enveloped in green flames.

Robin braced for the sensation of being blown-up a second time as the flames raced outwards from the central altar, but when he opened his eyes they had simply passed him over and had created a neat ring around the edges of the small hollow.

Owain and Inigo sunk to the ground, breathing heavily as Brady leaned on his staff, eying the flames and the Risen stupid enough to throw themselves into the conflagration. Cynthia and Gerome both brought their mounts to rest close to Robin, looking in awe at the ancient and powerful magic.

“Ah,” Tiki sighed from the altar, slowly rising to her feet as she stretched her arms above her head like she’d just woken from a deep slumber. “That’s much better. I feel so much more refreshed now.”

She glanced up at Robin, grinning like a child.

“You all may want to move away from the perimeter a little.”

As Robin and the others complied Tiki began to transform.

Where the other two manaketes Robin was familiar with had dragon forms a little bigger than the largest wyvern he’d seen, Tiki grew… and grew… and continued growing until she could have swallowed Robin in one bite with space to spare.

Her arms and legs bent and shifted as her gossamer shroud blew upwards, becoming wings in a flash of green light and flames.

When she was done Robin could truly say he’d met a _real_ dragon.

_Holy crap she is huge_ , Robin thought, staring up at Tiki with wide eyes.

The Voice of Naga inhaled, taking a deep breath as if she were smelling a bed of flowers, before exhaling towards the eastern entrance where Inigo, Brady and Owain were scrambling away from the flames.

The Risen there had been scattered by Robin’s spell before; in the face of Tiki’s powers they were annihilated.

She turned her head on a long, graceful serpentine neck, repeating the process at the western gate and clearing the path they would have to use to descend the mountain.

And all at once the flames winked out of existence, leaving not so much as a scorched blade of grass, and Tiki walked towards Robin with a new spring in her step once again in her slight human form.

“That was fun!” she said happily, much more animated than Robin remembered her being.

“What in Naga’s name just happened?” Cynthia asked from the back of her pegasus, her voice small in the silence of the glen.

“Well, I tapped the mana of this place and might have gone a little overboard,” Tiki said with a playful wink. “My transformed state isn’t usually so big. Or pretty.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Robin said, clenching his hand and recalling the feel of transferring the ambient mana into his spells.

“I felt that, even through my meditative state,” Tiki said, bouncing a little as she stepped over to Robin.

“How’d you do that?” she asked, tilting her head and grinning. “Only manaketes should have been able to tap the power of this place. Do you have some dragon blood in you? I know the Princess over there does.”

Cynthia’s ashen face lit back up.

“I… do?” she asked, trembling like she was about to burst.

“We do?” Owain asked breathlessly. “Cousin, we really are Scions of Legend!”

Cynthia squealed as she and Owain jumped up and down, the conflict they had just fought in moments ago apparently now forgotten.

“Great, just what they needed,” Inigo mutter while he rolled his eyes. “An excuse to be weird.”

Brady guffawed next to the pretty-boy, leaning heavily on his staff.

Tiki looked up at Robin expectantly, obviously waiting for a reply.

Robin shrugged, tapping at his skull.

“Amnesia?” he said, smiling sadly. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t remember.”

Tiki nodded sagely before breaking out into another grin.

“Okay!” she said energetically. “Let’s go find your friends!”

“Can we at least fly back down!?” Robin called after her as she dashed past him for the glen’s western entrance.

“Tiki!? I’m still wounded here! Come on, don’t make me walk!”


	37. Chapter 37

Chrom sat silently in the centre of his large tent, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees and staring into space. His armour had long since been removed and maintained, and now sat gleaming on the rack in the corner of his tent; the monotony of the every-day chore had distracted him from his problems, but there were only so many things he could do to take his mind off of his situation.

He’d cleaned, sharpened and even polished Falchion; he’d mended and polished Sumia’s armour and weapons, too; he’d even attempted to make their bed, which had ended far less disastrously than he had been expecting, but his heart hadn’t been in any of it.

Now that he had nothing more to do, Chrom sat and stared at the canvas wall, forcing himself to come to terms with the loss of his best friend, just like he had three years ago when his sister Emmeryn had died.

Unlike last time, though, he wasn’t about to retreat into himself. He was the commander of an entire army, with thousands of men relying on him for firm leadership; he couldn’t let all of them down, even if in doing so he felt wretched for ignoring Robin’s loss.

The tent flaps rustled, light from outside casting long shadows across his field of vision as familiar, light footfalls heralded the return of his wife.

“I managed to calm Lucina down,” Sumia said without preamble as she walked through the tent. “She’s taking his death hard, but I know she’ll be fine.”

Chrom nodded silently.

A small light grew into existence from the corner their table was in, the oil lamp casting a faint orange glow over everything within the four canvas walls. Sumia didn’t light the other lamps, something for which Chrom was thankful for.

He’d wallowed in the dark for nearly a week last time, when Emmeryn had been killed by Gangrel and Robin mortally wounded. He wouldn’t repeat his mistakes, and he would be leading the army first thing in the morning, but for now he just wanted to sit in the dark and grieve.

His aimless grief was distracted when slim, long fingers more suited to a violinist that a soldier wrapped around his hand, Sumia taking his much larger one in both of hers.

“I know,” Chrom soothed. “Don’t worry. I’m not like last time. I won’t break down again.”

Sumia nodded, apparently satisfied as she leaned against him, running her hands over his again and again in soothing motions.

“We can’t afford to lose ourselves at a time like this,” Chrom added in a dull whisper.

Robin was gone; that was the truth of things. He was gone, and no amount of grieving or raging would bring him back. In fact the best thing to do would be to take vengeance and defeat the Valmese army and Walhart in Robin’s name.

“How was Morgan?” Sumia asked tentatively.

Chrom gave a sad laugh. “Trying to drown her emotions in her work.”

Sumia nodded a little. “She will have to deal with this eventually.”

“I know,” Chrom agreed. “But different people cope differently. She’ll deal with it when she’s ready. She’s just like her father in that way.”

*

Robin tapped his fingers idly on the small table that Priam had provided for him, waiting for Tiki to arrive with the reports she’d promised to procure for the tactician. The ancient manakete had been incredibly energetic ever since their little escapade earlier in the day, acting like she was constantly at risk of bursting into song just walking under the trees or along the road. He’d even caught her humming tunelessly at various points of their journey, and something about the simple innocence of the action had made him want to join in.

Robin had to admit; she really didn’t act like someone a few thousand years old would any more.

Outside the small tent it was pouring rain, further dampening Robin’s mood.

He’d tried to sit in the much larger tent that had been provided for the future children, but had been driven out by incessant questions from Owain, Cynthia and Inigo and rough glares from Brady and Gerome. At least he thought Gerome was glaring at him; it was hard to tell through the mask.

_I wonder if masks were a thing in the future,_ Robin wondered, recalling the way Lucina had first presented herself as ‘Marth’ nearly three years ago.

Become _a thing in the future. Oh whatever, I know what I’m talking about._

Robin blinked a few times as a new thought popped unbidden into his head.

_Has it really already been three years?_

Robin sank back into his chair, letting the nostalgia wash over him as he replayed the last three years in his mind. Waking up in that field with Chrom and Lissa looking down at him; the first time he entered Ylisstol, his new home; arguing with Vaike over absolutely nothing; training with Frederick and the knights; chess with Virion; his ‘prank war’ with Lissa; setting Chrom and Sumia up on their first date; the tumultuous war with Plegia, in which he almost died countless times; learning swordsmanship from Lon’qu; slowly managing to coax Panne out of her shell over time; eating lunch at the little café in the Ylisstol markets with Cordelia whenever her busy schedule allowed; asking Maribelle to teach him to dance properly for the Royal Wedding and instantly regretting it afterwards when he realized what a strict taskmaster the noble was; travelling the continent in search of a way to restore his broken memories with Virion and Tharja, meeting Donnel and Anna in the process; rescuing Morgan and getting to know his daughter from the future, along with the other future children that travelled back with her; the boat ride to Valm and losing Gregor, the first death among the Shepherds; then running into Say’ri and getting to know her; the last three years had been nothing but meeting new friends and having the time of his life…

And throughout all the highs and all the lows Lucina had been there in the background, watching over them and trying not to get involved, trying not to disrupt the time flow any more than she had to.

_I wish she’d just come out and said her piece earlier,_ Robin sullenly thought, recalling the many times he’d reached out to her in the early years to no avail.

In the end, it had been when Chrom’s life had been in danger that his daughter from the future had acted and finally given up her farce. It had had nothing to do with Robin; she’d just been unable to hide anymore and had given in, logically following the Shepherds as part of the group now that her cover had been blown.

Robin thought silently to himself, listening to the rain pouring down on his tent and waiting for the voice to interject at any point.

_Come on, I know you’re in there,_ Robin goaded, huffing and rolling his eyes as his patience ran out. _You can’t fool me! I know you’re still there!_

A few seconds passed without a response and Robin decisively jumped to his feet and, remembering something he’d berated Morgan for in the past, turned to face the central pole of his small tent.

_Right, if you want to play it this way then I’ll just rattle you loose._

*

Tiki skipped lightly through the rebel camp, dodging and weaving through tents and under canvas awnings in an attempt to remain mostly dry in the torrential rain, humming to herself and shielding the small stack of papers Robin had requested from Sir Priam.

Priam’s scouts had returned while the newest Shepherds, of which she was now a proud member, had been eating dinner with Robin, and now that Priam had sifted through their reports Robin had wanted to see them, too.

The ancient manakete beamed with pride; it had been such a long time since she’d belonged to a group like the Shepherds, since her time in the Altean army so long ago. The camaraderie that she had been privy to today was something she was beginning to realize she had sorely missed in her cycle of slumber and acting as Naga’s voice throughout the centuries.

Tiki huffed to herself as she stopped, judging the distance from her current position and the next available cover.

Priam was still being irritatingly tight-lipped over whether or not he would join the Ylissean League, but with their success that day in returning the majority of Tiki’s powers she doubted he would remain on the sidelines for much longer.

After all, he’d done everything within his power to be more accommodating for her in reverence for her position as Naga’s Voice; no doubt if she marched to war, he and his army would follow.

Priam had even seen fit to give Tiki her own tent while she had been with the resistance; a tent now being occupied by Robin as well. She would have to see the Resistance’s quartermaster about getting the tactician his own cot; she didn’t mind snuggling, but humans seemed to appreciate their personal space.

Tiki dashed across the open space between tents, hunched to better shield the bundle of reports for Robin, and ducked into her tent.

Robin straightened as she entered, making an effort to lean casually against the pole in the centre of the tent.

“Ah. Tiki,” the tactician mumbled, blushing furiously. “Welcome back.”

Tiki blinked a few times, noting the red welt beginning to form on the man’s forehead.

“Is everything… okay, Robin?” Tiki asked curiously as she set down the bundle.

Robin nodded once before pouncing on the bundle of papers like a man in the desert would pounce on a waterskin.

“Yes!” Robin half-shouted triumphantly, sitting down heavily at the table. “Knowledge! Sweet, merciful knowledge! Thank you Tiki! I’ve felt blind and deaf since I woke up because I hadn’t seen a proper report yet!”

Tiki giggled as she perched on the edge of the cot, watching Robin intently as he began wading through the reports.

He didn’t look at all like her dear departed friend Marth, but he acted in a similar fashion quite often. His energy and bearing were the same as the ancient Prince’s when they had first met. He seemed… haunted in the same way that Marth had been; there was the weight of responsibility behind his eyes and everything he did that most others didn’t have. From what she understood, though, Robin had taken this responsibility on himself; whereas Marth had been born into his position, Robin had accepted his own merely because he didn’t want others to suffer. To Tiki there was precious little else deserving of higher praise than the tactician’s way of thinking.

With thoughts similar to these floating through her head Tiki rested her chin on one hand and was lost in watching her new friend work.

*

Lucina blinked a few times to try and force the rainwater out of her eyes as she strode purposefully through the camp; her pace was an illusion though. She didn’t have a destination, and was simply gong where her feet carried her.

She’d already circled the camp three times, waiting for Jake to hurry up and finish with the new armour she had requested he make her; something silver and light, like her father’s suit. Like Robin’s breast-plate…

She picked up her pace a little more, trying again to outrun her painful thoughts, but the rain was getting heavier. Choosing a tent at random in the evening downpour Lucina stepped into the awning that had been prepared, breathing heavily and holding herself to combat the rain-soaked chill.

Apparently the tent she was hiding against was currently unoccupied, judging from the lack of light or warmth coming from within. Deciding whoever’s tent this was wouldn’t miss a towel while she borrowed it, Lucina slipped silently inside, intent on drying herself before she caught a chill and was sidelined for even more battles.

It was bad enough that she’d been forced to sit to one side during the fight with Yen’fay, but that she had broken down in front of the others was even worse. She couldn’t let the others see her like that; she was a leader; she had to be cool and collected at all times. Her emotions couldn’t factor into her decisions and her behaviour, or else she’d run the risk of making a bad call because her mind was clouded; she needed to get back into the fight to prove she could still lead. As she fumbled around the dark tent for a towel or at least a lamp Lucina realized she was looking forward to the next engagement, something she’d never done before.

She bumped into a table, a rattling sound from atop it heralding the presence of an oil lamp. Lucina gingerly reached out, igniting the lamp and taking a quick breath.

_Of all the tents… maybe I was drawn here?_

Robin’s tent, empty and devoid of life greeted her in the weak light.

_No_ , Lucina realized as her eyes settled on one corner. _Not completely empty._

Robin was sitting in the corner of the tent, his breastplate glinting in the weak lamplight while he smiled with his usual lopsided grin…

Lucina blinked the tears back as she realized that it was just the tactician’s breastplate and her grief was making her mind play tricks on her.

She crossed the small space, running her fingertips over the newly polished plate that was propped up on the chair, feeling the decorative patterns around the edges. Beneath the plate sat a carefully folded pile of black leather; Robin’s coat.

Carefully so as not to disturb the ethereal atmosphere in the tent Lucina moved the armour to one side and held up the coat that the tactician had been known for. She smiled sadly to herself, running her fingers across the coat’s surface and recalling the story her mother had told her about Robin trying to sneak it into her wedding ceremony, only to be caught at the last minute by Lady Sully and forcibly have it yanked off of his shoulders…

It was the same coat he’d draped over her in the prison in Fortress Steiger when he’d come to save her.

“Dammit,” Lucina muttered, holding the bundle of the coat close to her chest as she leaned back against the second, larger table in the tent littered with Robin’s tactical manuals.

She still had yet to fully accept that he was gone; it was as if she were in a bad dream and she would wake in the morning to find him sitting and laughing in the mess tent, complaining to her father about how tired he was after staying up half the night working on their tactics. She would sit down at the table with them, and he would greet her with the same smile he did every morning. But that wouldn’t happen; because he would be here, in this tent if that were the case. Instead he was gone, his body buried under piles of rubble where Fortress Steiger used to be.

Such an ignoble fate for a hero like Robin made Lucina quiver with rage; he deserved a proper burial at the least, but if it were up to her he would get a statue in Ylisstol denoting his achievements.

Lucina let the coat unravel, the hem falling to the floor as she wrapped it around her shoulders again. She was overpowered all at once by the smell of the battlefield mixed with old books, the smell she realized she’d long ago begun to acquaint with the tactician.

She realized that she’d never get to see him in this coat again.

After everything, after all the effort she’d gone through not to interfere with the past, he had undone all of that by falling in love with her. He’d chosen her over Say’ri. It still boggled her mind, but hadn’t that been what she’d secretly wished for? To have the kind tactician entirely to herself?

The timeline was well and truly destroyed now; due to her weakness she’d doomed the future by getting the Shepherds’ best hope for victory killed. No… They still had Morgan. The girl was green, but she had her father’s innate understanding of tactics and was obviously capable. No doubt she was suffering now, too…

Lucina tightened her grip on the coat, pulling it closer around her.

“Dammit, Robin,” Lucina muttered, sinking to the floor. “You promised me.”

She lost track of time, sitting there and listening to the rain falling on the roof of the tent. Time seemed to cease to hold meaning as she tried to hold back the flood of emotions that threatened to break free and consume her. Robin was gone; that little fact alone was enough to drive her to the brink of madness. Yet it wasn’t until he was actually gone that she could say that she had loved him with all her heart.

Lucina had lost friends before; she’d lost almost her entire family except for her sister and cousin. And yet the death of one man was enough to drive her to the edge.

Lucina looked up, her thoughts interrupted as heavy footsteps beat into the ground outside the tent. She closed her eyes, willing them to continue on their way, to allow her a few more moments to her grief, but the tent flaps were mercilessly drawn back.

The weak lamp light reflected dully off of polished white plates as the interloper stepped into the tent.

“I should have known I would find you here.”

Lucina looked up, her eyes meeting the steely gaze of the woman Robin had forsaken to be with her.

Say’ri glared down at Lucina, her perfect features marred by the harsh expression.

“I would have words with you, Princess Lucina.”

*

Robin let out a loud sneeze, rubbing under his nose afterwards and stretching now that he was distracted. Someone must have been talking about him somewhere…

“Bless you,” Tiki chirped lightly from behind him.

Robin glanced over his shoulder. The ancient manakete was still watching him work; in fact she hadn’t moved since they’d sat down, just sitting there and watching as he went through the reports and smiling nostalgically to herself.

He turned a little in his seat to face her.

“You know you don’t have to sit there and watch me,” Robin offered. “You could go and spend time with the others if you wanted.”

Tiki shook her head.

“If I am not being a bother I would rather stay here.”

Robin shrugged, turning back to his work.

“Hey, it’s your call, but I’m… kinda boring. All I’m doing is reading these reports and coming up with wild ideas.”

“So tell me about them,” Tiki suggested, shuffling a little closer without changing her pose. “I can help you brainstorm!”

Robin blinked a few times, surprised that anyone besides Morgan was taking an active interest in his work.

“Okay…” he started hesitantly.

“Priam may not have numbers, but he’s got scouts pretty well wherever there’s Imperial troops. These are all detailed troop movement reports, and from what he’s collected it looks like Walhart is indeed consolidating his power around the capital; not going to be an easy nut to crack, but I can see a pattern to their movements. If we’re careful we can actually blend in with the flow and simply be brought directly to the walls of the capital. All of Priam’s men are still wearing Valmese armour, right? A little red paint and we’re in!”

Robin cleared his throat a little bashfully, realizing he’d been getting carried away.

“I mean, it’s still just a rough idea, but I think it might be our best chance…” Robin added in an embarrassed mumble. “What we’d do when we got there is anyone’s guess.”

“And you got all that just from reading those first few reports?” Tiki asked, awe evident in her voice.

Robin nodded.

“That’s amazing,” Tiki said, clapping her hands in delight. “Now I can see why everyone spoke so highly of you! Surely if Mar-Mar had had a man like you at his side he would have defeated Gahrnef in half the time!”

“Please,” Robin said, waving a hand through the air. “Flattery will get you… well, everywhere. But did the Hero-King Marth really not have a tactician?”

Tiki shook her head.

“Mar-Mar took the lives of his men seriously. It was a task he wouldn’t trust to anyone else, a weight he bore solely on his own shoulders. He often worked with Lords Jagen, Hardrim and Ogma, and later the Lady Minerva as well, but the planning and strategy was all his responsibility.”

“Wow,” Robin breathed. “And he still led from the front lines, too. That’s impressive.”

A silence descended over the pair, Tiki remembering friends long-gone with an almost sad smile on her face, while Robin began to snicker after a few moments.

Tiki glanced up, tilting her head questioningly.

“No, no; it’s nothing you said,” Robin assured her, still trying to stifle his laughter.

“I’m just imagining Chrom trying to come up with strategies for the entire League. I mean, we’re talking about someone who gets lost on his way to the mess tent in the morning; he’d probably wind up deploying us directly in the enemy’s camp.”

Tiki frowned.

“You should show more respect to your leader, Sir Robin,” she said in a serious tone.

Robin looked up, meeting her eyes in surprise. He often forgot that not everyone was privy to the same relationship he had with the Prince and that to others his behaviour could be considered rude, even-

“I can’t say that with a straight face!” Tiki said as she burst into laughter.

Robin sighed in relief before joining her, the crystalline sounds of her laughter, so like the wind-chimes that Sumia seemed to favour in her outdoor living areas in the Ylissean palace, being oddly infectious.

“You had me going there for a second,” he said when they’d finally both calmed down.

“I am sorry,” Tiki said, still trying to shake of the last of her mirth. “It has been so long since I’ve spoken at length with anyone so freely, and I could not help myself. It is reliving to speak to someone who does not treat me like the goddess incarnate, but I hope I did not overstep any boundaries.”

Robin waved her apology off.

“No, it’s fine,” he assured her. “Chrom and I admittedly have a very strange relationship. The other Shepherds like to joke that I’m practically a member of the Ylissean Royal Family in all but name. Maybe I should see if I can convince Morgan to call him ‘Uncle Chrom’?”

Tiki nodded, grinning as she hopped lightly to her feet.

“All of that laughing has made me thirsty,” she said with a light bow. “If you want to continue working here, I shall procure us some beverages to motivate you to finish faster.”

With the promise of ‘beverages’ Tiki left the small tent, leaving Robin alone with his reports.

“Right,” Robin mumbled, picking up the next on the pile with a smile on his face. “Back to work.”

“Before I go, though,” Tiki asked, popping her head back into the tent through the flaps. “What were you doing with that pole?”

Robin’s face instantly turned scarlet as he studiously looked away from Tiki at the reports.

“Absolutely nothing,” he mumbled into the desk.

*

Most people saw Lon’qu as little more than a soldier, not understanding that he watched silently at all times. He watched everything, and had been for years; his hawk-like eyes and ears never missed anything. That was simply how he lived, on constant guard against people that may harm him or his loved ones.

Because of this attitude he knew that he came across as aloof and unfriendly, but that was the price he was willing to pay. But despite that attitude there were still those precious few among the Shepherds that had gotten close enough to him for him to consider them trustworthy; to consider them friends.

The Royal Ylissean family had welcomed him with open arms when Lissa had announced their engagement, and the Ylissean populace seemed comfortable enough with the thought of him despite his Feroxi background; Prince Chrom and Lady Sumia had opened their home and their hearts to him, and he had tentatively accepted their hospitality.

Among the Shepherds the first to reach out to him had been Robin; the only others he truly considered ‘friend’ were Vaike and Virion. Panne was too cold to make that list, Lon’qu seeing much of his own personality reflected in her dour countenance, but the Taguel was another that he trusted implicitly.

But Robin had been his friend, too, and Lon’qu couldn’t shake the feeling he’d let the tactician down.

_Just like back in Chon’sin, so many years ago…_

The swordsman quickly quashed such thoughts from his past life, forcing them back into the recesses of his memories where they belonged. It had been years since he’d thought of the failure that saw him crossing the sea to find atonement in Regna Ferox, but the tactician’s death brought all of those painful memories back to the fore.

He was used to watching the others from a distance; it could almost be considered a hobby compared to his gruelling training regime. The only other thing he took enjoyment in was spending time with Lissa.

Thoughts of his wife caused him to glance down at his side; she’d been exhausted, but apparently not so exhausted she couldn’t shed tears for her departed friend.

He’d stayed up with her, comforting her silently until she’d finally nodded off; despite her usually cheery outlook on life Lon’qu knew that she was every bit as serious as her brother, who was also no doubt taking Robin’s death just as hard.

Lon’qu resisted the urge to groan as his thoughts circled back to his current source of woe, carefully standing so as not to wake Lissa instead. Air; he needed some air. The usual comforting atmosphere of the tent he and Lissa shared was stifling this evening, and Lon’qu decided to brave the rain and get the air he needed.

Water fell from the sky and soaked into the swordsman’s scruffy hair as he carefully moved from cover to cover; most tents that the Ylissean military used had awnings that could be extended a few feet from the tent to create a mostly dry pathway around the camp for officers to use, but they were a great effort to put up, so the Shepherds rarely used them unless it was absolutely necessary.

The sounds of a night-time camp were muted by a combination of the pattering of falling rain and grief. Robin had touched everyone’s lives in the Shepherds, not just the leaders’.

Thinking about having to continue fighting the war without him admittedly made Lon’qu nervous; Morgan was a good tactician, but she lacked the experience her father had. No doubt Frederick, Virion and the boy Laurent would do their best to assist her, but Robin had a way about him that screamed confidence. Morgan was good, but she lacked the easy confidence her father had earned through the war with Plegia, the bearing that made soldiers believe his plans were flawless and that their lives were safe in his hands. Morgan was young, and Lon’qu would watch over her in remembrance of her father, but he was still unsure about following her the way he had Robin.

He hesitated a moment, lingering in the shadows while Vaike and Miriel jogged toward their tent through the rain, both with subdued faces that were totally at odds with their usual personalities. It wasn’t that he was hiding because he wanted to remain unseen; he often snuck around the camp to keep his skills sharp, moving like a shadow throughout the rows of tents whenever he felt the urge. He was merely acting out of habit as he slipped to the next inky shadow.

Lon’qu’s fist clenched as he heard the same words repeated around him over and over; from the tents he was forced to skirt to avoid getting rained on, from the Shepherds moving about the camp, even from the wagons and the usually boisterous mess tent. He passed them all, ignoring the same whispered denials.

_“I can’t believe he’s gone.”_

_“What will we do now?”_

_“How can we do this without him?”_

_“I miss him.”_

Lon’qu stopped in a mercifully silent part of the camp, realizing he was panting after dashing through the tent-city, trying to outrun the collective grief of his comrades.

Looking up, the stoic swordsman let out a dark chuckle.

The reason it was silent here was because he was standing in the shelter of Robin’s tent.

The camp followers must have set it up out of habit; that, or someone had yet to inform the majority of the rank and file soldiers that Robin was gone. Lon’qu sighed, squatting down next to the tent to rest a little before he went back to his own. The lifeless silence in the area felt wrong; he wanted to reject it by simply allowing his own presence to defy it for a little while, at least.

Was it his imagination, or could he hear hushed voices speaking from within the tent?

It had to be his imagination. Robin was gone, and no one would defile the sanctity of a dead man’s memory so soon after his death.

Standing with a sigh Lon’qu decided he would allow the dead their rest.

*

Robin glanced up when the flap of his tent was drawn back with excellent timing; he’d just been neatening the reports to stuff into his pouch behind his spellbook, ideas forming for tactics that the Resistance or the Shepherds alike could use against Walhart.

“I have returned triumphantly!” Tiki sang with a large smile on her face.

As Robin watched the ancient dragon-kin stepped lively as she entered, followed closely by a much more hesitant duo of Inigo and Cynthia.

“They followed me home,” Tiki said with a wink when Robin raised an eyebrow.

“Good evening, Sir Robin,” Inigo said with his usual happy-go-lucky manner.

“We’re not interrupting your work, are we?” Cynthia asked quickly, noticing the stack of papers in Robin’s hands.

“No, I was just finishing,” he said, tucking the reports safely next to his spellbook. “But I am curious as to what the two of you are doing here?”

“I can answer that!” Tiki said excitedly, placing a large copper jug on the table in front of Robin, filled practically to the brim with…

“Wine?” Robin asked incredulously.

Tiki nodded excitedly.

“Yes!” she chirped, clapping her hands together before quickly producing four cups. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a drink with friends, hence why I roped these two into coming! The others were asleep, and, well, Gerome just looked at me when I asked him; I invited Sir Priam, too, but he said he was busy.”

She said the last part of her sentence with a pout so innocently child-like that Robin honestly forgot he was talking to an ancient being of incredible destructive power.

_Maybe I should just stop thinking of her that way_ , Robin thought with a shrug as everyone sat down and cups were filled. _I mean she doesn’t strike me as the ‘all-powerful’ type, even if she_ is _all-powerful._

Cynthia was sniffing curiously at the dark wine, while Inigo took small, hesitant sips from his cup.

“Don’t tell me you two have never had wine before?” Robin said with a chuckle at the two younger Shepherds.

“Of course I have!” Cynthia said defensively, taking a deep swig of her cup. “I am a hero-princess, after all!”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Inigo asked wryly, deciding the liquid in his own cup was safe and beginning to drink in earnest.

Cynthia let out a happy sigh as the alcohol went down, before shrugging at her friend.

“Sometimes I just feel the need to remind you,” she said playfully.

Robin snickered, making smooching faces to Tiki, who instantly burst into a fit of giggles. Inigo and Cynthia both looked up aghast, blushing heavily and shouting “It’s not like that!” at the same time. Robin and Tiki practically fell out of their chairs they started laughing so hard. Once they’d calmed down Inigo cleared his throat, his face still red as he refilled his and Cynthia’s cups.

“Admittedly, there was not much cause for drinking socially in the future,” he said, holding the jug out to Robin and Tiki who both politely declined.

Inigo shrugged and put the jug back on the table before he continued.

“So this is the first ‘official’ time we’ve drank socially. We all had wine during religious ceremonies, and firewine and brandy were always rationed out during the colder months, but…”

Robin sipped from his own cup, pacing himself and allowing an evil smile as he watched the two younger Shepherds down their second cups in a manner of minutes, not knowing what they were getting themselves into.

“I can’t imagine that,” Robin said with a theatrical sigh. “A world without drink? I think I’d shrivel up and float away. What did you ever talk over?”

Inigo shrugged. “Bad manners, foul language and bread and water.”

“So perhaps things don’t change that much!” Robin said with a laugh.

“You seem very well-mannered, though,” Tiki said over the rim of her own cup.

The tactician leaned back in his seat.

“Me? Sure. The other Shepherds; Vaike and Sully especially? Not so much. Hell, even Chrom gets a little loud after a few mugs of ale! You can even forget he’s meant to be Exalt!”

Cynthia giggled a little, her cheeks starting to take on a rosy tint.

_Just how strong is this stuff?_ Robin wondered, experimentally taking another small sip. The thick fruitiness of the drink was definitely hiding a potent alcoholic effect. Apparently the Valmese didn’t mess around with their drink.

_This is going to be an interesting night._

“I’ve never tried ale, either,” Cynthia said, looking down at her cup before her gaze excitedly snapped back up to Robin. “You say my father drinks ale, too? I must try some! Do you think Sir Priam has any hidden away? Oh! Does my mother drink anything in particular!?”

Robin smiled a little. Lucina had been a little more subtle in wanting to learn about her parents; it seemed like Cynthia was going to be a lot more fun to talk to.

“Sure she does,” Robin answered, refilling her cup again with a big smile. “Wine made from white grapes; it’s much more delicate than this swill, but I personally prefer an ale with your father.”

Tiki huffed a little at the word ‘swill’ but otherwise remained cheery, taking the jug from Robin and pouring her second cup. Robin was only halfway through his first, memories of his last experience drinking heavily weighing on his mind, while Inigo was nearing the end of his third. Cynthia was busily guzzling her fourth cup.

“What about Lucy? Has she taken to anything in particular?” Cynthia asked curiously, looking for all the world at that moment like her mother after a few bottles of wine with Lissa and Cordelia.

Robin shrugged, about to answer ‘if she does, I don’t know about it’ before he was cut off by the tent flaps flying apart as Owain entered. Loudly.

“What-ho, friends and comrades!” He cried. “Owain, scion of legends and blood of dragons is here to join the festivities!”

“Now it’s a party!” Tiki laughed gleefully, tossing an extra cup at the blonde man.

Robin winced at the volume of Owain’s entry, leaning over discreetly to Inigo.

“I thought Tiki said he was asleep?” the tactician whispered as Tiki and Cynthia cheered, watching Owain down his entire cup in seconds before holding it out and demanding a refill.

“Gerome probably woke him up to spite me,” Inigo sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Come, hero-tactician!” Owain, called from a foot in front of Robin. “Let us drink like the heroes of legend! I would pit myself against the constitution of a hero!”

_So much for taking it easy tonight…_ Robin thought with an internal sigh, the glint in Owain’s eyes clearly stating he wasn’t backing down from the proposed drinking contest. Besides, as the most senior member of the Shepherds present, it fell to Robin to oversee the boy’s further training.

“Alright junior,” Robin said with a grin while speaking as condescendingly as he could. “I introduced your mother to alcohol; now I guess I’ll be a bad influence to you, too. Throw down.”

*

“I’ve got a bone I’ve been meaning to pick with you since this afternoon,” Cynthia slurred at Robin, the half-full cup in her hands teetering dangerously as she swayed.

“And what would that be, oh future-hero-princess Cynthia of Ylisse?” Robin asked, blinking a few times and willing his vision to stop swaying with the girl as he mock-bowed.

“What, exactly, did you mean about my sister earlier? About ‘kissing and telling’?”

Robin choked. He’d been expecting this question to come up, but much earlier into the revelries. Inigo and Tiki were both passed out, spooning on the cot in the corner; Owain was draped across the table, mumbling incoherently to himself after being thoroughly beaten by Robin in the drinking contest; leaving Robin to sit up with a very inebriated Cynthia while she waited for the effects of the wine to wear off enough to stumble back to her tent, something admittedly taking longer than it should have because she kept adding more wine to her cup while Robin wasn’t looking. That being said, Robin wasn’t exactly faring much better than she was; in drinking Owain under (or in this case over) the table he’d almost wound up there himself.

Owain snorted, mumbling something about sharks and turning his head a little so his nose wasn’t being crushed.

“Well, that’s… complicated,” Robin admitted as he leaned back in his chair, avoiding Cynthia’s piercing, albeit drunken, glare.

_Couldn’t she have asked me this while I was sober?_ Robin grumbled internally. _I should be mentally preparing to make an arse out of myself right now._

“I’ll bet it is,” Cynthia said, crossing her arms and spilling the last third of her cup down her side.

The girl ignored it, continuing to glare at Robin, waiting for his answer. It was like a puppy eying down a larger animal to the drunken tactician, and it took all of his will-power not to reach out and try to pet her head.

“She was adamant we not interfere with the past,” Cynthia insisted as the red stain spread on her clothes. “I can’t believe she would willingly interfere like that, especially since she was actually there when you and Say’ri were married!”

Robin winced.

“Thank you for confirming that for me,” he said in a tired voice as he looked away.

Cynthia’s eyes went wide as she tried to clap her hands over her mouth, slapping herself in the face with her empty cup.

“I didn’t just ruin the timeline, did I? Is everything going to fade into nothingness now!?” Cynthia asked, terror tinging her slurred words as she gripped Robin’s shoulders, her cup falling forgotten to the floor.

Robin laughed as he took her hands gently off his shoulders and placed them in her lap.

“Relax. If things were going to unravel because the timeline’s been altered it would have done so three years ago when your sister saved your Aunt and myself from the Risen. Quite frankly, I’m beginning to doubt you guys being here is going to have any negative effect at all.”

Cynthia blinked a few times, trying to process what Robin was saying through the wine clouding her thoughts.

“Do you really think it’s that simple?” Cynthia asked hesitantly.

Robin shrugged. “Sure, why not? Not everything has to be big and complicated.”

“But we’re talking about time itself!” Cynthia blurted out.

“Time is just a unit of measurement,” Robin said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s conceptual, our understanding of it. Who’s to say once you figure out the secret or learn the spell time-travel isn’t as easy as point and go? And who’s to say our method of counting time is the best, or even correct at all? The fact that you’re all here implies that time isn’t exactly linear or set in stone.”

Cynthia’s jaw dropped and Robin could practically see the cogs inside her head turning.

“You…” she muttered with wide eyes. “You just blew my mind.”

Robin burst out laughing, so loud that Owain actually snorted, flew upright, and collapsed backwards over the backrest of the chair he was on, his head dangling limply as he recommenced snoring.

“Okay, help me get this lump into his bed,” Robin said, grunting as he lifted Owain.

“Unhand me, foul turnip!” Owain grumbled. “I am the lord of salad bowl and I shall not be pawed at! Fear my fork of righteous poking!”

Cynthia stood slowly, swaying dangerously as Robin tried not to fall over laughing. “I don’t think… I’ll be much help.”

“Then be moral support; either way, there’s no space here to sleep, and I’m not game to wake a sleeping manakete. I’ll take Inigo’s bedroll for tonight, so show me where your tent is.”

Cynthia nodded, motioning for them to follow her out of the tent.

“But I still wanna know about you and Lucy,” she mumbled as she matched Robin’s pace, the tactician practically dragging Owain through the camp.

“When we’re sober,” Robin promised. “It’s complicated and I don’t wanna risk leaving anything out.”

Owain stirred, attempting to stand on his own and thrashing about a little on Robin’s shoulder.

“Speak no ill of the Exalt, mongrel, or face the fork of *urp* Owain!”

Robin chuckled, rubbing comforting circles on the boy’s back so he wouldn’t puke on the new clothes Robin was wearing; he doubted Sir Priam would be generous enough to provide another set because a drunken idiot had soiled them.

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” Robin chuckled as he followed Cynthia.

_Just like old times,_ he thought nostalgically to himself. _Me carrying one of the Ylissean Royal Family home after a night of drinking._

He watched as Cynthia stumbled, reaching out to steady herself against his free shoulder before toppling.

“I guess some things never change,” he muttered under his breath, a smile creeping onto his face.

*

Robin woke to the familiar ache of a hangover, mercifully light seeing as he went easy on the wine last night.

_It’s always important to pace oneself to avoid doing stupid things and waking up with a mind full of regret,_ Robin intoned, yawning and running a hand through his hair.

Fortunately his mind was full of joy after relaxing last night, something that he could honestly say he was in sore need of as of late. Tiki must have been able to sense that, and responded appropriately. He would have to remember to thank her at breakfast. That, and make fun of Inigo for cuddling an ancient and powerful dragon all night.

Snickering as he tried to sit up Robin was met with resistance from something weighing down the outside of Inigo’s bedroll. The tactician glanced up, groaning and letting his head fall backwards, taking a deep breath.

“Owain get the hell off of me!” Robin shouted suddenly, roughly yanking the bedroll out from under the slumbering man curled up next to Robin.

The others in the tent all woke at the shout, a lifetime spent fighting a losing war and outrunning death seeing them all awake and alert at the drop of a hat. Brady and Gerome were both on their feet in an instant, Cynthia attempting to emulate them but keeling over instantly as her first hangover made its presence known. Owain simply curled into a tighter ball, moaning piteously.

“Turn off the sun, it’s too bright!” the blonde man groaned, burying his head under the corner of the bedroll.

“You wait until you try drinking with your father,” Robin grumbled. “He’ll set you straight. I don’t know where the man puts it all.”

Glancing up Robin grinned.

“You two can relax now. The only enemy here is an alcohol induced poor choice on Owain’s part. Question, though; did you sleep in that mask, Gerome?”

The man in black clothes similar to his armour inclined his head a little, lowering his axe while Brady began muttering about ‘never getting a gentle awakening around these idiots’.

“Yes,” was all the answer Gerome gave before he stepped out of the tent, drawing the flaps back to reveal a bright and sunny morning.

A black shape darted through the open flaps, and in an instant Robin acted, directing a light wind spell at Huginn to alter his flight trajectory right to…

“Gwah!” Owain shouted as Huginn impacted into the sleeping boy’s shoulder, cawing loudly with displeasure at Robin less than a foot from Owain’s ear.

Robin fell backwards, holding his stomach as he laughed and Huginn hopped to his shoulder, nipping irritatedly at his ear.

“Yeah, I’m on to your tricks now,” Robin said, stroking the bird on his shoulder.

Was it just his imagination, or did Huginn actually seem disappointed that he couldn’t run head-long into Robin after a night of drinking?

“Someone… urgh… want to tell me why my clothes are… covered in wine?” Cynthia moaned from her bedroll, not even attempting to right herself.

“Guess I missed one helluva shindig last night,” Brady sighed, hauling Owain up by the scruff.

“Go clean yourself up,” he said brusquely. “You too, Princess. It’ll make ya feel better.”

Cynthia moaned and nodded, hauling herself to her feet and letting Owain lean on her as they headed for the bathing tents.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Robin said, hopping lightly to his feet. “I really, really want to be there when Inigo and Tiki wake up.”

He hesitated when he reached the tent’s entrance, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight.

“You’d better come too,” the tactician added cryptically. “And bring your staff. If there’s the misunderstanding coming that I think there is, you’ll need it.”

Brady blinked a few times, shrugging and leaning the healing staff on his shoulder as he fell into step with Robin.

“What exactly did you lot _do_ last night?”

Before Robin could answer Huginn took flight as a much larger black shape came bearing down on him with all the subtlety of a charging bull.

“Oh gods Minerva, no!” Robin cried as he was tackled by the excited wyvern.

From his position beneath the excited creature he could hear Huginn cawing in a manner suspiciously reminiscent of the laugh Tharja used when people around her got hurt.

“You planned this, didn’t you!?” Robin called as he was crushed, shaking his fist at the bird perched on the corner of a nearby tent. “Alright! Alright, already! Brady! Gerome!? Anybody!? Get this thing off of me!”


	38. Chapter 38

An endless sea of red-armoured figures were marching along the main road leading north to the Imperial Capital at Lord Walhart’s summons; the fact that Steiger, as well as the majority of the Southern and Central armies had been wiped out had made not only the military commanders nervous, but apparently Walhart himself; hence why the entirety of his remaining forces were being consolidated.

And unfortunately it was one Corporal Tomas’ job to oversee the checkpoint that the soldiers all had to pass through on this arterial route from the southlands to the central region.

Tomas had a single squad of conscripts with which to hold the checkpoint, meaning that passage was slow-going for the irritable and impatient soldiers and even worse for their officers. None of the higher ranking men seemed to take kindly to a Corporal giving them orders, but Walhart’s edict had been copied and was being displayed at every gate, so most of them kept quiet.

For weeks he’d been forced to preside over this sopping wet, mud-stained hell hole of a posting, but soon his rotation would be over and he’d get to head north with the rest of the soldiers.

Thoughts of the warm bed waiting for him at the capital swirled about his head as he made his daily inspection of the gates, watching as his men checked papers and issued new traveling permits for the squads and regiments passing through. Every so often they got a few fragmented groups of survivors from the Southern or Central armies, shell-shocked and wounded men that could barely walk, let alone speak, who were given top priority in passage and often bumped to the front of whatever cue they found themselves in.

Tomas hesitated, noticing one of the Privates waving him over, seemingly confused by the papers he was holding.

The Corporal approached, mentally preparing himself to have to shout-down another over-zealous commander that couldn’t be bothered reading the edicts plastered everywhere. He took a good long look at the red-armoured men standing to one side while the Private went through their papers; a squad of ten, their Sergeant an older man with scruffy blue hair that was mostly hidden by his helm, a great broadsword slung over his shoulder. A younger man with shoulder-length white hair stood by his side holding a stack of papers and books, no doubt the Sergeant’s ensign. Out of the others no one was really attention-grabbing or strange. They seemed to be an ordinary squad, dirty and tattered from travelling by foot in the rain-soaked countryside for so long, but an otherwise boringly normal group of nine men and one woman.

“What’s the problem?” Tomas asked without preamble.

“Sir, these papers all appear to be in order,” the Private said in a low voice. “But the command codes are outdated.”

Tomas nodded, turning to face the Sergeant.

“Name, rank and posting, sir.”

“Sergeant Nasu, Fortress Steiger outriders, sir,” the Sergeant answered, snapping to attention.

“Steiger?” Tomas asked curiously. “I thought the outriders were all wiped out?”

“Admittedly, our mounts were killed during the battle, as well as most of our unit. We’re all that’s left after those monstrous Ylisseans got to us. We’ve been hiking for nearly a week now, sir.”

Tomas nodded, satisfied. Their papers were outdated because they’d been travelling through the wilderness all this time, not to mention the place they would normally have gotten their new orders from was gone entirely. Considering what they’d already been through Tomas decided he’d show a little compassion and hurry the screening process along a little for them.

“Give them a pass and wave them through,” Tomas told the Private. “These poor bastards have been through enough without us making their lives more difficult.”

The Private nodded, quickly filling out the necessary travel permits and handing them over to the Sergeant, who in turn gave them to the ensign for safe-keeping. He waved his men through, before nodding to Tomas and following them.

“Thank you, Corporal,” the ensign said in a pleasant voice. “Much obliged. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

Tomas nodded, smiling a little.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he muttered as the next group arrived for processing. “A polite soldier. I really have seen everything now.”

*

“I can’t believe that worked,” Robin said as soon as they were out of sight of the checkpoint, pulling off his borrowed helm and shaking his hair loose.

“It was your idea,” Tiki said, doing the same, her emerald tresses falling like a green waterfall now that they were free of their red-armoured cage.

“I didn’t think it would actually work though,” Robin said, looking over his shoulder just to be safe. “I mean I know it’s been working for the last few days, but I thought for sure someone would recognize Naga’s Voice or a former General.”

Priam snorted as he pulled his own helm off, tossing it to one of the resistance soldiers that was with them.

“I was a general of the Central Army,” he explained. “That man was a Northern Army soldier, probably sent down here to fill the gaps left when Steiger and its troops were destroyed. There was no way he’d have known who I was.”

“I’m with Robin,” Inigo said, joining their conversation but leaving his helm in place. “I thought we were goners.”

“Show a little faith, boy,” one of Priam’s soldiers said with a grin, nudging Inigo’s ribs with his elbow as he passed. “He’s a hero-tactician, ain’t he?”

Robin groaned and rolled his eyes; ever since Cynthia and Owain had taken to calling him that it had spread throughout the Resistance like a plague, and now everyone was calling him the ‘Hero-Tactician of Ylisse’. It was flattering, but really, really annoying at the same time.

Robin had gone with his initial plan once Priam had announced he would follow Tiki and fight against Walhart with the Ylissean League, due in no small part to Robin’s name-dropping of Lord Liung, Duke Virion and Lady Say’ri; all of whom were apparently greatly respected by the resistance leader. Even if Virion was an outcast from his own land for failing to protect it from Walhart and Say’ri had been offered up as a sacrificial lamb so that he could build his Resistance in secrecy. But Robin wasn’t about to look a thousand veteran gift-horses in the mouths.

Since the announcement Robin and Priam had worked diligently at forging phony papers to get them past the various gates and checkpoints that had been set up while the rest of the Resistance had gone about painting their armour red and preparing to travel. Even Tiki had opted to travel by foot with them, rather than bypass the checkpoints with Cynthia, Owain, Brady and Gerome, all of whom were flying on Minerva and Cynthia’s pegasus. Inigo had drawn the short straw, and had been forced to hoof it with the rest of them, but Tiki could have transformed at any time and flown with the others; instead she had borrowed a suit of overly-large Valmese armour and walked with Priam’s group. With a lot more cheer than Robin felt strictly necessary, but he wasn’t about to rain on her parade; apparently being somewhat of a religious idol meant that she didn’t get out often. It was interesting, though, how quickly she swapped back and forth between ‘holy-maiden voice of Naga’ and the carefree woman that she projected most of the time she was around Robin.

“Hey Tiki,” Robin asked casually as they walked. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

The manakete nodded, indicating Robin continue as she clasped her hands behind her back, practically skipping along the road.

“Well, it’s about what you were saying before,” Robin explained. “About me resembling the Hero-King Marth. Isn’t Chrom a direct descendant of Marth?”

“I believe so,” Tiki answered. “I’d need to take another look at him now that I’m awake just to be sure, but I’m rather confident he is.”

“So therefore wouldn’t logic dictate that he would resemble King Marth more than I do?”

Tiki ‘hrmed’, looking up and letting her long green pony-tail cascade down her red-armoured back.

“Perhaps because Chrom is not like Marth,” she explained after some thought. “He is much more direct, and committed to what he believes is right. Chrom might more resemble a different ancestor, from the age I was born in. Another great man in their line, from a thousand years before Marth... but the Marth of my time was wise and fair, and won hearts with his kindness.”

“Er… okay,” Robin said, a little lost. “So I don’t look like him, then.”

Tiki giggled, skipping forward a few steps to stand in front of Robin and walk backwards.

“No. I was referring to your soul. An aura of kindness and goodness surrounds you, Robin. Just as it did wise King Marth.”

“Well, that is... most flattering,” Robin mumbled, looking away and blushing from the unexpected compliment. “I honestly don't know what to say.”

Tiki smiled, tilting her head to one side. “What was that, Mar-Mar?”

Robin’s blush intensified as an eyebrow shot up.

“’Mar-Mar’?”

Tiki’s eyes went wide and she clapped her delicate hands to her mouth in shock.

“Ah! Forgive me! I was in habit of calling Marth by that name... it must have slipped out by mistake. Gracious, the resemblance is so uncanny; it's making me forget what millennium it is!”

Robin snickered unintentionally, making Tiki blush.

“My apologies,” she muttered, looking down at her feet as Robin drew alongside her.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, draping an arm across her armoured shoulders. “But don’t let Owain hear you call me that. I’m sure he’d have a fit. Something along the lines of ‘but it is I, Owain, scion of legend and hero of the future that is of Marth’s line, not the lowly tactician, hero though he may be!’”

Tiki laughed heartily as Robin’s arm dropped and he struck a pose, imitating Owain almost perfectly.

“It’s scary how well you do that,” Inigo muttered.

“There should only be a few more groups to pass through after us,” Robin chuckled, growing serious again as he held his arm up reflexively, Huginn making a graceful landing, spoiling the image by cawing loudly in Robin’s face.

Priam nodded and gave a few concise hand gestures to his men, who automatically started marching to the designated meeting-place.

“Apparently I’m not the only one that wanted to walk,” Tiki chuckled as Huginn nipped at Robin’s ear, clearly displeased.

“Gah! You’re as bad as your master! Leave me alone already!” Robin pleaded, his cries falling on deaf ears as Huginn ruffled his feathers and got comfortable.

Inigo drew alongside the duo as they followed Priam, curiously glancing at the bird.

“What’s with the crow?” he asked after a few moments. “There was never any bird in the stories they told about you. So… what’s the deal?”

“He’s Tharja’s familiar,” Robin deadpanned, ignoring the chuckling from Tiki as Huginn cawed again. “And he’s as overly-attached to me as his master is.”

Huginn made another irritated squawk as Robin weakly batted him away from his ear before reaching up and carefully attaching a rolled-up piece of paper to the bird’s foot with a string.

“Okay, go play carrier pigeon now,” Robin instructed the bird as he hopped back to the tactician’s arm. “Deliver that to Cynthia. You remember her? She looks like a cross between Sumia and Lucina. Go find her.”

Cawing once Huginn leapt into the air, circled the group twice and was gone to deliver news of their safe infiltration to the rest of the Resistance.

“At least he follows orders,” Inigo said with a grin.

“Yeah,” Robin replied, rolling his eyes. “Now if only I could get his master to do the same…”

A few moments of peace passed before Inigo spoke again.

“Say Robin…” he said, resting his hands behind his head lazily as he walked.

“What’s up?” Robin asked. “Did you need something?”

“No, it's nothing like that. I just figured it wouldn't kill me to spend time with the fellas once in a while.”

“Uh huh,” Robin deadpanned. “You mean instead of chasing girls hither and yon? Yes, I'd say taking a break once in a while is definitely healthy.”

Since they’d started travelling again the small group had passed through a number of towns, and even made the effort to stay at the inns and in the barns in said towns to match the appearance of retreating soldiers. Inigo had barely spent any time ‘resting’, instead choosing to chase skirts in a fashion that would have made a younger Virion proud. Robin resolved to keep the young man not only away from Morgan, but Virion as well. Just in case he was a bad influence; the thought of one of his friends being fed to his wife’s wyvern made Robin… uncomfortable.

“Oh!” Inigo said excitedly. “Speaking of healthy, did you try that vegetable cantina in the last town? You would not believe how cute the serving wench was!”

“You're taking a break from chasing girls, to talk to me about...chasing girls?”

“She actually blushed when I said hello. Talk about sweet? I could bottle that! You can't tell me you wouldn't want to share a cup of tea with a lady like that? Plus if she's blushing, that usually means she's interested!”

Inigo let out a low growl, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Robin merely rolled his eyes; but he knew if he didn’t give the boy what he wanted, Inigo would never leave him alone.

“So what happened next?” Robin asked disinterestedly, scanning the horizon. “Did you have that cup of tea?”

“Alas, she dashed my hopes. I asked when her shift ended, and she said ‘after your bedtime!’ Ha! But what a wit!”

“She must get many such requests,” Robin reasoned. “Perhaps she's simply tired of them.”

“Or perhaps I just need to ask with more confidence! Ladies love confidence.”

“Sure. Whatever. I have to admit to being impressed, though; not a whole lot slows you down, does it?”

“I can't waste time moping about one rejection when so many ladies remain! Still, thanks for cheering me on, Robin!”

Inigo chuckled and hopped forward a few steps to fall in line with some more of the Resistance soldiers, leaving Robin to walk alone for a time.

“Huh,” he muttered, watching Inigo naturally interject himself into the other men’s conversation with a strange sinking feeling. “Is that what I was doing?”

For the last few days it had been like nothing at all had changed; he was still working for the war effort, he was still coming up with daring plans and crafty tactics, and he was still surrounded by friends he trusted implicitly. But something about it felt hollow.

He missed the Shepherds. He missed Chrom, and Tharja and Virion. He missed Morgan like an amputated limb; not having her constant cheerful outlook around to balance out his own snarky cynicism was taking some getting used to. Hell, in a twisted way he also missed the Voice that had occupied his head with him a little.

But probably most of all he missed Lucina. He missed getting to see her at breakfast as she carefully ate in a manner befitting a princess, an endearing trait considering they were technically at march most times and even Sumia and Maribelle were starting to slip in their table-manners; instead he was settling for watching Owain and Inigo scorf down their food like they’d never eaten before. He missed catching glimpses of her during the day and feeling a little calmer just knowing she was around, knowing that she was still watching over everyone. He missed getting to talk to her before they turned in for the night; well, before she turned in and he spent a few more hours perusing the strategy tomes that were carted around everywhere for him. But those few extra hours had been bearable because he knew he’d see her again at breakfast.

Robin was worried about them all; how were they doing without him? Was Morgan coping alright being the sole tactician now? What about the others? How broken was Lucina by his ‘death’?

He felt guilty for having so much fun with Tiki and Priam’s resistance, but it was honestly almost like he was taking a break from work. The Resistance, with the addition of the five Shepherds, numbered just under a thousand men at arms. Granted, those thousand men were mostly veteran soldiers that had served closely with Priam for at least a decade or other long-service warriors from the Central or Southern armies, but it was still a drop in the bucket organization-wise compared to the Ylissean League. While the League was full of highly motivated and not inexperienced men Priam’s Resistance was like having an entire army of Shepherds; they all knew their roles and carried them out flawlessly like a choreographed dance or a well-oiled machine. It was truly awe-inspiring.

“Robin? Earth to Robin!” Inigo was saying, waving his hand in front of the tactician’s face.

Robin spluttered, looking around quickly and realizing he’d zoned out; he didn’t even recognize the area they were standing in anymore.

“What’s… er… how long was I out for?” he asked sheepishly.

“You’ve been following along for about three hours completely dead to the world,” Inigo said with a chuckle.

“It’s an important part of the job, being able to run tactical scenarios in your head at any time,” Robin said, hastily coming up with an excuse.

“Uh-huh,” Inigo said, obviously not convinced. “Whatever. Your carrier pigeon’s back.”

Robin glanced over to Tiki, who was currently holding and stroking Huginn, who appeared to be enraptured by the manakete’s ministrations.

“Huginn!” Robin called, holding out his arm.

The bird glanced up lazily, before flapping over to the tactician and holding out its leg.

Robin deftly removed the new message, stroking Huginn a couple of times himself and telling the bird to go and find something to eat, sending him soaring towards the forest a little way away from the road. Robin’s eyes scanned the message, growing wide as he read.

“Well?” Priam said, appearing at the tactician’s shoulder. “What is it?”

“Yeah, don’t keep us in suspense!” Tiki chimed in.

Robin grinned, a feral smile he only used when something so good happened that it would completely tip the scales of battle, or indeed an entire campaign, in his own favour.

“The others have come across some of my friends,” he answered, his smile growing.

*

Morgan blinked a few times, willing her tired eyes to focus as she stared at the maps arrayed before her. The command tent was as busy as it usually was, save for one or two little details; the biggest of which was Morgan standing in her father’s place next to Chrom.

“If we just follow the road we’ll cut down on travel time,” Morgan thought out loud, checking some notes on the scout reports Chrom had received earlier that day. “But according to the Trackers we’d run the risk of alerting the Imperial army that we’re on the move again.”

So far, by luck or divine providence, they’d managed to pass through the Southern Valmese lowlands without incident, the entire army moving quickly during the light and resting without fires at night. They were travelling light and really beginning to push the soldiers’ endurance, but they no longer had any options. They needed to strike before Walhart managed to consolidate all of his forces, and with the fresh soldiers from the Chon’sin army to take the front lines they finally had a fighting chance; but every moment they delayed was a moment that Walhart’s defences grew stronger. There was no other options; they had to strike now, before Walhart closed himself into his capital. The Ylissean League wasn’t equipped for an extended siege. If it came down to that, they would have to admit defeat, return to Valm Harbour and await the reinforcements from Regna Ferox which were still at least two months away before they could launch another assault.

Keiji, her mother’s General and leader of the Chon’sin army, rubbed his chin in thought.

“We could always cut through this thin forest here,” he said, indicating to the spot on the map. “These maps are actually quite old; the forest would be quite simple to traverse these days if one knows the path; fortunately a number of my men are from this area.”

Morgan nodded, unconsciously running a hand through her hair as she made some mental calculations.

“That would expedite our progress immeasurably,” Laurent said, scratching away at the book balanced on one of his arms. “In fact, if my calculations are correct, it could perhaps save us an entire day of travel.”

“If the forest is passable,” Frederick grumbled, forever playing the pessimist.

Chrom looked to Morgan, who nodded.

“Alright,” Chrom said decisively. “Sir Keiji, gather those men you spoke of. Frederick, speak to the Feroxi and have them assemble the freshest trackers they can to go with them and map us a path. Everyone else, prepare to pass through the forest.”

A chorus of affirmatives sounded, heralding the end of the strategy meeting as the commanders all hurried off to prepare for their respective duties, leaving Morgan alone hovering over the maps, running scenarios in her head.

_What if we’re attacked in the trees? I’ll have to have the fliers doing recon for the main group... But what if they’re spotted? Maybe I can use the mages to create a cloud-screen for them to hide in… But if the spell is sensed by enemy mages then-_

“Morgan?” a soft voice called to her.

She glanced up, tired eyes burning with protest, to see Yarne standing at the entrance to the tent with a strange look on his face.

“Er… you… look like hell,” he said hesitantly. “Maybe you should, I don’t know, uh, take this chance to take a nap or something while the scouts are running recon?”

Morgan shook her head. “I can’t. Not until this plan is airtight.”

Yarne frowned, shaking his head a little and sending his ears flopping about.

“Not good enough,” he said, obviously mustering his courage. “You need to rest. Either you go now, or… or…”

Morgan raised an eyebrow at her friend as he stuttered.

“Or I’ll go get Severa, and she’ll help me make you!” he finished, his initial bravery evaporating.

“Yarne…” Morgan started, her gaze snapping up to glare at the Taguel before she caught herself.

Had she really been about to bark at Yarne just because he was worried about her? Maybe she really did need a rest…

The young tactician took a deep breath and began to chuckle, before forcing herself to relax a little and losing her grip, bursting into laughter as the Taguel blinked a few times in confusion.

“Yeah, okay,” she relented at last. “But you have to wake me the second that anything changes, okay?”

Yarne nodded, standing up straight and offering her his arm.

“Then please allow me to accompany you to your tent,” he said haltingly.

Morgan chuckled again. “Afraid I’ll slip away and go back to work?”

Yarne nodded. “You said it, not me.”

“Then perhaps you’ll have to stay with me until I fall asleep, just to be sure,” Morgan said tiredly, latching onto Yarne’s arm and leaning heavily against him, practically passing out as the Taguel led her to her tent.

*

Flavia rolled out her neck, pacing around the small tent she’d been detained in and wishing for the hundredth time that they hadn’t taken her sword. Her right hand clenched and unclenched, clutching at air and instinctively looking for the haft of the weapon she’d carried around everywhere for nearly two decades.

Sitting down with a huff she glanced up to the small gap between the tent flaps, eying the red armoured forms outside it, each wielding a heavy spear and standing at attention as they waited for their leader to come to see her. No doubt she’d have no problem taking them, but it was the hundreds of other Valmese soldiers that were beyond them that gave her pause; not to mention they effectively had the rest of her men held hostage.

She had been told once she’d been separated from the warriors that had stood with her and Basilio against Walhart that they would remain unharmed, and even receive medical attention while they were being held; just so long as she behaved herself.

“By the gods I miss my sword,” Flavia moaned, running her hands through her messy hair exasperatedly.

They were supposed to have met up with the rest of the Ylissean League days ago; instead she had been forced to slow her group’s pace so that the wounded weren’t put under too much strain.

And of course she’d wound up getting lost in the unfamiliar Valmese terrain. There was too much green; she wasn’t used to it! Everything in Regna Ferox was covered in snow most of the year, so she could be excused for having trouble with the new surroundings now that she was effectively on her own leading the entire Regna Ferox army.

She was starting to miss Raimi; the woman, cold as the biting wind at her posting on the Longfort, would have had no trouble stepping up to lead the remains of the Feroxi forces alongside her, tattered as they were. It would be a long time before the army recovered properly, even taking into consideration the warriors still at sea on the troop transports crossing from Port Ferox. By her reckoning there would still be at least a month before they arrived, but by then the Ylissean League may already be destroyed.

Flavia looked up lazily as a Valmese soldier entered the tent, bearing a tray of fresh fruits and water.

“The Commander thought you might be hungry, Khan Flavia,” he said in a pleasant tone. “Please, help yourself.”

With a bow the man retreated, leaving Flavia alone with the two guards outside again.

“It’s as if they think no one’s ever tried to poison me before,” she muttered, reaching out and taking hold of an apple from the bowl on the tray.

Giving it a cursory sniff Flavia was surprised to find she couldn’t actually smell any poison. She took a tentative bite, expecting to feel the stab of toxins flooding through her body at any moment, surprise growing as she sat there staring at the apple in her hand.

“This… this is actually pretty good,” she said, digging in with gusto.

Apparently they wanted her alive. For what, she didn’t presently care; she was hungry, and there was food present. That’s all that mattered. The rest could wait.

*

“It’s getting kind of tense in those meetings,” Chrom said, rolling out his shoulders as he walked with Sumia outside of the hastily-erected camp that the Ylissean League had prepared.

“I should imagine so, dear,” she replied. “We are in a dire situation at present.”

Chrom chuckled.

“This? This isn’t dire, this is just a minor hiccup. We’ll be back to where we should be in no time with Morgan leading us,” The Prince said cheerily. “What I meant was there seems to be some animosity between some of the groups in the League.”

_Or at least their leaders_ , Chrom mentally added, recalling the way that Liung and Say’ri had argued over troop positions, not to mention the way that the newly crowned Queen of Chon’sin had glared occasionally at some of the Ylisseans.

“We are a group of many united from different backgrounds and cultures,” Sumia mused. “It wouldn’t be surprising.”

Before Chrom could respond his arms automatically moved to catch his wife as she stumbled and tripped, saving her from falling face-first on the small path they were travelling on.

“Been a while since that’s happened,” Chrom remarked as he helped her stand straight again. “Didn’t we get you new boots not that long ago?”

“Oh hush you,” Sumia said, blushing as she swatted her husband’s hands away. “Oh Naga I hope none of the troops saw that. What would they say if they saw their Queen trip and fall on her face?”

Chrom stopped walking, looking down at the ground.

“Queen, huh?” he muttered to himself, recalling the thoughts that had been circling around his head ever since his conversation with Morgan in the command tent a few days ago.

“Chrom?” Sumia asked, looking back worriedly.

“Hm? Oh, sorry dear. Just daydreaming.”

He jogged the few steps to catch up to her, grabbing one of her hands in his.

“How long has it been since we just walked like this?” he asked, his grip tightening slightly.

Sumia let out a soft sigh. “Well, we are technically at war. The ambiance of walking through the countryside is ruined by clanking armour and the thought of thousands of soldiers standing behind us.”

Despite himself Chrom couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching them, which made Sumia laugh.

“Relax, honey,” Sumia said, wrapping herself around his arm. “I’m sure the men have better things to do than ogle Prince Chrom while he spends some alone-time with his wife.”

Chrom felt a confusing internal twinge again at her words, just like when he’d been talking to Morgan…

“Father?” a voice called from behind them, interrupting his thoughts.

Chrom turned, Sumia still hanging on his arm, to look at Lucina standing behind them in her new armour. She was still wearing the spare set of clothes she had been forced to borrow from Severa, a white blouse and tan pants, but over top of them was a suit of silver armour very similar to his own, and her tattered red-lined blue cape resting over her shoulders, with her future Falchion strapped to her hip.

“The scouts are returning,” she said in a carefully neutral voice, her face showing no expression. “Sir Frederick requested I come and find you. I will see you at the command tent.”

Without another word she was gone again, leaving Chrom and Sumia blinking at her retreating form.

“I suppose we’d best head back,” Chrom sighed, beginning to walk back towards the camp.

Sumia continued to hold onto Chrom’s arm, silently matching his pace as they headed back.

“It’s like she’s closed back in on herself,” she said after a few minutes.

Chrom nodded, knowing exactly what his wife meant. In the last few days Lucina had closed herself off, returning to the aloof and distant woman she’d been when she had first started travelling with the Shepherds. In many ways she was almost as far reverted as the Marth persona she had set up when she’d first arrived in their time; nothing anyone was saying or doing was getting through to her. All she was doing was training and preparing for war. She wasn’t relaxing and she wasn’t grieving; Chrom was worried she would burn out, but he had no idea how to approach the subject with her. Sumia had tried, but had apparently been shrugged off almost as callously as if she were a well-meaning stranger.

“How did you get through to her last time?” Sumia asked, obviously thinking along the same lines.

Chrom let out a much deeper sigh than he had in the last few days.

“It was actually Robin,” he admitted quietly. “He’s the one that pulled her out of her rut.”

“Oh,” was all Sumia said.

They didn’t speak for the remainder of the walk back to the camp, but neither did they separate until just before Chrom stepped into the command tent.

*

Morgan stood with her mother, Yarne having woken her a quarter of an hour ago when the scouts had returned, watching as the Chon’sin soldiers marched towards the woods. The men and women in lacquered armour were going to traverse the forest first, leaving a clear trail for the rest of the army to follow; all told nearly a hundred thousand troops had been mustered from the remnants of Yen’fay’s southern army, all placed squarely under the control of Say’ri. It had been a blessing none of them had been expecting, but Morgan had made plans making use of the fact that the new soldiers’ were fresh and hadn’t been doing anything more than marching for the last month, placing them at the forefront of the battle lines where they could do the most good. Quite frankly Morgan was at a loss as to where the soldiers actually came from, but she wasn’t about to look a hundred-thousand gift horses in the mouth; it was a significant amount of Walhart’s army that had defected, and now that their ranks had been replenished they could once again stand against him. Unfortunately they weren’t as heavily armoured as the soldiers from Ylisse or Chengshi, but they were highly skilled and determined to prove their worth to their new Queen.

_Wait. Does that make me a princess?_ Morgan wondered, her quill stopping its perpetual motion as the thought popped into her head.

_That’s every little girl’s dream. Too bad I’m too busy to be excited about it right now,_ she lamented, her quill picking momentum back up.

_Well, okay; I’ll get a little excited,_ Morgan thought, grinning as she worked.

“There is a pleasing sight I have not seen for some time,” Say’ri commented from Morgan’s side.

The young tactician looked up curiously, blinking at her mother and wondering what she’d missed now in her current sleep-deprived state.

“You were smiling,” Say’ri said gently, looking down at her shorter daughter.

Morgan felt a blush creeping up to her ears. “No I wasn’t.”

“Fie, child,” Say’ri said, flipping her hair back. “You cannot hide these things from your mother. What was it that made you smile so?”

Morgan’s blush intensified as she shuffled away a few steps.

“Nothing. I was thinking… about work.”

“I do not think so,” Say’ri said, following her. “Come now; allow your dear old mother the pleasure of knowing what makes you happy.”

“You’re not that much older than me in this timeline,” Morgan muttered defensively, turning away from Say’ri.

Morgan glanced up, seeing an escape from this embarrassing line of questioning when the advance group of the Shepherds that would be accompanying the Chon’sin soldiers, made entirely from the future children, walked into her view.

“I should really go with the others,” Morgan said quickly, stuffing her papers and quill into her pouch. “I’ll see you at dinner tonight, okay mom? Stay safe.”

With that Morgan bolted towards the others, shouting “Lucina! Guys! Wait up!”

She caught the small group quickly, panting a little from pushing her exhausted body just by jogging, and fell into step with Severa and Yarne, just behind Lucina and Noire.

“Great timing,” Morgan muttered.

“So you do still like us,” Severa huffed, crossing her arms at Morgan. “I was starting to think you’d found better ways to spend your time.”

“Hey, I’m the tactician now,” Morgan said defensively. “If I’m not busy, you’ll wind up dead!”

“Morbid much?” Yarne snickered, bumping his shoulder against Morgan’s. “It’s good to see you back among the rank and file, though.”

Morgan hesitated, realizing that Lucina had stopped a few steps ahead of her.

“Er… Lucina?” Noire asked hesitantly. “Is everything…”

“It’s nothing,” the Princess said quickly, beginning to walk again at a quicker pace.

Morgan looked over in the direction that Lucina had been, her gaze squarely falling on where her mother was glaring daggers at Lucina’s retreating form.

_What’s that all about?_ Morgan wondered silently, taking a few hesitant steps while watching her mother before she was forced to face ahead.

*

Morgan crouched low behind the fallen tree next to one of the advance scouts from the Chon’sin group, a man in dark blue armour whose name she hadn’t learned yet, as they watched the squad of red-armoured Imperial Valmese advancing from the cover of the forest.

It had taken half of the day, but they had finally emerged from the forest to the sprawling farmlands and pastoral fields that surrounded Walhart’s seat of power in the Valmese Capital. They had been thorough in their travelling to mark a safe path through the forest; one that was wide enough for the wagons to pass through, but narrow enough that the overhanging trees would cover the majority of it. Apparently the Imperial Valmese had yet to extend their patrols to the forest, settling instead for patrolling its borders; no doubt because their forces were stretched so thin.

“We can take ‘em,” Severa insisted, sword already in hand.

“It would be unnecessary,” Morgan replied in a hushed tone. “Stay down and wait for them to-”

“For Ylisse!” Lucina thundered, rising above the log they were behind with Falchion held high. “Attack!”

Severa shrugged at Morgan as she followed Lucina, a transformed Yarne darting out as Noire popped up, already nocking one of her distinctively fletched arrows.

“Dammit,” Morgan cursed as the Chon’sin soldiers around her looked to her for confirmation on Lucina’s order.

“Go!” she shouted, moving to stand next to Noire and already beginning to cast a lightning spell. “Assist the Shepherds! Rout the enemy!”

The Chon’sin soldiers roared as one, a hundred men exploding from the trees and quickly closing the gap between the forest and the Valmese patrol. The unsuspecting patrol never stood a chance, and was wiped out in a manner of minutes with thankfully few League casualties.

Morgan and Noire stepped out of the forest, heading down to where Lucina and the others were waiting a little way away from the battlefield while the soldiers picked through the patrol’s bodies. Morgan stopped, looking to where the Chon’sin men were lining up their own dead, Noire hovering at her shoulder.

“How many?” she asked the nearest man.

“Only seven, ma’am,” he replied with a smart salute.

Morgan nodded, catching sight of familiar dark blue armour among the dead. She hadn’t even learned his name…

“Prepare to take them with us,” she said. “We can’t leave any evidence we were here; not yet. Noire, go get the arrows you shot. Don’t leave any traces. I don’t want the Valmese to know this was us.”

“But… who else would it be?” Noire asked hesitantly.

“The countryside is littered with bandit groups and dissidents that would like nothing more than to kill anything wearing red armour, ma’am,” the Chon’sin soldier supplied helpfully. “We’ve been careful about our movements so far; it’s fairly likely that this attack will be attributed to them instead.”

“I don’t want to take any chances, though,” Morgan said, beginning to walk towards where Lucina and Severa were talking while Yarne sat patiently beside them, still not having reverted to his human form.

“Is anyone wounded?” Morgan asked as she approached, looking back and forth between Severa and Yarne.

The Taguel shook his large head, his whiskers twitching.

“Good,” Morgan said. “Can you two go and help Noire collect her arrows? I don’t want to leave any clues as to who did this.”

“Sure, we’ll do all the grunt-work while you two stand around,” Severa said lightly, grinning a little as she and Yarne headed back to the battlefield.

Morgan turned to look at Lucina.

“It was a flawless victory,” Lucina said as soon as Severa and Yarne were out of earshot. “Low casualties, high efficiency; the Chon’sin soldiers are highly skilled.”

“This was unnecessary,” Morgan said, looking over the piled dead. “We didn’t need to engage, Luce.”

“The Valmese are our enemies, Morgan,” Lucina said coldly. “If our roles had been reversed they wouldn’t have hesitated. It was my decision to make and I made it.”

“Without consulting the tactician travelling with you?” Morgan asked, spinning on her heel. “You and the others went charging into the fight without a backwards glance. What if something went wrong? You’re supposed to consult with the tactician, dammit! What’s the point of even having me here if no one’s going to listen to me!?”

Lucina looked up at Morgan, eyes wide with surprise.

“Er, sorry,” Morgan said quickly. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just…”

“It’s okay,” Lucina said, the mask falling back into place. “I should have consulted with you. Let’s just… finish up here and head back.”

Morgan nodded, watching as her friend walked away.

“What’s wrong with you lately, Luce?” Morgan muttered more to herself than anyone else.

*

Flavia glanced up when the sound of approaching footsteps reached her ears, straining her senses to try and get an accurate number of incoming persons. She had been alone in the tent most of the day, but she no longer felt like she was being held prisoner. The soldiers that had attended to her were nothing but polite and courteous, perhaps even more so than her own men were. They had brought her food and drink when she had requested it, given her privacy when she’d needed to relieve herself, and even recently returned her sword to her.

At least three pairs of feet were approaching now; perhaps more but Flavia couldn’t be certain. There was definitely one woman among them though, and someone who’s gait sounded oddly familiar.

A man, obviously the leader judging from the way the guards were bowing to him, drew back the tent flaps to allow entry to…

“Lady Tiki? Robin? What are you doing – wait, what the hell happened to your hair?”

Robin chuckled, running a hand through his white hair as he stepped into the tent.

“Hello Khan Flavia. Fancy meeting you here.”


	39. Chapter 39

Flavia blinked a few times, staring at Robin in confusion. He looked… different somehow; besides the obvious cosmetic differences of snow-white hair and the blood red Valmese officer’s armour. There was something different in the way he held himself. Plus he was smiling, an expression she hadn’t seen on his face since the war had begun.

“It is you, right?” she asked, her hand drifting towards her sword in momentary suspicion.

Robin chuckled, his smile growing.

“Yeah, I know I’m still not that pretty even with the new duds and hairdo. But it’s me, I assure you of that.”

“So why’s everyone wearing enemy colours then?” Flavia asked, relaxing a little and seating herself back on the corner of the small cot in the room.

The scruffy blue-haired man clicked his fingers and three soldiers brought chairs for himself, Robin and Lady Tiki almost before Flavia had finished sitting.

“You wear red too, you know,” Robin said, his smile becoming a wry grin as he took one of the chairs.

Flavia rolled her eyes. It was definitely Robin.

“It’s all a part of Robin’s genius plan,” Tiki explained excitedly in his place. “We’re hiding in plain sight! Khan Flavia, please allow me to introduce you to Sir Priam, leader of the Valmese Resistance Movement.”

The scruffy man, evidently named Priam, wordlessly inclined his head respectfully towards Flavia, and she responded in kind.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Robin said, leaning forward and staring intently into Flavia’s eyes suddenly. “But what of Basilio?”

Flavia took a breath.

“He met his fate at the end of Walhart’s blade,” Flavia said woodenly. “We will sing songs of his sacrifice once this war is over.”

Tiki gasped, covering her mouth with her hands and tightly closing her eyes; Priam respectfully averted his gaze. Robin nodded, winking at Flavia who resisted the urge to grin back at him.

“It couldn’t be helped,” Robin sighed, growing serious again. “How many men do you have left?”

“Four hundred, all told; but at least a hundred are wounded, twenty too seriously to even walk, let alone fight.”

“We’ve taken care of them,” Priam said shortly. “My healers will have them back in the fight in a manner of hours.”

Flavia blinked again, stunned into silence. Priam’s voice was surprisingly deep and strong; she resolved to review her initial opinion of the man.

“A lot has happened since we all separated,” Robin said with a shrug. “For instance, we’re-”

The tactician was cut off when the tent flaps were torn back and an exhausted looking runner wearing standard Valmese infantry armour burst into the small space.

“Milord!” he panted, reports gripped tight in his hands as he held them out to Priam. “Milord, the scouts are back!”

“Well, give them to him,” Priam said dismissively, indicating to Robin. “It’s his plan, not mine.”

The runner only hesitated a moment before handing the reports to Robin with a deep bow and excusing himself.

“So why is everyone wearing enemy armour?” Flavia asked Tiki again while Robin read the reports at lightning speed, Priam standing over his shoulder.

“We were blending in with the Imperial Army to get past the blockade checkpoints,” Tiki explained. “It was Robin’s idea to use stealth, rather than force. This way they don’t know we’re coming.”

“They know we’re coming,” Robin said without looking up.

Tiki and Flavia’s eyes both shot to the tactician, still leafing through the reports.

“Well, not us per say,” Robin said apologetically. “Sorry, force of habit; they know that the Ylissean League is on its way. They’ve been spotted on the march with… a lot more troops than they should have. Chrom must have roped another Dynast into helping them, maybe more than one judging from these reports, although they are second hand from the Imperials... They’ll be at the capital in two days, and it looks like the Imperial army doesn’t know their exact location. Thank Naga for small favours. The order to hasten back to the capital has been passed for all Imperial Valmese units, including conscripts; all of the dynasts are being called in and… well. Damn.”

“What? What’s ‘well damn’?” Flavia asked, leaning forward to peek at the papers.

“Two days,” Robin said tiredly. “The Dynasts will be here in two days with nearly a million soldiers.”

Flavia sat back heavily as Tiki and Priam went quiet.

“So all the fighting we’ve done so far has been barely a drop in the ocean?” Flavia asked defeatedly.

“Say’ri did say his standing forces numbered more than a million,” Robin murmured, massaging his temple with the corner of his fist. “But I didn’t think it possible he could marshal them in such a short period of time.”

“So it is hopeless, then?” Priam asked matter-of-factly.

Robin shook his head.

“The orders apparently weren’t signed by Walhart, but by Excellus,” Robin said, looking at the deeper papers in the stack and chuckling. “Look, we even got sent a copy. I guess our acting is pretty good, huh?”

He held up a piece of parchment with orders, stamped not with Walhart’s signet but Excellus’.

“He’s planning a coup,” Priam said, voicing the thoughts of everyone in the tent.

Robin nodded. “He must think that the Dynasts will back him the way Yen’fay did. Will they?”

Priam snorted. “They barely support Walhart; everything the Southern Dynasts did for Walhart they did in fear of Yen’fay’s wrath. They’re coming only because they have been ordered to by a higher authority. Frankly I’m surprised there hasn’t been a power vacuum yet.”

Robin bolted up as if struck.

“If we could convince them to meet with you, do you think they would listen to reason?”

Priam stroked his chin in thought, his eyes taking a far-away quality.

“Perhaps,” he said at last. “But not all of them; they still fear Walhart above all else. At best I may be able to convince them to hold off on their attack until a victor is decided between Ylisse and Valm, but…”

“Good enough,” Robin said, reaching out of the tent and signalling for all available runners. “If we can just keep them off of the League long enough for Chrom to take out the Imperial Army proper, we can end this in one fell swoop without a massacre!”

“Assuming the Dynasts will listen to me,” Priam grunted.

“What of my men?” Flavia asked, becoming excited again. “What part will we play?”

“I think we may still have a few suits of Valmese armour lying around,” Robin said, grinning over his shoulder before going to meet with the runners and give them their orders. “Why don’t you talk to the quartermaster and see what he can drum up?”

Once the tactician was gone Flavia let out a low laugh. Tiki and Priam both looked at her questioningly.

“Isn’t it funny the way he ends up accidentally taking over every army he works with?” Flavia chuckled.

*

“Take them out!” Morgan shouted to the archer unit moving up behind the main scouting force from her position on a small hill.

A large squad of Valmese scouts in light armour were trying to desperately retreat back to the safety of the trees nearly a hundred meters away, but hadn’t scattered like any good scout party would know to. More conscripts pressed into service, about to die for trying to protect their families from the wrath of the Conqueror. The Feroxi archers lined up, Noire and Virion among them, and began shooting. It only took one volley and the entire squad was wiped out.

“Send some trackers down there to make sure none get away with our position,” Morgan ordered the closest Feroxi who nodded mutely and ran off to relay the orders.

“That’s the fourth one today; they must be getting really desperate,” Sir Kellam said, suddenly appearing behind Morgan and making her jump.

Morgan nodded once she composed herself; how he kept sneaking around everywhere in his huge suit of armour she’d never understand.

The Imperial Valmese were getting more and more desperate the closer the League got to the Capital; they were only about a day and a half away by her reckoning, but the constant harrying by scouting parties trying to pin down their location was becoming bothersome. Morgan was wracking her brain trying to come up with a better plan to expedite their progress and avoid detection, but so far the best they could do was continue as they were; having their own scouting parties watching for the Valmese ones and taking them out before they could escape. It was a high-risk plan, but they didn’t have any other options; moving nearly one and-a-half hundred thousand men in secrecy was a colossal undertaking.

Morgan jumped a little again when a heavy gauntleted hand dropped on her shoulder.

“Morgan? You okay?” Kellam asked kindly, leaning down so that the taller man was on her level.

She nodded, straightening. “Yeah, just trying to come up with a better plan.”

Kellam dropped his hand and chuckled.

“You know your father did the exact same thing constantly. The amount of times I had to take a blow for him because he was lost in thought… not that he ever noticed, though.”

Morgan smiled a little at the Shepherd’s reminiscing, but it was bittersweet.

“You know you look almost exactly like him with that on,” Kellam added as the scout party began to move again, leaving Morgan standing on the hill staring down at the silver breastplate under her coat.

Chrom had insisted that if she were going to continue to be on the frontline, she needed proper armour in addition to her magically enhanced coat. To her mind there was only one piece that would do, even if it was a little snug around the chest; it had originally been smithed for a man, after all. A pair of matching greaves over her dark leather boots and light, fingerless gauntlets Jake had thrown together at the last minute completed the suit, both made out of the same silver material as the breastplate.

_“He’d have wanted you to wear it,”_ Chrom had said with a sad smile the first time she’d worn it on the field. Her mother had looked shocked; apparently the resemblance was uncanny, but she too had approved.

“Are you coming, child?” Virion called, waving from the bottom of the hill. “Surely you are not going to spend the rest of the war up there? If you do not hurry I shall have to win all the glory for myself!”

Morgan scoffed and hurried down the hill, dashing past the archer and sticking out her tongue at him. She only needed to be strong a little longer, and then she could finally relax…

*

That night Robin let his excitement get the better of him, and he stayed up late looking over his copies of the reports and strategies again. He was so close to being reunited with his friends and his family, and they were all so close to being done with this gods-forsaken war that he could hardly bear it.

He was so close to seeing Morgan and Lucina again…

Robin looked up as the flaps to Priam’s command tent were drawn back and Flavia ducked in, cradling a bottle in each hand. She wasn’t wearing the armour that the Resistance quartermaster had supplied her, but she was still clothed in the tunic of a Valmese officer. Her only additions to the outfit were the fact that the top buttons were undone, exposing the dark tan skin of her chest, and the animal-tooth necklace that hung in the gap. Her sword was, as always, strapped to her hip.

“Good evening Robin,” Flavia said pleasantly. “I thought you and I could share a pre-victory celebratory drink.”

“If that’s firewine or sake you can just keep right on walking,” Robin drolled, tapping the side of his head with the end of his quill. “Besides, isn’t it a bit early to be celebrating victory?”

“It’s simply a matter of course,” Flavia said, gently kicking out a chair and sitting across from Robin. “Especially with you leading us. And it’s ale from Regna Ferox; it’ll put hair on your chest.”

Flavia thumped her chest over her heart as she said the last part, grinning maliciously at Robin. No doubt she was referring to the way Robin had described her during their first meeting when his imagination had gotten away from him. _I can picture him now; a giant of a man with arms as thick as my head; swinging an axe that would take two average men to lift; his chest a forest of thick hair_ ; that’s what Robin had said. Much to his surprise and terrible embarrassment, Flavia had been the one to walk through the doors of the room they were waiting in.

“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?” Robin asked, shoving the stacks of paper to one side as he reached for his bottle. “No cups?”

The Khan answered his question by tearing the cork out of the bottle with her teeth before spitting it off to one side and taking a deep swig. Robin chose to remove the cork with his hands but didn’t hesitate to down the no-doubt potent alcohol, if firewine was anything to gauge the other Feroxi drink off of. Much to his pleasant surprise the smooth malt-flavour that met his tongue only carried a small bite of liquor, the drink itself sending warmth to Robin’s tired extremities and making him sigh contentedly when he lowered the bottle.

They drank in silence for a time before Flavia broke it by quietly scoffing.

“I hate these clothes,” she muttered, picking at the long-sleeved tunic before growling and rolling the sleeves up to her elbows. “They’re so stifling. I need to feel the wind on my flesh!”

Robin snickered. “I know how you feel. I miss my coat like I’ve lost a limb.”

They both laughed quietly.

“Do you really think we can win this?” Robin asked seriously after a moment, looking down at the bottle in his hands and momentarily letting his doubts get the better of him.

“Sure,” Flavia answered flippantly. “Why not? We’ve got the best damn soldiers from west of the sea, we’ve got the best leaders our lands have had in generations, not to mention the two best tacticians in the world on our side. I don’t see how we can lose.”

Robin took another deep drink from his bottle, savouring the feel of the ale on his tongue.

“I wish I had your confidence,” he said tiredly.

Flavia placed her half-empty bottle on the table, the sound startling loud in the quiet of the camp as the older woman took a deep breath.

“I know that it is a terrible burden you carry,” she said seriously, staring intently into Robin’s eyes. “We that supposedly lead our people simply pass all the responsibility off to you. Where we would normally only worry for the lives of our own people, you must carry the lives of not just the entire League, but all the hopes of their families back home. I’m sorry, Robin, for making you bear that in my place. You are so brave and quiet that sometimes I forget how you must suffer. I wanted to tell you this now, in case I did not get the chance later. And I know that the oaf Basilio feels the same way. We trust you implicitly, Robin; never before have I met a man I was so willing to put my life in the hands of.”

Robin was silent, looking down at his bottle before grinning and chuckling a little.

“It’s nice to be appreciated,” he said, looking up and leaning back, resting an elbow on the table. “But when have I ever been quiet?”

Flavia snorted before reaching over the table and punching the tactician in the arm.

“I was being serious, you ass,” she laughed.

“So was I,” Robin said with a grin as he moved out of her striking range. “I’m the loud one at parties, the one that comes up with the ‘bad’ ideas, remember?! You honestly think I’m quiet?”

They laughed for a time before Flavia became serious again.

“Robin, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Uh oh,” Robin chuckled. “Buttering me up with kingly-booze and compliments? This is going to be a doozey, isn’t it?”

Flavia snorted. “I am reigning Khan; I only drink the finest of wines and ales, and I meant every word I said before. But I wanted to ask what you plan to do once this war is over.”

Robin shrugged. “Same thing I did before it, I guess. Live day by day, give tactical advice when it’s needed, spend time with my daughter. Why’s that?”

“I was hoping you’d join me in Regna Ferox,” Flavia said, a glint in her eyes. “And become my personal tactician. You could even join the Royal Family of Eastern Regna Ferox if you wanted.”

Robin choked on the ale he was drinking at her offer.

“Wow, Flavia, I’m flattered, but…” Robin started before she cut him off.

“You don’t have to answer now,” Flavia said hurriedly. “Now that I think of it, it kind of does feel like I was buttering you up. Why don’t you sober up first and then consider my proposal?”

“Might take a while,” Robin chuckled, swirling the contents of his bottle a little. “This is some pretty brutal stuff right here.”

 “Just shut up and drink your ale,” Flavia laughed, and the two finished their bottles in comfortable silence.

Just as he was draining the last of his bottle Robin stole a surreptitious glance at Flavia, who was doing the same, a contented smile on her lips.

_Oh gods I hope that some culture-lines got crossed here and she didn’t just propose to me,_ Robin thought, feeling the tips of his ears begin to go red.

*

Morgan jerked awake as someone gently shook her shoulder, blinking in the weak torch light leaking into the command tent. She had fallen asleep over her papers again, and no doubt had ink smudged all over her face. The young tactician looked up into the tired of the one that had woken her.

“Hey, Luce,” Morgan yawned. “Y’re up late. Or is it late enough to be early again now?”

“I find sleep does not easily come to me lately,” Lucina said, taking a step away from Morgan and grinning a little. “However I am not so hard pressed for it that I fall asleep at the planning table.”

Morgan stretched, stifling another yawn as she readjusted her coat’s collar to cover the burn scars on her exposed neck.

“I still have lots to do,” Morgan argued weakly.

“I am technically the Princess of the lord you serve,” Lucina said playfully. “I could order you to take rest.”

“That would be counter-productive,” Morgan huffed, crossing her arms before caving. “But you’re right; at least in the sense that I can’t sleep here.”

“Will you be alright to get back to your tent?” Lucina asked.

Morgan stood, stretching and yawning.

“Sure, but I’m not getting much farther than that.”

Morgan shuffled out of the tent, yawing again as she passed Lucina, who fell into step with her.

“Can’t believe this is all almost over,” Morgan mumbled, still half asleep.

Lucina nodded an affirmative. “It will be nice when this war is ended and we can focus on Grima.”

Morgan groaned. “After the vacation, right?”

Lucina smiled sadly a little as they walked. “Naga willing. We could all use the break.”

“I’m thinking somewhere tropical,” Morgan said airily, letting herself think of something besides tactics and the movements of armies for the first time in days. “But you know what? I’d settle for a hammock in the hull of whatever ship brings us back to Ylisse.”

“Tropical may be difficult to come by,” Lucina said. “The seasons are changing again. Fall will be over soon.”

“Has this really taken so long?” Morgan grumbled, her hopes being dashed in an instant.

“We were at sea for nearly four months,” Lucina reminded her.

Morgan groaned, remembering the claustrophobic conditions on the _Dragon’s Claw_ and the incessant sea-sickness she’d suffered.

“Okay, maybe not a hammock then,” she mumbled, running a hand through her hair before stopping and bursting into a fit of hushed giggles.

“What’s so funny?” Lucina asked, the corners of her mouth quirking upwards as well.

Morgan snorted a few more times, trying to reign in her laughter before sighing and growing pensive again.

“For all of my father’s complaining about the length of his hair, I just thought he was too lazy to go and get it cut. Now that mine’s getting so long, too, well… I think I understand just how busy he was before. In short I really, really need a haircut.”

Lucina nodded once, her weak smile dropping as they began to walk in silence again; Morgan’s tent was a fair distance away from the command tent for some strange reason. It didn’t make sense that the tactician was so far removed from the place they spent the most of their time, but her father had insisted that taking the time to walk through the camp in the mornings and evenings helped keep a tactician grounded.

“I miss him, you know,” Morgan said after a few minutes silence, her shoulders drooping a little. “I mean I know that’s a given; any daughter would miss their father. But I don’t feel like I can do this alone.”

Lucina surprised Morgan by reaching over and wrapping her arm around the younger girl’s, holding her close so that their shoulders were touching as they walked in a kind of pseudo-hug.

“You’re not alone,” Lucina said as they walked. “As long as we’re all here, you’re not doing this alone. And…”

Morgan glanced up at the slightly taller girl, watching as she internally struggled with something.

“You’re not the only one that misses him,” Lucina finally said in a small voice.

Morgan nodded understanding. Lucina had been as close to her father as any of them, maybe as close as her mother or Prince Chrom; easily the only people closer to him would have been Morgan herself, and perhaps her Aunt Tharja. That, and he had rescued her from torture and imprisonment almost single-handedly, as Gaius told the story. No doubt she missed him too.

“I know,” Morgan said comfortingly, her grip on her friend’s arm tightening a little. “Thanks, Luce.”

*

Robin woke to sunlight streaming merrily into the tent he shared with Tiki, birds chirping outside in rhythm with the sleeping manakete’s deep breathing. Robin held his head and shut his eyes tight, willing the entire world to go away. He was hungover. Again.

_I have got to stop drinking strange booze before battles_ , Robin groaned internally, doing his best to shield his eyes from the sunlight. _I mean really? One bottle? What in Naga’s name did she put in that stuff?_

The tactician finally admitted defeat, sitting up with a quiet groan and blinking a few times, dreading the amount of wine and ale that would no doubt be flowing once the war was over.

_I am doomed to being perpetually hungover, aren’t I?_ he lamented as he slipped into the dark officer’s tunic that would go beneath his borrowed armour.

The tent he was currently sharing with Tiki was small, but not so small they couldn’t squeeze two single cots into it. Apparently other races besides humans weren’t as big on personal space; something Robin was very overly acquainted with. Thoughts of being tackled by young manaketes or waking up with Taguel on top of him flashed through his mind as he strapped his pouch to his hip and began gathering up the things he’d need for the day that were strewn about the tent; his spellbook, the latest reports that would probably be rendered obsolete when he finally made it to the command tent, the same old waterskin he’d been carrying around for three years now that Lissa had given him in the field he’d woken up in, some dried fruits and nuts in a bag. Robin stopped when his fingers grasped the hilt of the broken rapier Chrom had given him. Of course, it hadn’t been broken when Chrom had given it to him, and as Robin held the drastically reduced blade up to the sun he felt pangs of guilt as the light danced along its surface. Even broken the sword was still chillingly beautiful. On a whim Robin tucked it into his belt; it was about the length of a long dagger, maybe it would come in handy and save his life one last time.

Tiki snorted softly and sat up in bed, blinking a few times as her tired mind struggled to wake. Robin had to admit he tried very hard not to chuckle seeing the Divine Dragon Voice sitting with dishevelled hair in her pyjamas with a thin line of drool on her chin. It was, in a word, adorable.

“Good morning sunshine,” Robin sang cheerily.

“Mornin’” Tiki mumbled, yawning and stretching.

Robin politely averted his eyes by spinning his back to her as she climbed out of the cot and began to put on her own matching officer’s tunic; he’d never noticed considering how late he always got in, but her pyjamas appeared to be little more than a thin chemise and her smallclothes.

“Today’s the day, huh?” she asked sleepily as sounds of rustling reached Robin’s ears.

Stealing a glance over his shoulder to make sure it was safe Robin turned back to face Tiki as she sat on the edge of the cot, yawning and stretching again, now clad in her officer’s tunic disguise. As if moving without thinking Tiki began to brush her long green hair for the day.

“Yes it is,” Robin said conversationally, leaning back against the table in the corner of the tent he had been working at lately.

Tiki pouted, sighing irritatedly. “You were drinking without me last night, weren’t you? Don’t try to lie, I have enhanced senses, I can smell it.”

Robin snickered a little at the child-like performance the manakete was giving, making it harder and harder to connect her to the colossal dragon-form he’d seen incinerate the Risen hordes the other day.

“My apologies, Lady Tiki,” Robin said with a slight bow. “Next time I get sloshed, I’ll be sure to send a runner.”

Tiki nodded once, satisfied before she stopped what she was doing, glancing up at the tactician with his head still bowed.

“Aren’t you going to brush your hair?” she asked.

Robin quirked his head to one side questioningly before reaching up and running his fingers through his tangled mop a few times; it was almost past his shoulders now, but that would be good enough to keep it presentable.

“What I’d like to do is cut it all off,” Robin admitted with a sigh.

“We don’t have time for that,” Tiki said authoritatively. “Come here and sit down. I’ll brush it for you.”

“Er… I’m okay, thanks,” Robin said, raising both hands in a warding gesture and starting to back towards the tent’s entrance.

“Nonsense!” Tiki insisted. “We’re meeting up with all your friends and family today! Don’t you want to look presentable for them?”

“No, really, I appreciate the thought, but-” was as far as Robin got before Tiki pounced.

*

Flavia stepped quickly through the resistance camp as she headed for the command tent; Sir Priam had asked that they all be there before breakfast, and now she was running late. The camp was coming to life around her, veteran soldiers all around her age or older rising and preparing for the inevitable battle that would no doubt be fought today. Red armour was being inspected while weapons were being sharpened. Men were splashing their faces with cold water in an attempt to wake while others trudged towards the latrines. It was strange seeing so many veteran soldiers in one place; strange because this was the first time in a long time that Flavia had actually felt younger than the majority of the people around her.

The Khan’s progress halted when she heard a scream coming from the direction of Robin’s tent.

“No! Get off me you maniac!”

Changing course and picking up speed, Flavia hurried to Robin’s tent and didn’t hesitate to burst through the canvas flaps, sword in hand to rescue the tactician from…

“Flavia!” Robin shouted desperately from beneath Tiki when he saw her enter. “Save me!”

The tactician had a brush hanging from a particularly large knot in his long white hair; obviously Tiki, who was currently holding him in a headlock, was trying to brush his hair. Obviously Robin did not want his hair brushed. It was a simple matter to deduce this and decide that it was really not something she needed to get involved with so early in the morning.

Flavia snickered once before backing slowly out of the tent, much to Robin’s dismay.

“Where are you going!? Save me, dammit!”

Once the tent flaps closed she heard Tiki chuckle.

“Just give in; we’re almost done and you’re not getting away!”

Robin’s resounding cry of “No!” could be heard throughout the camp. Even a few of the closer resistance soldiers, who had apparently gotten used to the shenanigans of the Shepherds lately, looked up at it.

“Just… ignore them,” Flavia managed to say, struggling not to burst into laughter the entire time.

*

“Form up on me!” Chrom was roaring. “Lancers to the front! Swords and axemen behind them! Come on, this is our final battle!”

The soldiers of the Ylissean League, brave men and women from Ylisse, Regna Ferox, Chengshi and now Chon’sin and it’s protectorates as well all moved to form ranks while Morgan watched with Chrom and Lucina. In the distance the fortress walls that marked the beginning of Walhart’s Capital city stood ominously like a black tumour on the land; all the forests around it had been culled and only weeds and sporadic patches of grass still grew for kilometres in every direction from the walls.

Knight-Commander Frederick and Duke Roark would personally be leading the two mounted divisions that they had been able to scrape together from the surviving knights, Sully and Stahl among their number. Wing-Commander Cordelia was leading the Pegasus Knights with Queen Sumia and Cherche, Nowi and Nah joining them. Her mother Say’ri, newly crowned Queen of Chon’sin, would hold the front lines with Lord Liung, leaving Chrom and Morgan to lead the Shepherds in the inevitable assault against Walhart himself once he took the field.

Chrom stood tall before the assembled men, looking out over them with fire in his eyes.

“Men of Ylisse!” he called, his voice crystal clear in the early afternoon air. “Men of Regna Ferox! Men of Chengshi and of Chon’sin! Today we face the greatest challenge we ever have! Today, by our sweat and blood, Walhart’s reign of tyranny ends!”

A smattering of cheers rose up from the soldiers at Chrom’s words, but he held up his hands for silence before the applause could grow.

“However let us not forget how we have come to be here,” the Prince said, his voice still carrying. “Let us win victory today, not just for us, but for those who gave their lives to see us here. For all the brave men and women that sacrificed their lives so we could have the opportunity to stop Walhart’s madness and bring peace back to the world! That is why we are here! That is why I am here! I stand before you and make this promise not as the Prince, but the Exalt of Ylisse!”

A stunned silence descended on the crowd for a moment before quiet murmuring broke out. It was no secret why Prince Chrom hadn’t taken up the title of Exalt after his sister’s death, but to do so now…

All at once the murmuring was silenced when a single voice rang out above the crowd, roaring “Long live the Exalt!” at the top of its lungs. It took Morgan a second to realize that her fist was raised and it had been her that had shouted.

All at once the rest of the crowd took up the chant, men from different nations claiming their allegiance to Chrom as the soldiers from Ylisse shouted loudest and with the most pride.

“Long live the Exalt!”

“Glory to Ylisse!”

“In the name of the Divine Dragon!”

Chrom drank all of this in, looking over the men and turning to Morgan and offering her a grateful smile before taking two steps forward and drawing Falchion, holding it high in the air as blue flames danced around the blade from within.

“For the future!” Chrom roared, the cry echoing around him as the soldiers turned to face the Capital and began marching, their heads held high and their spirits higher.

They could do this; they could win.

*

“I can’t believe this is still working,” Robin muttered as the newly re-formed resistance army marched alongside the Imperial and Dynast soldiers returning to the capital.

No one was even looking at them; a thousand enemy soldiers sneaking into the capital under their very nose, and no one was even looking at them. They’d marched all morning and no one had even given them a second glance. Walhart’s reach had officially extended his grasp.

“Shut it before ya jinx us,” Brady grumbled, fidgeting uncomfortably beneath his red priest’s mantle.

Owain and Inigo snickered while Gerome watched on impassively; all of the boys were wearing red Valmese armour, but only Gerome had opted to wear a full-face helm. Probably because his mask would stick out too much and he’d been forced to remove it, but Robin still hadn’t actually seen the boy’s face.

Cynthia and Tiki were somewhere in the crowd of bodies with Sir Priam while he sought out the Dynast leaders, and Flavia and her disguised Feroxi soldiers were at the front of the group. Robin would have liked to be up the front, too, but this close to the capital he ran the risk of someone recognizing the famous Ylissean tactician, even if he was meant to be dead. All he could really do at this stage was wait and hope everyone else played their parts according to his predictions. There were a lot of variables going into this battle, and he hoped he’d accounted for them all properly. People would die if he hadn’t…

He stole a glance over to the side where the Imperial soldiers were marching, laughing and chatting amongst themselves idly without a care in the world, and found himself desperately hoping that his plan worked and the Dynast leaders listened to what Priam had to say.

Robin glanced up towards the sky in the north-west, towards the capital, with a troubled expression.

“What’s wrong?” Inigo asked curiously.

“Nothing,” Robin heaved a sigh. “At least, nothing we can do anything about.”

If his predictions were correct, right about now the Shepherds and the Ylissean League would be beginning their assault of Walhart’s honour guard outside of the Capital.

_Stay safe Morgan, Lucina_ , Robin silently pleaded as they continued their monotonous marching.

*

Wave after wave of Imperial soldiers broke against the Ylissean front lines, being repelled time and time again. Not once had the line even come close to buckling, and they were steadily gaining ground. The capital now loomed above them, dark and foreboding as a cursed castle in a child’s fairy tale. At some point the Shepherds had taken the front, Chrom leading the inexorable advance across the empty land before Walhart’s gates and sweeping aside any and all opposition that stood against them.

The Imperial soldiers were knocked back by rows of lancers before having arrows rained down on them, and swordsmen and axemen would dart out to finish the enemy off before the lines reformed in time for the next wave. Mages from Ylisse and Chon’sin worked tirelessly in tandem to defend against Imperial mages, who were mercifully few compared to the noble ranks of the Ylissean Mage Academy or the Chon’sin Royal Mage Order, and the Imperial magic wielders soon found themselves on the defensive as magic lightning fell from the sky and the ground beneath their positions opened to swallow them whole and spew burning rivers of magic lava on the enemy rear lines. Priests and clerics from all of the nations worked together under the watchful eyes of Lissa and Maribelle to save as many lives as possible, dragging wounded soldiers off the front lines and back to be administered to, before sending them on their way recovered and itching to return to the fight. Roark’s knights waited patiently in the rear, guarding the priests and clerics while waiting for the order to fill any gaps that might appear, while Frederick’s knights harried the enemy flanks, causing disarray everywhere they struck, which was taken advantage of by the forward units being led by Liung and Say’ri. The seven Pegasus Knights, led by Cordelia and Sumia, swooped and assaulted points of strategic import while Cherche, Nowi and Nah caused distractions by dropping out of the sky atop stunned enemy units.

Among it all, in the thickest of the fighting, was Morgan standing side by side with Chrom and Lucina in her father’s place, her mother’s sword from the future flashing through the air as she fought in her father’s memory.

“Lancers form up on the left!” she shouted, pointing to a specific squad. “The enemy is going to try charging again!”

“Archers take down the enemy wyvern riders! Don’t let them get near the priests!”

“You! Signal the Pegasus Knights and tell them to strike hard at the eastern flank; tell Cordelia that Frederick’s knights will need the opening, so not to hold back.”

“Prepare for the next wave!” Chrom shouted in warning, holding his sword in the air to gain as much attention as he could in the chaos. “Form up! The next wave is coming!”

“Archer squad three!” Morgan shouted over her shoulder. “Slow them down a little!”

A squad of archers separated from the rest that were all currently firing at the wyvern riders above the western flank and began to shoot at the approaching Imperial soldiers. Noire and Virion joined in, and the enemy charge faltered. As the first line faltered Morgan saw what she’d been waiting hours for; above the lines of cavalry behind the infantry Walhart’s banner was flapping.

“Chrom!” Morgan called, forgetting herself and instantly correcting her manners. “I mean Exalt Chrom!”

“Aren’t we a little busy for formalities right now?” Chrom asked with a grin.

“I think we need to take the offensive,” Morgan said, grinning back.

“You think?” Chrom asked, raising an eyebrow and looking out over the enemy soldiers charging at them.

“We need to take the offensive, Chrom,” Morgan corrected herself again. “Walhart’s taken the field.”

“That’s more like it!” Chrom said excitedly.

“Form ranks!” Lucina began shouting, having heard their entire exchange. “Prepare to advance! Full charge; Dragon’s Teeth formation! Form ranks!”

The call was taken up by the signallers, horns blaring out the new orders as line sergeants began to cajole their men into position. Much quicker than the last time they had attempted it despite the new soldiers from Chon’sin the lines shifted, becoming jagged triangles with lances at the front and swordsmen on the sides; archers and mages stood at the ready in the rear to rebuff any assaults that threatened to break the lines. At the tip of the central ‘tooth’ Morgan, Chrom and Lucina stood, a multitude of Shepherds behind them.

Morgan looked over her shoulder. Virion gave her a confident grin and a thumbs-up while Noire trembled next to him, doing her best to look brave. Vaike was beating his bare chest with his off-hand, his other wrapped firmly around his axe as his eyes hungrily scanned the approaching enemy. Yarne and Panne were both sniffing the air, claws digging into the earth at their feet in anticipation. Severa gave her a wink and circled her sword, bringing the point up to a ready-stance. Her eyes met her Auntie Tharja’s, and the woman gave a curt nod from next to her bubbly, blood-splattered partner Henry, who was apparently doing his best to paint himself red. Kellam and Kjelle stood ready and immovable in their massive armour; Lon’qu kneaded the grip of his sword impatiently; Gaius and Ricken both looked a little nervous being so close to the front lines, but stood ready all the same; Donnel stood tall and proud, his sword held high and his armour, while dirty, still gleaming in the sunlight; Anna looked nervous but determined next to Libra, as cool and calm as ever, who was muttering prayers for salvation and retribution. The Shepherds were assembled and ready, or else fighting elsewhere. They were prepared to lay down their lives to end this war if need be.

“Advance!” Chrom ordered, the ‘teeth’ moving in perfect synchrony towards the still reeling Imperial line.

The Ylissean lines moved slower in formation, but they closed the gap quickly nonetheless, tearing through the infantry and engaging with the cavalry behind them. Without room to manoeuvre between the ‘teeth’ the Imperial cavalry lost their greatest advantage of mobility, reducing them to little more than mounted infantry hacking and slashing low with their swords or axes, most forgetting about their lances in the close quarters.

“They’re pulling back!” Chrom shouted. “Close the gap! Don’t give them room to pick up momentum!”

The Imperial forces were indeed pulling back, but rather than regroup they merely created space, flowing to the sides and creating a gap between the armies in front of the Shepherds.

“They’re not pulling back…” Morgan muttered, before realization sunk in.

“Prepare for assault!” she shrieked as red-armoured forms began to charge towards them again.

At the head of the red tide was a giant of a man, white hair contrasting sharply with his black cape as he led his horse faster than Morgan had ever seen anything on land move before, aiming directly for them with some of the biggest knights she’d ever seen at his back.

“Behold!” Walhart roared, his horse rearing up as he pulled it to a halt before the Shepherds. “I am Walhart the Conqueror! And you are all naught but pebbles on the path to my immortality!”

As one his knights, who had stopped behind him, kicked their horses forward, screaming battle cries with their weapons held high.

“For Ylisse!” Lucina screamed, throwing herself forwards before Chrom and the other Shepherds followed her.

*

Once again Chrom found himself at the centre of the conflict, spinning and striking with his sword at any who dared stand before him, Falchion blazing with blue fire from within as he stared down the motionless form of Walhart. The red-armoured Emperor stood with his head slightly cocked to one side as Chrom approached, the newly crowned Exalt striking down one last knight that chose to attempt to impede him as he did. With a satisfied smile Walhart dismounted his horse and drew a long, curved sword with a single blade reminiscent of Say’ri’s or Morgan’s.

It was him. After all this time, Chrom finally stood against the man that had caused so much death and destruction; the man that had been responsible for the death of one of his Shepherds, Gregor, and his best friend Robin.

“Why do you resist me, little Exalt?” Walhart asked him, sounding genuinely curious as the two leaders faced off against each other.

“You enslave the weak and kill the able. You are the enemy of peace,” Chrom ground out, his fist tightening around Falchion’s hilt.

“I would end the reign of the gods, and you object on moral grounds?!” Walhart thundered. “Blood is spilled in any new birth, Exalt. And in many a just cause, as you know-”

“There is no justification for what you’ve done!” Chrom shouted, cutting Walhart off.

He would dare… he would dare speak of justification after he enslaved the entirety of his own continent? After invading the shores of a nation allied with Ylisse, with the intent of invading Chrom’s own nation? The Exalt felt his smouldering anger begin to grow, the fires of rage being stoked by the Emperor’s harsh laughter.

“By whose laws do you judge me?” Walhart laughed. “Yours? Your sister's? The gods'? I do not recognize the authority of Ylisse; here, you are the invaders. And the gods? The gods are dead to me.”

“You cannot-”

“Look at you!” Walhart thundered again, cutting Chrom off mid-sentence. “Are you not ashamed? Your mind is filled with nothing but second-hand beliefs. You dance upon the stage of your gods like a mindless puppet! That is what I reject: being a slave to tradition, to obligation! The old ways. Damn the gods! Damn their fates and their destinies! I will have true freedom! Any man who offers less is my enemy!”

Chrom reeled slightly at Walhart’s rant. In truth, was the Conqueror’s reasoning any different from his own? Was he not fighting to reshape destiny, to create a new world free of the threat of dark gods where all could be safe? Chrom looked into the cold, dead eyes of the Emperor standing glowering before him and realized the folly of his current train of thought. No; Walhart was mad; he was nothing like Chrom or Lucina. He was nothing like Robin, who had died defending Chrom’s ideals; his own ideals. Chrom steeled his resolve. There was no place for Walhart in the world Chrom was making. Not for his sister; not for Naga; Chrom would defeat Walhart for himself. He would bring justice to the man that had murdered and butchered thousands of innocents in the name of ‘conquest’. He would kill Walhart for murdering Robin.

“Enough! I don't require every detail of your twisted philosophy. You're a villain and a murderer, plain and simple. And I am the justice you deserve.”

Walhart let out a deep belly laugh before snapping his sword up and assuming a ready stance.

“Better, Exalt,” Walhart almost purred, his voice a deep rumble in his massive chest. “Much better! Be not an agent of someone else's justice, but justice itself! Now, let us fight as two great men, freed of their gods. I grant any challenger the chance to test his will against my own... but you, too, shall be found wanting!”

“Not today,” Chrom said, swinging his sword up in a circle to a ready stance, before darting in low at the giant of a man.

Without even watching Chrom Walhart moved one mighty foot back, bringing his sword down in a perfect slice that would have struck most men, cleaving them in two from shoulder to hip. Chrom wasn’t most men, however, and rolled to the side at the last second, sparks flying as Walhart’s sword grazed Chrom’s shoulder-plate. Snarling, the Exalt jumped back up, striking high and fast at Walhart, who parried easily and threw Chrom back with his sword one-handed.

“Is this the best that the Exalt of Ylisse has to offer me?” Walhart asked, sounding to be actually insulted. “Are you truly so pathetic without your vaunted tactician at your side that you cannot even stand against me?”

“Don’t you dare speak of Robin, murderer!” Chrom roared, launching a barrage of strikes with such blinding speed that Walhart was actually driven back a few steps.

Reaching out as if to grab Falchion the Emperor slapped the blade aside, more sparks flying as the divine blade rubbed against Walhart’s gauntlet. Faster than Chrom thought possible Walhart brought the pommel of his sword down on Chrom’s shoulder, driving the Exalt to his knees. Chrom reeled as a massive red-armoured knee smashed into his face, throwing him onto his back.

The fight had barely lasted a few minutes; never before had Chrom been so thoroughly beaten, not since the earliest days of his training against his father.

Walhart approached calmly, kicking Falchion out of the reeling Chrom’s hand before raising his sword above the prone Exalt, point towards his heart.

“And now you die, Exalt of Ylisse,” Walhart spat.

“Father!” “Chrom!”

Before the blade could descend Walhart was thrown back, magical green wind buffeting him and nearly lifting him from his feet as he fought to steady himself.

A flash of silver and blue heralded the arrival of one of Chrom’s saviours, striking at the retreating Emperor with more speed and ferocity than even Chrom had been able to muster. He looked up, eyes settling on Morgan as she leafed through her spellbook, eyes never leaving Walhart’s duel with his new opponent, Lucina.

*

“We’re late,” Robin muttered, watching the battle unfolding below the assembled Imperial and Dynast soldiers.

The Resistance army, still hidden in plain sight, was assembled around him, with the five other future children waiting closest to him. Tiki and Priam were due back any minute now from meeting with the last of the Dynast leaders; so far the majority had assented to sitting on the sidelines and waiting for a victor, but Priam had felt optimistic and decided to try his hand at the Imperial leaders as well.

“Are they…” Cynthia muttered, gripping her staff hard as she trailed off.

Robin scanned the field as the Ylissean army adopted the ‘dragon’s teeth’ formation in preparation of the immanent cavalry charge that the Imperials were preparing; Robin spotted Walhart’s banner and knew they were fast running out of time.

“Dammit,” he cursed, watching as the two armies closed with each other again, debating simply throwing caution to the wind and going with ‘Plan B’.

Magical fire rained from the sky over the Imperial forces, red-armoured foes being thrown into the air by the force of the strikes. Robin spotted two Knight divisions circling the field, striking wherever they could find an opening, and the Pegasus Knights flying above doing the same.

The Ylissean League was holding their own, but Walhart’s Honour Guard still outnumbered them.

“We should be down there,” Flavia growled from beneath the cloak she was now wearing over her usual armour.

Now that the threat of the Dynast soldiers all around them pouncing on the Feroxi was non-existent, they had all returned to their furs and leathers, and their assorted, mismatched armour. Flavia wore her own red and silver armour beneath a rough brown cloak as her fist creaked on the hilt of her sword.

“Are your men ready?” Robin asked, not looking away from the battle as the two sides finally clashed again.

Flavia nodded an affirmative.

“Prepare them to charge,” Robin ordered. “Whether the Imperials are going to stay out of this or not has nothing to do with your part of the plan.”

Flavia grinned predatorily before turning, her clock swishing with the movement.

“Stay alive, Robin,” she said over her shoulder. “We still have to finish that discussion about you being my new tactician!”

“Yeah,” Robin said with a faint smile. “You too, Khan Flavia. But you’d better bring more ale!”

The older woman’s laughter rang out long after her form had disappeared into the press of Resistance bodies.

“My sword hand twitches,” Owain growled beneath his breath. “We should be going with them, not waiting up here.”

Robin shrugged as he went back to watching the battle.

“So go,” Robin said distractedly. “Take Inigo and Brady with you.”

“What?” the three boys in question all asked at once.

“The Feroxi lack healers,” Robin explained. “And I’m not going to listen to Owain bitch about his sword hand for the next thirty minutes. And… well, I don’t trust him on his own.”

“Yes!” Owain cried, running after Flavia. “Khan Flavia! Wait! Owain, hero of the future, has been given leave to accompany your charge! Keep up if you can!”

“You really, really hate me, don’t you?” Inigo asked, watching the blonde-haired boy disappear into the press of Feroxi warriors lining up.

“Just keep him safe,” Robin said, patting the lady-killer on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”

“Apparently, that’s why I’m goin,” Brady grumbled, trailing after Inigo. “To keep you two idiots alive long ‘nough to go get killed again.”

“What of us?” Gerome asked in his usual whisper of a voice, still wearing red armour but having replaced the stifling helm with his usual black mask again.

“Yeah!” Cynthia piped up excitedly. “Can we go with them too!?”

Robin shook his head.

“No,” he explained quietly. “Look; the battle’s going bad. If it gets any worse, the three of us are ‘Plan B’.”

“What’s ‘Plan B’!?” Cynthia asked, latching on to Robin’s arm. “What is it!? Tell me it’s heroic! Please!?”

Robin chuckled, shaking the girl off of him.

“Oh, it’s heroic,” Robin said with a devilish grin. “And stupid. And suicidal. You’ll love it.”

“Marvellous,” Gerome muttered, scanning the battlefield again before climbing atop Minerva and readying his gear.

Before Robin could utter the witty comeback on the tip of his tongue the Feroxi warriors let out a lusty roar and charged towards the battle, Flavia, Owain and Inigo at their head.

*

Morgan stepped back, bringing her hand up and throwing balls of fire at Walhart as the giant of a man danced his way between Lucina and Chrom’s swords. He simply ducked and slid, forcing Morgan to bring her sword up to ward off the advancing Conqueror’s blows. He completely ignored the fact that the two best swordsmen in the entire Ylissean League were now behind him and pressed in on Morgan, striking with blinding speed and scoring a deep hit on her right bicep.

Hissing with pain, Morgan hopped back as Chrom barrelled into the man from the side, forcing him away from Morgan. Lucina followed her father, bringing her Parallel Falchion up and stabbing at Walhart’s face. The Emperor of Valm moved a fraction of a second too slowly, and a red line opened across one of his cheeks.

Bellowing his fury like the angry bull his strange crown made him resemble, Walhart began raining blows down on Lucina, slapping Chrom away and sending the Exalt reeling. Morgan cast three successive thunder spells, succeeding in drawing Walhart’s attention as Lucina stepped back and Chrom struck from the Conqueror’s rear, but without even looking he swept his sword out behind him, slapping Chrom’s thrust away and circling his blade, gouging a deep line on Chrom’s chest-plate as the Exalt stumbled to one side.

“He’s… he’s not human,” Morgan panted, wiping the sweat from her eyes as Walhart stood, barely even breathing heavily.

Chrom and Lucina were like her, breathing heavily and covered in small wounds from near misses; there was a particularly nasty looking scratch on the side of Lucina’s neck bleeding rather heavily, but she fought on regardless. One of Chrom’s shoulder guards had been literally torn away, and his chest-plate was dented on the left side. Morgan’s coat had several holes in it; the impenetrable magically-armoured coat that had been a gift from her father in the future was useless against Walhart’s power.

“He’s bleeding,” Lucina growled, slowing her breathing and readying her sword again. “We can kill him if we keep going together.”

“Congratulations, Ylisseans,” Walhart said, bringing his steel-clad fingertips to his split cheek and dabbing them in the blood flowing from it.

“It has been a very long time since anyone has wounded me. I congratulate you. But now I must cease this playing and return to my place at the head of the army that will conquer the world.”

“Oh, give it a rest already!” Chrom shouted, launching himself into the air and striking at Walhart from above.

The Conqueror moved faster still, reaching out and grabbing Chrom by the wrist before swinging the Exalt through the air over his head and throwing him into Morgan. They went down in a heap, Morgan striking her head against Chrom’s armoured knee.

“Father! Morgan!” Lucina cried before Walhart was on her again.

Bringing her Parallel Falchion up in a blur she managed to block the one-handed downward strike he aimed at her shoulder, her hands going numb almost instantly from the sheer brutality of the blow. Walhart’s free hand shot up into Lucina’s stomach, making her gag and fall to her knees as Walhart stood over her.

“You are nothing but ants compared to me!” Walhart roared as he brought his sword down again, Lucina narrowly avoiding the blow by diving to one side and scrambling back to her feet.

“Know your place!” the Emperor snarled, leaping forward again, his sword held in both massive hands as he advanced like quicksilver.

Lucina momentarily glanced over to where her father was still picking himself up off of Morgan, both of the others dazed and vulnerable. She had to keep Walhart busy for at least long enough for them to get back on their feet.

Lucina swept Walhart’s blade aside, spinning away from him and striking at his shoulder, rewarded by the feeling of Falchion cutting through the armour and biting flesh beneath. The Conqueror bellowed again, swinging his sword with reckless abandon and knocking Lucina from her feet when she tried to parry the blow.

Walhart was above her in a flash, viciously kicking her side and sending her flying through the air again. As Lucina landed she felt confident that the blow had broken at least one rib, even through the now indented armour, if not more.

Walhart grabbed the Princess by the throat, roughly lifting her from the ground and preparing to run her through with his sword as she kicked futilely, Falchion falling from her hands as she desperately tried to pry Walhart’s fingers from her neck. Chrom and Morgan’s shouts of denial went unheard as he drew his arm back, but the blow never landed.

Lucina fel to the ground, coughing and spluttering as she greedily sucked air into her lungs, watching in astonishment as Walhart fell back, smoking scorch marks decorating his red chest plate.

A burst of wind magic from directly above them made Lucina shield her eyes, even as Walhart was forced further back, roaring wordlessly in rage and frustration before a red blur descended on him, striking with a broken sword and shouting with a voice Lucina had thought to never hear again.

“Death from above!” he shouted as he fell through the air, landing on Walhart and burying his broken sword almost to the hilt in the Conqueror’s shoulder before leaping nimbly out of the man’s attack range.

“You keep your filthy hands off of her, monster,” he growled, holding the broken sword one handed in his right hand as magical lighting crackled around his left fist.

Lucina shuddered as she felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. It couldn’t be Robin… Robin was dead… he was dead!

The ghost turned slightly and gave her a wink and a confident grin, white hair dancing in the after-effects of his wind magic like a halo surrounding his head, before he turned back to Walhart and launched towards the giant of a man.

Without even thinking Lucina called his name at the top of her lungs as he darted towards their enemy. “Robin!”

*

_This is a horrible idea_ , Robin repeated over and over in his head as he clutched onto Cynthia’s waist tightly, watching the battlefield zoom by beneath them.

_I mean I’ve had some bad ideas before, but this on; this one takes the cake. I’m going to die! Why did I think this was a good idea!? Some genius plan ‘Plan B’ was; leap onto Walhart and strike in surprise from above. I’m such an idiot! There’s no way I’ll-_

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Cynthia called over her shoulder above the howling wind, interrupting his self-destructive thoughts. “I could come in a little lower!”

“No!” Robin called back, ignoring his own inner monologue. “We need to take him absolutely by surprise! I can’t do that if he spots you two!”

Robin involuntarily shivered at the cool air; to be light enough for her pegasus to carry him so high Robin had been forced to shed most of his armour; all he still wore were the gauntlets and the shoulder-plates, mostly because he couldn’t figure out how to get either off.

A small way off Gerome was steering Minerva one-handed, while scouting beneath them for wherever Walhart was.

Flavia and her Feroxi warriors were way ahead of them, cutting right through the Valmese flank to the Ylissean lines like a knife through butter. Behind them Priam led the Resistance against the remainder of the flank and the Imperial army proper, his veteran soldiers making short work of the less-experienced Valmese men. Further back the entire force of Dynast and Imperial conscript warriors had moved into position, but stood stock still as if awaiting further orders, completely at odds with their written orders to join the fight and crush the Ylisseans between them and the Imperials in the Capital.

All Robin had to do was cut the head off the serpent and kill Walhart, and this war would be as good as over.

“There he is!” Gerome called over the wind, his usually quiet voice ringing clearly through the sky.

Robin squinted and sure enough, just below them was the colossal red-armoured figure of Walhart, facing off against three Shepherds and holding his own while the battle raged on around them.

_Ohgodsohgodsohgodsohgodsohgodsohgods!_ Robin repeated over and over in his head, taking a deep breath and letting himself slide from behind a very shocked looking Cynthia and into freefall.

_Craaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaap!_ Robin screamed in his head, too terrified to make his voice work.

As he drew closer to the ground he could make out the three Shepherds fighting against Walhart; to absolutely no one’s surprise it was Chrom, Lucina and Morgan. His friend, his daughter and the woman he loved were getting thrashed, and as he watched the Conqueror used Chrom as a projectile to temporarily incapacitate the Prince and Morgan, leaving Lucina to fend for herself against the mountain of a man. He was still too high up to use any magic for fear of striking Lucina by accident, but he’d be close enough soon…

Robin ground his teeth, attempting to arrest his fall by spreading out his arms and legs, forced to watch as Lucina was knocked to the ground. Magic lightning began to gather around his fist as she was brutally kicked while still reeling, and Walhart grabbed her by the neck, preparing to impale her on his sword.

“No!” Robin roared, lashing out with all the strength he had.

Three thunder spells hit Walhart dead centre, making him drop Lucina and stumble backwards in surprise. Robin only had a few moments to celebrate his victory before he realized he was supposed to use that mana to land.

“Oh crap,” Robin muttered, desperately trying to gather enough mana for the wind spell he needed, his voice lost to the roar of the wind in his ears. “Oh Naga, please give me strength…”

At the last second he cast a wind spell directly beneath him, the shock of deceleration hitting him hard as he changed his trajectory and launched himself, broken-rapier first at Walhart’s red form.

“Death from above!” Robin couldn’t resist shouting now that he could hear over the wind again.

The Conqueror’s enraged face changed to one of shock as Robin landed on top of him with the force of a projectile shot from a catapult, but he barely stepped back. Sensing that he was in danger, Robin pulled his broken sword free of Walhart’s shoulder and leapt back, narrowly avoiding the swinging blade aimed at his neck.

“You keep your filthy hands off of her, monster,” Robin growled, gathering mana in his off-hand for a powerful arcthunder spell.

Seeing that Walhart was still in shock at his sudden appearance and doing his best impersonation of a fish as his mouth silently opened and closed, Robin risked a glance over his shoulder at Lucina. She looked weakly up at him, and his heart broke to see her so beaten and wounded again. Smiling reassuringly Robin winked at her before turning back to face Walhart.

Kicking off the ground Robin used the remaining wind magic still lingering in the area to speed his charge, becoming a blur as he raced towards Walhart. Behind him he could hear Lucina calling his name, but he ignored it as he focused on Walhart. With blinding speed Robin closed, striking not with his sword but point-blank with his primed arcthunder, knocking Walhart back further before he brought his broken rapier up, the jagged tip biting into Walhart’s stomach armour, but not penetrating deep enough to be a clean hit. Walhart recovered, bringing a fist down and indenting the red shoulder-guard Robin was still wearing, but the tactician ignored it as he lashed out with one of Lucina’s favourite moves and shattered the Emperor’s nose with a well-placed headbutt. Walhart fell back, spluttering and spitting blood. Seeing his opening Robin thrust his hand forward, lightning crackling along his armour and his skin for a second before becoming a stream of pure light that bowled Walhart off of his feet.

Seeing that their Emperor was in danger the soldiers of his honour guard panicked, crowding around him with shouts of “Protect the Emperor!” and “Long live the Conqueror!” as Robin backpedalled. The enemy progress was halted when two more shapes fell from the sky, blocking their path and knocking back the soldiers that weren’t busy dragging a struggling Walhart away from the battle. Cynthia and Gerome presented an impassable barrier, stalling the Imperial Honour Guard long enough for the other Shepherds and Ylissean soldiers to race past and give chase to them, freeing the small group from any imminent danger.

Robin breathed a sigh of relief, all the tension leaving him as he realized he’d just survived jumping from a pegasus that was pretty much as high as the clouds.

“Dad?” Morgan asked weakly, still sitting dazed on the ground next to a wobbly-looking Chrom.

Robin grinned, strutting over to his daughter and standing above her a moment, before reaching down and lightly rapping her on the head with his knuckles.

“A tactician never gets bogged down in duels with single opponents,” he said in his best teacher voice. “A tactician must always be half in and half out of the battle, always watching the flow of war and adjusting their plans where necessary. Understand, kiddo?”

Morgan stared up at him with wide, teary eyes for another few moments before Robin found himself being forced back a few steps as she tackled him into the most brutal hug he’d had in a long time.

“Gah! Morgan, when did you start wearing armour!?” Robin shouted as she ground her plates against his chest.

Morgan didn’t answer, instead sobbing hysterically into his shoulder as he gently patted her back.

“Robin, is that really-” Chrom started to say before he, too, found himself with a young woman wrapped around his chest.

“Father!” Cynthia cried, losing her composure.

“Father!?” Chrom repeated as the girl buried her face into his chest-plate.

“It’s me!” Cynthia cried without looking up. “I’m your daughter from the future! Your daughter Cynthia! Your Pega-Pony Princess!”

Chrom looked over her head to Lucina, who was slowly climbing back to her feet. She nodded once at her father’s questioning look, which was all Chrom needed before he started to calm the girl down, speaking in a low, soothing tone to her as she valiantly tried not to cry in front of him.

_Pega-Pony Princess, huh?_ Robin thought, grinning evilly as he watched Chrom comfort his younger daughter. _I’m going to have to remember that one._

“Alright,” Robin said, attempting to pry the now quiet Morgan off of him. “Alright! You have a battle to win! I’m just here with reinforcements!”

Morgan stepped back, nodding and looking up at Robin again.

“What happened to your hair?” she asked brightly, completely at odds with the lines in the dirt and blood caked to her face from her crying.

“Long story short, I don’t know,” Robin said, watching as Chrom disengaged himself from Cynthia and began to walk towards Robin, a sense of foreboding running down the tactician’s spine.

“Ohgodspleasedon’thitme!” Robin shouted, involuntarily taking a step back.

“Hit you!?” Chrom shouted back. “I should kill you!”

To Robin’s surprise, though, the Prince wrapped him in a tight bear hug, lifting him clear off the ground.

“You mad, crazy bastard!” Chrom shouted, laughter in his voice and his wounds momentarily forgotten. “Where were you!? What happened!? We feared you for dead!”

“Gah! Chrom! Armour!” Robin cried desperately as Morgan and Cynthia giggled, watching the tactician thrash and squirm in his best friend’s embrace. “Come on, what would the soldiers say if they saw their Prince like this!?”

Chrom chuckled as he put Robin down, grabbing his shoulder and squeezing it gently.

“It’s actually ‘Exalt’ now, not Prince,” Chrom said proudly.

“Good for you,” Robin said with a smile breaking out on his face. “Excuse my over-familiarity, Lord, but it’s about damn time!”

Chrom laughed again, pulling Robin into another rough embrace before stepping back.

“Now somebody please give me my coat!” Robin said enthusiastically, earning more laughs from Morgan and Chrom, Cynthia joining in as well.

Robin looked over to where he was expecting to see Lucina smiling and laughing along with the rest of them, only to find her standing a few paces further away than the others, staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“Luce?” Morgan asked worriedly, following the direction of her father’s gaze. “What’s wrong?”

The battlefield sounds faded to a dim rumble in the background as Robin turned and approached Lucina.

“You’re alive,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

“I am,” Robin answered lamely, suddenly at a loss for words.

“I… watched you die,” Lucina said, her voice haunted as tears began pooling at the corners of her eyes.

“I don’t know what to say,” Robin said with a shrug. “Brady’s a hell of a healer.”

“Brady?” Lucina sniffed, looking around and noticing Gerome and Cynthia for the first time. “Gerome? Cynthia?”

The mask-wearing wyvern rider nodded silently once from atop his mount, visibly working to restrain the excited Minerva beneath him. Cynthia was animated enough for the two of them, though, launching herself from Chrom’s side to wrap her older sister in a huge hug, crying “Lucy!” over and over the whole time.

Lucina stood dumbstruck as she returned her sister’s embrace, completely overwhelmed and at a loss as to how to react.

“What was it you said about reinforcements?” Morgan asked curiously as the battle began to wind down, Walhart’s forces escaping back towards the Capital.

“If I may be so bold as to suggest you take the Shepherds after Walhart while I take command out here, my Lord Exalt?” Robin asked Chrom with a cheeky bow.

“Sure, but… you won’t have the men to hold the Imperial forces while we’re inside,” Chrom said, his gaze becoming confused.

“Not a problem,” Robin said nonchalantly as the sounds of Feroxi battle-cries began to overwhelm the other sounds of battle. “Like I said. Reinforcements.”

Chrom’s face turned into a feral grin.

“It’s good to have you back, Robin,” he said, patting Robin on the shoulder one last time before turning and striding away, shouting orders to reform the lines on Robin and to gather the scattered Shepherds to push into the capital.

“I’ll leave the clean-up operation to you, then,” Chrom called over his shoulder.

“Oh this is just like old times!” Robin shouted back. “Me doing all your dirty work while you hog the glory!”

Grinning, Robin turned to survey the battlefield. The majority of Walhart’s army was still outside the massive walls, and the Dynasts and Conscripts made no move to assist them; Robin wouldn’t have any problem-

“Don’t you dare die on me again!” Morgan shouted, breaking Robin’s train of thought as she grabbed him in another armour-clad hug.

“Is that my breast-plate?” Robin asked suspiciously, making Morgan step back as her face blushed and she studiously looked at the space between her feet.

“Sorry dad gotta go lead the last battle!” Morgan said as she began to sprint after Chrom, leaving Robin to chuckle alone as the Ylissean League began to form up and prepare for the last charge against the Valmese.

Soon the Feroxi would join them, and they would be able to crush the Imperial force between them and the Resistance.

“Hey Lucy, aren’t you going to go with them?” Cynthia said hesitantly, drawing Robin’s attention behind him again.

Robin turned, coming face to face with Lucina. Without warning she reached up and practically tore his head off when she pulled it down into a deep kiss. And in an instant everything Robin had done up to this point was vindicated as his spirits soared.

With a sigh as they separated the last of the anxiety he’d been feeling left him. He was with Lucina again.

“I believe I will be more help out here,” Lucina said to her sister without looking away from Robin.

No doubt Cynthia’s jaw was hanging open, perhaps even Gerome’s stone face had changed expression; Robin didn’t care as he gazed down into Lucina’s brilliant blue eyes.

“You should go with them, Lucina,” Robin said, hating himself as he did. “Morgan and Chrom will need you.”

Lucina frowned a little, still not moving away from Robin.

“If I promise not to disappear again would that help?” he asked with a grin.

“If you do I’ll never forgive you,” Lucina said before pulling away.

She nodded, stepping away from Robin. Before she could move out of arms reach Robin’s hand flashed out, grabbing her and pulling her back into his arms for a second passionate kiss.

“Okay,” Robin said when they finally separated, both red-cheeked and breathing heavily. “Now you can go.”

Lucina smiled and stroked Robin’s cheek before turning and beginning to run in the direction that her Father and Morgan had taken.

When Robin looked up he was pleased to note that his prediction for the other’s reactions was right on the money; Cynthia’s face, wide eyed and mouth hanging open, was busily snapping back and forth between the figure of her disappearing sister and the smugly smiling Robin, and Gerome’s eyebrow was arched almost to his swept-back hairline.

“You’re going to catch flies like that,” Robin said as he walked past Cynthia, now spluttering wordlessly in shock, something on the ground nearby catching the tactician’s eye.

Robin bent, picking up the sword that Walhart had dropped when his soldiers had dragged him from the field and hefted it over his shoulder. It was much longer than his rapier, and only had a single curved blade, but it would do nicely.

“Shall we join the army and finish the war?” Robin drolled to the two Shepherds still staring at him in disbelief as he toted the massive sword on one shoulder. “Because once this is over there’s going to be a hell of a victory party.”


	40. Chapter 40

Gerome and Cynthia hurried after Robin as he strode boldly through the Ylissean ranks, shouting orders as he went, the discarded sword he’d found still sitting against his shoulder, the soldiers not being shouted at and rushing to obey his orders gaping at the seemingly returned from the dead tactician as he passed.

“You lot, why are you standing around!? Get to the front and form ranks!”

“You and you; go to the infirmary and assist any way you can in getting the men back on their feet. Now!”

“Take the third archer regiment to the south and circle around to the east; I want them in a flanking position when the two armies meet. Tell the lieutenant not to worry about being undefended; I’ll send the Pegasus Knights after them as soon as possible.”

“Somebody please tell me where they hid my bloody coat!?”

He did all this and more as he walked, never breaking stride while the two younger time-travellers struggled to keep pace.

“This is a new side of Robin,” Cynthia whispered to Gerome, who grunted and nodded imperceptibly.

So far they had only seen the free-spirited tactician that drank all night and jumped off the back of flying pegasi, but now that he was actually in his element, commanding men and putting the brilliant tactics he was known for into action, Cynthia wasn’t afraid to admit she was a little awed by the sheer force of presence he exuded as he marched through the camp shouting down men easily twice his size.

Robin barged into the grandest looking tent past a steady stream of runners and adjutants, ignoring the stunned looks from the men on guard duty.

“Why are you just standing around!?” Robin asked the two men at the tent’s entrance, who instantly snapped to attention. “Get your arses to the frontlines! Now!”

“Sir!” the two guards cried in unison before sprinting off.

Cynthia and Gerome didn’t even have a chance to react before Robin ducked into the tent, doggedly following after the man.

“Somebody give me tactical!” Robin called over the clamour inside the tent that died away instantly with his appearance.

Three men, obviously the leaders of the various factions that made up the Ylissean League, looked at Robin with varying mixes of emotion before falling utterly silent.

“I thought the Exalt might have taken a blow to the head when he told us who was taking over,” a one-eyed knight admitted as he passed a small stack of papers to Robin. “But it’s really you, isn’t it?”

“Yup,” Robin muttered, leafing through the papers without looking up.

“You look well for dead,” a local man with a long, thin moustache remarked in a deep voice.

“Thanks,” Robin said, glancing up with a grin. “It’s good to be back Lord Liung; Duke Roark. Er… you I don’t know. Hi there.”

The man in question, well-built with long black hair tied up in a tight top-knot, wearing shiny black armour that clearly wasn’t made from metal, bowed slightly. His eyes never left the three strangers interrupting their war council, and his hand never left the hilt of his sword.

“I am Keiji,” he said in thickly accented common. “I am second to Queen Say’ri of Chon’sin.”

“So she got a promotion…” Robin muttered, moving to lean over the map dominating the large table in the centre of the tent. “Where is she now?”

A vein above Keiji’s eyebrow pulsed, obviously not impressed about the off-hand manner his Queen was spoken of in, but he responded without any hostility in his voice.

“Out on the front lines. She insisted that she fight.”

Robin nodded, still studying the markings of troop positions and movements on the map before sighing. If the current markings were anything to go by the Valmese forces were scattered and reeling; the low-level officers had taken control of their individual regiments and there was little to no unit cohesion; they were simply falling back towards the capital. Robin had been worried about nothing. Without Walhart or one of his Generals at their head, the Valmese Imperial army were dead in the water. Without their reinforcements it looked like the Ylissean League wouldn’t have any problems finishing the war.

“Morgan did so well I didn’t even need to stay out here,” he said with a proud smile. “But what’s say we play clean-up anyway, gentlemen?”

Liung grinned ferally while Roark rolled out his neck and stretched his calves a little. Keiji didn’t look as confident as they did, though.

“We will just charge blindly back into the enemy?” he asked.

“Pretty much,” Robin said with a shrug. “Somebody come and find me once the men are ready to move; I’m going to find my coat.”

*

“There you are!” Flavia shouted as she jogged across the Shepherd lines, Inigo, Owain and Brady in tow. “Back for less than fifteen minutes and already running the show again? I must have you!”

Robin cringed at her ineloquent wording as he spun on his heel to face the little troupe as the Ylissean League continued their hectic preparations around them.

“How’d your walk go, Khan Flavia?” he asked with a distinct smirk, choosing to ignore her little comment at present.

Flavia returned the tactician’s smirk as she stopped before him, the three young men at her back practically falling over with exhaustion, panting and leaning on each other for support.

“Our little diversionary ‘walk’ went well!” she said happily. “Next to no casualties, thanks to the priest…”

Flavia turned, her smirk turning evil as she witnessed the state of the three boys.

“Ah, young men,” she said to Cynthia with a wink before bursting into laughter. “Eager to begin, quick to finish, eh? Oh well, they’ll build up more stamina as they get more experience!”

The young Pegasus Knight blinked absently as Flavia’s joke, much to Robin’s relief, went right over her head. Fortunately the boys in question also misunderstood, or else were too wiped-out to object to Flavia’s crude sense of humour. Funnily enough, out of the corner of his eye, Robin could have sworn he saw Gerome duck his head and cough, a slight pinkish tint showing up just beneath his mask.

“Anyway,” the tactician said after clearing his throat awkwardly. “I’m planning to lead part of the counter-offensive against the Imperial forces in about fifteen minutes. Up for another round?”

Flavia grinned ferally as she beat a fist on her armoured chest.

“Just try to leave us behind!”

Inigo, Owain and Brady collectively groaned as they realized that she was including them in her declaration.

“Naga just kill me now,” Inigo muttered as he struggled to pick Owain and Brady up off the ground by their scruffs.

“Owain Dark shall not be pawed at!” the blonde swordsman grunted, flailing around weakly. “Release me or face the wrath of my… my invincible sword hand!”

“Cram… the… sword… hand… already…” Brady gasped, falling back to his knees the second Inigo released his robes. “That woman… those Feroxi… they ain’t human!”

Robin turned to Gerome and Cynthia as Flavia practically skipped off back towards her soldiers to ready them for the next charge.

“Maybe you’d better help these three recover a little,” Robin said before beelining directly for the storage wagons at the rear of the army, ignoring any potential protests or even questions.

He still had time, and there was something he needed.

*

Cooking utensils, blacksmithing tools and other various miscellanea went flying out of Olivia’s cart as Robin dived headfirst into the back of it, acting on the third-hand information that someone might have seen his coat in there somewhere.

“It would be nice if Olivia learned to keep this stupid thing tidy,” Robin muttered, crawling beneath a stack of camp tables that were usually set up in the mess hall at night.

He had already torn Anna’s wagon apart, something he would probably have to apologize to the plucky red-haired merchant about later, and found absolutely nothing. If it wasn’t in Olivia’s wagon then the only other thing he could think of was that it was in someone’s tent or something, and even by narrowing down the list of suspects to people he was close to he still didn’t have time to search them all in the five minutes he had left. With a sigh Robin gave in and succumbed to the realization he’d have to go into battle without his beloved coat once again as he climbed down from the back of Olivia’s now much messier wagon.

“It has to be around here somewhere,” Robin muttered, picking up the long sword he’d ‘acquired’ on the battlefield earlier, now safely encased in a spare sheath, just a little too big for the beautiful weapon, that had been lying around.

“They wouldn’t just… hm?”

Robin looked up slightly as the familiar sound of flapping wings descended on his head, Huginn landing lightly atop his hair before bending down and cawing softly in Robin’s face.

“I was wondering where you went,” Robin said as he reached up to stroke the large black raven known as Huginn’s neck.

The bird cawed again and Robin jumped a little as something hit him square in the back, not hard enough to knock him down or even make him stumble, but hard enough to startle him. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing a flash of familiar black hair and the sparkle of the golden head-dress that kept it in place.

“What’s the point of having a tactician – no, two tacticians – when no one listens to them anyway?” he asked softly as the back of his tunic was bunched between two small fists more suited for a scholar than a soldier.

“So,” Robin asked casually as he turned around, the figure before him taking a tentative step back. “Why aren’t you with the others?”

Tharja looked up at him with one perfect eyebrow quirked slightly upwards, a face far removed from the usual glare or scornful expression she gave out, but still silently asking Robin if he was stupid.

“Okay, okay,” the tactician said, holding his hands up in surrender. “Stupid question. It’s good to see you again, Tharja.”

The dark mage smiled radiantly up at him for a second before her face dropped.

“We all thought you were dead,” she said hesitantly, looking back down and bunching herself up under her robes in a way she only seemed to do in front of him when she was nervous; it was something that, to Robin’s knowledge, no one else had yet to witness and worked to remind him just how incredibly cute his close friend could be. “Then I get this bird descending on me from out of nowhere and… he tells me that… that you’re…”

Robin sighed, pulling the strangely fragile dark mage into a warm embrace. First Lucina and now Tharja; apparently coming back from the dead made everyone act out of character. The mage went rigid at first, the shock of Robin actually instigating physical contact between the two so rare that she was momentarily at a loss before she relaxed and let her cheek rest against his chest.

“You know technically I was dead,” he said into the shorter woman’s hair. “At least, I think I was dead. I’m not entirely sure. It’s… complicated. I was quasi-dead? Ah never mind.”

“But you’ve come back,” Tharja said hopefully without looking up, her grip tightening again.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you can start stalking me again,” Robin said jokingly, taking a step back as Huginn cawed from the top of his head, flexing his toes and slightly digging his talons into Robin’s head.

“Yes I know you’re still here,” Robin said irritatedly, reaching up and ruffling the feathers on the bird’s neck with one finger.

“Okay, I’ve wasted enough time here, we should get ba-” was as far as Robin got, intending to suggest they head back to the front lines together before he realized that Tharja was holding something out to him.

He stared down at the small black parcel for a moment before reaching out with trembling hands, everything else fading to background noise as his fingertips touched the worn surface, gingerly at first, as if afraid it would disappear if he exerted too much force, before gently taking the bundle and letting gravity unfold it. Slowly, as if to savour the sensation, and ignoring the impatient bird still digging its talons into his scalp, Robin pulled his coat on again.

Laughter burst forth from the tactician as he felt the familiar weight settle on his shoulders, making him jump up and down with glee, Huginn simply bobbing up and down with his movements. In his excitement Robin rushed over to Tharja and planted a kiss on her cheek before grabbing her by the wrist and dragging her with him.

“Back to the frontlines!” Robin announced, pointing forward with his new sword, cutting an incredibly strange figure wearing a black coat over Imperial Valmese officer’s fatigues and red gauntlets, dragging a heavily blushing dark mage by the hand with a large black bird on his head like a living, feathered hat.

But that unique strangeness was, in a word, Robin. A Robin that had been absent for months from the lives of those he loved.

And now he was officially back.

*

Excellus was shuddering, trembling with rage and sick to his stomach as he watched all of his carefully laid plans falling apart around him.

“Why?” he growled, knuckles white as the gripped the stone parapets overlooking the soldiers still on the battlefield that the fool Cervantes was slated to lead now that Walhart had withdrawn.

Cervantes! Over the Emperor’s own tactician!? It was beyond insulting!

His gaze travelled over the soldiers and further back to the orderly ranks of the Dynast soldiers and Imperial conscripts sitting and watching the fighting unfolding.

“Why aren’t they attacking!?” he hissed.

They were supposed to be attacking Walhart’s men and the Ylissean League alike. His master plan was stalled and he couldn’t tell why! Perhaps the Ylisseans had somehow gotten to them; made a bigger threat, promised to let them live if they stood idly by and did nothing. But that hinged on the Ylisseans actually winning this battle and defeating Walhart. As much as Excellus hated the Emperor, he had to admit that the man was undefeatable on the battlefield.

Spitting and cursing under his breath Excellus descended from the parapets, jowls rippling and calling out to the Imperial Guard squad captains that were waiting patiently at the bottom of the steps for him.

“You and you! Gather your men and follow me. We’ll intercept Walhart at the palace!”

“Sir!” the two captains shouted, saluting smartly before running to do their master’s bidding.

These two captains would spread the word and the entirety of the Imperial Guard, the Capital’s dedicated army, would be assembled to meet Walhart and his damnable Honour Guard at the palace steps, where the final stage of his cunning coup-de-grace would be enacted. The Imperial Guard answered to him and him alone; they were loyal to Excellus first and foremost and would follow him to hell and back; especially since he had promised to do horrible, horrible things to their loved ones if they disobeyed him. If he stood at their fore and ordered the death of the Emperor they wouldn’t even hesitate. Fear was a powerful tool, one he never hesitated to wield like a weapon.

Excellus would order the Imperial Guard to kill Walhart as a traitor to Valm, coming up with some cockamamie story about the Emperor’s treachery, and once he was dead the tactician would be free to personally assume command of the entire Imperial army. With his superior knowledge and tactical brilliance the Ylissean League would fall before him. Without the vaunted Ylissean tactician their efforts were all be for naught. Excellus’ plans were foolproof! Years of careful planning, more than a decade in the making, were finally coming to fruition!

He licked his lips at the prospect as he ran pudgy fingers over the magical gems socketed into the ring on his left hand, the one that allowed him to teleport.

Soon everything would fall back into place, and the entire world would be his. Not that insane gorilla Walhart’s; not that bleeding-heart Exalt from Ylisse’s; not that whore-Queen from Chon’sin, Say’ri’s; no one else’s! His and his alone!

Giggling stupidly at the prospect of unlimited power now, finally within his grasp Excellus drew the archaic spell tome out of his robes, holding it close as he descended to the palace grounds beneath him with a spring in his step and his head held high.

The Imperial Guard were forming ranks quickly and efficiently in the palace grounds as he stepped onto them. Walhart would march up the steps and straight into them and he’d…

“Excellus!” a booming voice that would send lesser men into quivering piles of gelatine called out. “Where are you, worm!? You have a defence to plan!”

Excellus swallowed his excitement and settled for a small smug smile as he crossed the palace grounds in front of the Imperial Guard. That the grounds themselves, made up of perfectly manicured lawns and gardens, could hold the thousand men in the Guard and also the surviving crowd of Walhart’s Honour Guard spoke volumes of just how big they were.

Excellus noticed as Walhart charged up the steps to the palace grounds that he looked rougher than the tactician had ever seen before; his armour was dirty, and his cape was torn. His face was bruised and bloody, and it looked like his nose had been broken.

Good, the tactician thought with relish. Let the idiot suffer for his stupidity.

Excellus strode out boldly, holding his head high and grinning toothily as he faced down the Emperor that was nearly three times his size and the moustache with an idiot stuck to it that was his last surviving general. Even Cervantes was there! Excellus couldn’t have asked for a better chance.

“I don’t think so, Walhart,” Excellus spat, chortling the whole time. “You see, this is… a change in management.”

“A what?” Cervantes asked, looking back and forth between his Emperor and Excellus in confusion; a look that was almost as sweet as sugar to Excellus.

“I’m taking control of this Empire, here and now,” Excellus purred, savouring every word. “Imperial Guard! Kill these traitors in the name of the Empire!”

Walhart stopped, his face going still as he blinked uncomprehendingly at his tactician’s words. This was it! The tactician closed his eyes and tilted his head back slightly, basking in his final moment of triumph…

A moment that was spoiled when Walhart burst out laughing.

“I think not, tactician,” Walhart laughed right in Excellus’ face. “In fact if you get on your knees right now and beg to let you serve me, I may look on this as an elaborate joke and grant your wish. By sending you to the frontlines with Cervantes to prove your loyalty to me, of course.”

Excellus spluttered, his face instantly going red. How dare he? He, who was cornered and now only living by Excellus’ good graces, talk down to him!? In this situation where Walhart had absolutely no power, and his life hinged on Excellus’ very word, the bastard was still mocking him! Still talking down to him! Excellus had had enough.

“Imperial Guard!” Excellus raged, a cruel smile crossing his features. “Kill the traitors to your Empire!”

He’d tried to give Walhart a chance; he’d tried to be reasonable, but rabid dogs needed to be put down…

Excellus blinked. Nothing was happening.

A cold knot formed in the tactician’s stomach as he looked over his shoulder at rows of men standing perfectly at attention, staring straight ahead and ignoring his orders. None of them would meet his eyes.

“You don’t get it, do you, worm?” Walhart growled, his voice low and dangerous as he advanced on Excellus. “I am the Empire.”

Excellus began to shake. No… not again… these were his Imperial Guard. His! They were supposed to be loyal to him, not to the gorilla! Why… why did this keep happening to him?

A shadow descended over Excellus, and the tactician trembled as he looked up into Walhart’s cold, unseeing eyes. For the first time ever it felt like the Emperor was actually looking at him.

“Did you really think I was so blind,” Walhart continued to growl. “That I wouldn’t see your little schemes, Excellus?”

The smaller man involuntarily stepped back, the way Walhart said his name sending chills down his spine.

“Whom do you serve!?” Walhart roared over Excellus’ head, momentarily ignoring the tactician.

“We serve the heart of our Empire, Lord Walhart,” the thousand Imperial Guard soldiers chanted in unison, dropping to one knee with practiced motions.

Excellus stared at them with wide eyes. He couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t believe it. First that fool Yen’fay turned all of the Southern Army against him, then the Dynasts and Conscripts ignored his orders, and now the Imperial Guard, his personal soldiers handpicked to be easily manipulated and therefore loyal to him, turned away from him. How… how could this happen?

“You see now?” Walhart chuckled as if reading his mind. “You never truly had any real power. You are weak, Excellus. Beneath me. I saw through your machinations from the very beginning, and I let you continue because they amused me. But you have now overstepped your boundaries. I will grant you the honour of a quick death by my hand for all your ‘service’ to the Empire.”

Excellus’ tome fell to the ground from nerveless fingers as he reeled, holding a despairing hand to his brow in an attempt to rally and come up with something to get him out of this.

“Cervantes. Your sword,” Walhart said, ignoring Excellus utterly.

No… no, he wouldn’t die here. Not like this. He could escape and start again, worm his way into a minor noble’s army and build him up, much the same way he had for Walhart…

“No!” Excellus shrieked, golden energy flaring about him. “You will pay for this, Walhart! All of you! You will all pay with your blood! I swear it!”

“Curse him! Somebody kill him!” Walhart roared as he realized what Excellus was doing.

With a final laugh at the foolishness of the Imperial soldiers and the folly of their vaunted ‘honour’, the tactician disappeared from the palace grounds in a flash of magical energy.\

He would simply start again. Nothing would stand in his way.

Nothing.

*

Walhart stood still as a statue, still holding Cervantes’ sword in one fist and glaring in the direction that Excellus had just escaped from. The men around him stood silently, awaiting orders in fear that Excellus’ delusions had condemned them to death along with him, but the Emperor made no move towards them.

“Milord?” Cervantes asked at last. “Should we not prepare a search party and-”

“No,” Walhart snorted. “He is not worth our time. When he shows his face again, we will kill him. Until then prepare our remaining forces for the counterattack against the League.”

The Emperor tossed his General’s sword back to him before stomping off towards the palace. Cervantes caught the sword, chuckling under his breath as his hands closed around the hilt. In his anger Walhart had squeezed the handle of the weapon too hard and bent it slightly.

Without any prompting the Imperial Guard parted before Walhart and his surviving Honour Guard, heads bowed low so as not to provoke their leader any further.

Cervantes sighed, the sound being muffled into non-existence by his moustache before he drew himself up to his full height.

“Right, boys!” he hollered. “Form up! We have a capital to defend!”

*

Robin hummed tunelessly as he resisted the urge to skip to the frontlines, sword slung casually over one shoulder as he walked with Tharja on his heels. Huginn had made the short jump from Robin’s head to his master’s shoulder, and now warily eyed the surrounding soldiers. The others were standing in a knot near the front lines, just behind the initial line of sword and lance-wielding Ylisseans. Gerome and Cynthia stood patiently by their mounts, while Owain, Inigo and Brady warily eyed Flavia who was shouting orders to her Feroxi soldiers a short distance away.

Something was bothering Robin, though… something in the corner of his mind, something important that he felt he really shouldn’t have forgotten…

Flavia, sword casually resting on her shoulder as always, turned to face him as she noticed his approach, barking one last list of commands to her men before stepping forward to meet with him and the young Shepherds.

“It’s about time you showed up,” she said with a grin. “I was starting to think that I’d… hold on, did you seriously make us wait just to find your coat?”

“Yes, and with it I can conquer the world!” Robin exclaimed. “What’s the status of our enemy?”

Flavia shook her head before answering.

“Well, they’re beginning to form ranks again. Priam’s forces are in position, and the Ylissean League is ready to attack, so…”

“You were just waiting on me,” Robin finished for her. “I’m touched that you were able to reign in your massive battle-lust for my sake, Flavia. This is serious personal growth for you.”

“Just shut up and lead the army,” the woman in red grunted, a smile on her face.

Robin chuckled, bouncing his own sheathe resting on his shoulder a few times as he looked over the assembled soldiers and warriors.

“Alright,” the tactician said, turning to the others. “Gerome, Cynthia; I want you flying with the Pegasus Knights. Their ranks are a little thin considering half of them just went with the Shepherds.”

“Right!” Cynthia said excitedly, snapping to attention while Gerome just silently nodded next to her before they both climbed atop their mounts and flew towards the back ranks where the Pegasus Knights were busily preparing.

“There’s not really much for us to do,” Robin said as he looked to the others. “No real strategy to be had here. Roark, Liung and the other guy have things well in hand, so for morale’s sake I thought I’d give them this easy win. We’re just along for the ride.”

“Is that a note of bitterness in your voice at being left out?” Flavia asked playfully.

Robin snorted, waving a hand through the air. “I’m dead, remember? I don’t feel bitterness. It’s been a tough road for them. They need this victory more than I do.”

“More than the triumphant return of a hero?” Flavia chuckled. “Well, it’s your call. You’re in charge of this section of the line, so whenever you’re ready.”

Robin nodded. “We’ll wait for Liung and Roark to signal that their ready. Then we’ll just follow them in.”

Flavia cleared her throat, crossing her arms and glaring at Robin a little.

“Of course if we outrun them, we outrun them,” the tactician amended with a shrug.

“That’s more like it!” Flavia shouted, holding her sword in the air as she walked back to her men, beginning to shout orders and encouragement again.

“You two stay with me,” Robin said to Inigo and Owain. “Brady, you stick with Tharja in the rear. This probably won’t take very long, but-”

Robin’s speech was interrupted when horns blared and the lines began to move, Flavia whooping excitedly and pushing to the front of her men. The tactician sighed and began to follow her.

“Try to keep pace with her before she gets herself killed,” he ordered.

Inigo and Owain both echoed Robin’s sigh as they fell in with him, Brady and Tharja following close behind.

*

Say’ri stood at the front of the Chon’sin soldiers as they waited for the orders to advance on the last of Walhart’s forces before the Capital. She was content to allow Keiji to do his job in her stead, planning and relaying her desires to the other leaders. She was no military leader; she was a warrior. Even Chrom had Morgan, and before her Robin, so Say’ri felt no guilt over her decision. She led better from the front anyway; among her people that had suffered for so long because she and her brother could not agree on the best way to lead them.

Forcing the dark thoughts back into the recesses of her mind Say’ri tightened her grip on her sword, resisting the urge to pace back and forth as she waited and simply stood, glaring out at the distant enemy.

It looked like they were starting to regroup; the men had better hurry and decide on their course of action, or Say’ri would lead her soldiers ahead, tactics be damned.

A familiar shuffling next to her marked the arrival of her eyes and ears in the camp.

“What news?” she asked Seiko dully, eyes never leaving the field.

“Something’s got the camp in an uproar,” the spy answered immediately. “No one’s really sure what it is, but…”

“What?” Say’ri asked curtly when her spy trailed off.

“Well the general consensus is that Keiji is unimpressed that the Exalt of Ylisse left someone else in charge of the assault,” Seiko answered simply.

Say’ri resisted the urge to sigh. It wasn’t surprising; Keiji was an exemplary soldier and a fine officer, but he was old-fashioned. Any perceived slight to his irrefutable honour couldn’t be ignored. But that was one of the things that set him apart; it was one of the things that made him trustworthy. He couldn’t be bought, and Say’ri was desperately trying to surround herself with more people like that as quickly as she could. Seiko chief among them.

“Keiji just likes to complain,” Say’ri said, looking at her chief spy and friend for a moment. “Go meet him on his way back; tell him once this war is over I’ve decided to promote him to General. That should cheer him up.”

“A fine choice, my Queen,” Seiko said with a bow before chuckling lightly. “He will have to come up with a second part of his name if you make him into noble. That could be troublesome; he’s hardly the most creative man in the army.”

“But he is trustworthy,” Say’ri said, giving voice to her earlier thoughts.

“Indeed, my Queen. I will go and relay your message.”

“Find out who was left in charge, too. I find myself curious.”

Bowing low Seiko disappeared almost instantly into the press of bodies around them. She wouldn’t be a good spy if she stuck out in a crowd, but the way she always seemed to know exactly how to do it still unnerved Say’ri a little. Fortunately, Seiko was another trustworthy person.

Say’ri found herself hoping that whoever Chrom had appointed as leader for the assault didn’t step on Keiji’s toes too much, or there was likely to be bloodshed before the fighting even started.

A horn sounded to the south of her army’s position, and Say’ri found herself instantly clear of all unnecessary thoughts as battle loomed again.

*

Robin hung back while the Feroxi around him leapt into the fray with almost reckless abandon, overwhelming the section of Valmese line before them with Flavia at their head. Inigo and Owain seemed to be incredibly grateful for Robin’s more subdued pace, but considering the Feroxi fighting style Brady was still being worked to the bone. A series of large explosions ripped through the Valmese line, marking another spell from the dark beauty at their backs as Tharja waved her hands through the air. At some point Huginn had disappeared again; no doubt picking through the leftovers in the mess tent or something like that.

At some point the Ylissean advance had split; without Robin or Chrom overseeing the movements the armies had separated into their usual groups, and usually this would present a serious problem. However the enemy was demoralized and their force was fragmented; the Feroxi had been rolling over the Valmese in their way, while in the distance Robin could make out the Roark-led Ylissean forces doing much the same. It was almost disappointing in a way that an enemy as powerful as Valm had been was reduced to this state; the loyal soldiers dying in droves while their leaders sat in fear behind the walls of the castle and the reinforcements sat and watched from a distance, waiting to see who won.

“Come on, keep up!” Flavia called back to them, waving her sword in the air to get Robin’s attention and snapping him out of his reverie.

Inigo actually shuddered at her enthusiasm. “I know there’s a culture difference here, but I’ve never met a woman that terrified me so much.”

Robin found himself silently agreeing as he began walking towards the front again, but a flash of red and black from atop a banner-pole above the heads of the Valmese men caught his attention, making him curse and break out into a run.

“Flavia, consolidate your men around us! Call them back!” he shouted urgently.

To her credit Flavia only hesitated a moment before taking up the call in her warriors’ native tongue, urging them to fall back and form up around her.

“What is it?” Owain asked excitedly. “Is some foul monster approaching that only I, Owain Dark can destroy with my holy blade?”

“If you want him, you can have him,” Robin snickered as the heavily armoured General shoved his way through his soldiers, a retinue of dismounted knights at his back carrying weapons that looked almost as large as Robin was tall.

The tactician turned toward the closest Feroxi warrior, considering they didn’t have dedicated runners, and grabbed him by the shoulder to get his attention.

“Run to the leaders of the other groups,” he said urgently. “Tell them there are reinforcements coming from within the Capital. Tell them we need reinforcements here. Go, quickly!”

The Feroxi man looked confused for a moment before nodding sullenly and taking off at a run; no warrior wanted to miss the battle, but this was more important, and the Feroxi were all smart enough to know that.

“Tharja, get ready to cause some dissention,” he said quickly, the Dark Mage nodding and beginning to ready her spell.

The Feroxi had pulled back and formed something resembling a line, a huge achievement considering the way they usually fought. Of course there were still some men holding bows out in the front, but considering how fast they had responded Robin wasn’t about to nit-pick.

Trumpets sounded from the Valmese lines as they reformed, fresh troops in more ornate armour taking to the front against the Feroxi horde. Shining red plates reflected the weakening afternoon sun, glinting off of polished weapons as the soldiers faced Flavia’s troops in perfectly ordered rows. From the safety of the rear of the first row came a bellowing laugh that under normal circumstances would have sounded jovial. The voice was coming from the shorter, round looking man with the huge moustache standing beneath the standard.

“At last we meet, tactician of Ylisse!” the Valmese General called out as Robin shouldered his way to the front, standing beside Flavia. “I was beginning to think that we would never get the chance after you disappeared, but here you are, hale and hearty! Come! Let us do battle like true men of honour!”

Robin looked over to Flavia, who grinned and shrugged, kneading the grip of her favoured sword. Robin nodded back, a thought occurring to him making him raise a hand directly above his head, palm upwards.

“Sorry,” he called over the space between the two armies, green flames beginning to crackle in his palm as he mentally changed the fire spell he was casting a little. “Maybe next lifetime.”

A jet of green flames danced up from Robin’s hand, harmlessly flying upwards before dissipating. The Valmese men across from them looked confused at first, before growing nervous when nothing happened. A minute passed as tension in the Valmese ranks began to grow waiting for something to happen, and then a second. Just as they began to mutter amongst themselves a shadow descended over them accompanied by a magnificent roar as Tiki fell upon the orderly ranks in all her gargantuan draconic glory.

“I was hoping she’d get the hint,” Robin muttered to Flavia, who seemed so excited she looked fit to burst, eyes wide and mouth twisted upwards in a huge, toothy smile.

Shouting a Feroxi warcry the red-armoured leader jumped forward again, her men following behind her as they rushed to where Tiki was literally sweeping aside the Imperial troops. Flavia’s charge easily broke the distracted Imperial front ranks before cutting deep into their formations, Tiki towering above them roaring and crushing men underfoot, or simply blasting gouts of fire at the men gathered around her feet.

“Should… should we help them?” Inigo asked hesitantly as the Feroxi rushed forwards around them in a screaming mass of leather armour and flailing weapons.

“Have at it,” Robin said dismissively with a wave of his hand. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Owain clenched a fist before his face, trembling as he closed his eyes before shouting and holding his sword aloft.

“By the Sacred Stones, wait for Owain!” he roared before joining the charge.

Inigo’s shoulders drooped as he flung his head backwards, sighing to the heavens.

“Dammit, Owain, wait for me!” he called after his friend, running to catch up.

*

Robin glanced up as he cleaned the blood off of his new sword; he had sworn to treat this one better than he had the ruined remains of Chrom’s royal rapier that were still tucked into his belt. There was something strange off in the distance, about halfway to the foothills over near where the Valmese conscripts were standing idly.

“What’s up?” Tiki asked curiously, sidling up beside Robin and bumping his shoulder with hers.

“Hrm? Oh, nothing,” the tactician mumbled, sheathing his sword. “Just distracted. What were you saying?”

“I was saying that I haven’t seen Priam since the battle started. I’m getting worried.”

Robin scoffed. “About Priam? He’s probably the safest one out of all of us right now; I wouldn’t be surprised if he fought his way to the castle and slapped Walhart off the throne singlehandedly.”

The battle was winding down now; while the Feroxi warriors being led by Flavia chased down the last elements of the Imperial forces they had been fighting against while across the field the rest of the Ylissean League did much the same. It had turned into a complete route once Priam’s Resistance soldiers had hit the Imperials, so much so that the archer unit Robin had sent out to the flank had barely fired a single volley. Now Cynthia was seething at being left out of the action while Owain regaled her and Gerome with tales of his exploits during the battle. Tiki had withdrawn from the fight at some point, and had joined Tharja in being his second shadow as they kept the Imperial forces off of Brady while he worked. The young priest was still busily healing the Feroxi wounded despite how exhausted he no doubt was.

Robin’s head snapped around, glaring off into the distance as the familiar sensation moved again, this time towards the foothills themselves.

“Robin?” Cynthia asked curiously, noticing him staring into the distance. “What is it?”

The other younger Shepherds all looked over to him curiously, even Tharja and Tiki showing some concern for his behaviour. All at once the strange sensation Robin was having clicked in his memory, and making an instant decision Robin spun, grabbing the reins of Cynthia’s pegasus from her hands and swung up into the saddle, kicking it into the air in one smooth movement.

“Wha- Robin, what in Naga’s name are you doing!?” Inigo called after him.

“Robin!” Cynthia screamed after him.

He didn’t hear them; he was too focused on the sensation he’d only felt a few times before, the sensation of displacement and tearing that he’d only experienced when Excellus had teleported into Liung’s throne room in Chengshi. It wasn’t something he would forget, though.

Excellus was trying to get to the Conscripts or the Dynasts. That, or he was trying to escape on his own since the battle out here had so obviously gone in Ylisse’s favour. The second option seemed more true to the cowardly tactician’s character.

Either way, he couldn’t let Excellus get away. If he got to the other Valmese forces and bullied them into action the League would be in danger. If he escaped… well, Robin wouldn’t let him either way. Cynthia’s tired pegasus whinnied irritatedly as the tactician dug his heels into its sides, urging it to move faster. He was covering ground fast, but he didn’t know how long the ring Excellus used to teleport took to recharge – it couldn’t take more than a few minutes. After less than five minutes of flight he was over the foothills, squinting in the harsh afternoon sunlight as he tried to spot his quarry.

_There,_ Robin thought victoriously, pulling the reins and angling the pegasus downwards.

He came in low, a very surprised looking Excellus ducking low beneath the pegasus’ hooves as Robin zoomed over top of him, coming to a landing and leaping from the beast’s back a few meters away. As he began walking forward Robin unsheathed his new sword, glaring at the other tactician.

“You,” Excellus hissed, recoiling defensively.

“Me,” Robin said, stopping in front of the pudgy man and resting the long sword over his shoulder.

“Why do you have Sol? Never mind; it doesn’t matter. Stand aside,” Excellus said in a trembling voice. “I no longer hold any loyalty to that mad dog Walhart. You no longer have any reason to wish me harm.”

“No reason?” Robin scoffed, filing away what was apparently the name of his new sword for later reflection. “Are you insane? Every time I looked you were in the background pulling the strings. As far as I’m concerned this entire war is your responsibility.”

Excellus shook his head, beginning to sweat in the face of Robin’s cold rage. “No, I merely created Walhart’s tactics. This was his war.”

“And the threats and bribery? The abject cruelty towards the Dynasts and villagers? Were they his will as well? Doesn’t really seem like something a ‘noble conqueror’ would do.”

“What do you want from me, Robin?” Excellus exploded, cracks beginning to show in his usual personality and mannerisms as his eyes bulged and spittle flew from his mouth. “The last ten years of my life, all of my careful planning, everything has all gone to waste! What do you want from me!? What else could you possibly want from me!?”

“Atonement,” Robin said, glaring coldly into Excellus’ eyes and taking a step forward. “You’re going to make up for your crimes. You can come back with me and face trial…”

Excellus started laughing, cutting Robin off. He sighed internally as he realized it was the same laugh that Gangrel had had; the laugh of one whose mind had completely gone to madness.

“No, I don’t think that really works for me,” Excellus cackled, holding his hand out for the teleporting spell that would see him beyond Robin’s grasp.

The Ylissean tactician was faster though, the sword in his hand coming down before Excellus’ spell could be completed, golden energy dissipating into the air as a fat hand fell to the ground at their feet, severed at the wrist.

Excellus shrieked with wide eyes as he fell to his knees, holding the stump of his arm close to his chest and staring aghast at the hand on the ground between him and Robin, still glowing with the golden residue of the unused teleportation spell in a slowly spreading pool of blood.

“What… what are you doing!? Are you mad!? My hand!” Excellus shrieked, rocking back and forth.

“Please,” he begged, eyes snapping up to Robin, still standing above him with sword in hand. “Please, it wasn’t my fault! Walhart… he, he made me do everything! So that he wouldn’t get his own hands… dirty! I… I didn’t have a choice! Please don’t kill me!”

“You’re lying,” Robin said coldly, glaring down at Excellus.

“Please don’t kill me,” the other tactician pleaded, crawling away from Robin on his elbows. “I… I can do good! I’m a tactician, just like you! You know what we can do if-”

“We are nothing alike!” Robin roared, advancing on the retreating Excellus as he shouted. “You use your knowledge to cause others harm! To kill and murder, all for your own gain! It’s monsters like you that give the title ‘tactician’ a bad name!”

“And you’ll kill me for that?” Excellus giggled, beginning to go pale as his wrist continued to bleed. “For a difference in ideology? Be-because I use my… talents differently to you? Hardly seems… like something that the mighty… Ylissean tactician would do…”

Robin stopped, thinking for a moment. Could he actually kill the other tactician like this? He wasn’t a murderer, and he had no desire to sink to Excellus’ level.

“You’re right,” he said, looking away and lowering his sword. “I won’t kill you for that.”

_“You’ll always fight… you’ll always kill…”_

The words popped unbidden into his mind, but not like before. They were only a memory, but they were right nonetheless; and the man squirming at Robin’s feet was the same.

_No one else dies…_

Excellus began to giggle manically again, climbing up to his knees and making to stand up before Robin lashed out, the tip of his boot connecting with Excellus’ face with a sickening slap. The other tactician landed hard, struggling to rise and slipping in the widening pool beneath him, managing to turn over and face Robin.

“You were right. We are alike,” Robin admitted sadly before hardening his heart.

“And that’s why I know you won’t stop hurting other people. You’ve already hurt my daughter, and the woman I love,” he growled, standing above the other man with his sword raised.

“Please,” the other tactician begged one final time.

“I’ll see you in hell, Excellus.”


	41. Chapter 41

The capital city of Valm was in an uproar. News of their supposedly undefeatable Emperor, the Conqueror that would rule the entire world, retreating from the field after being defeated by a lowly tactician had spread like wildfire through the populace and panic had begun to take root. As Morgan marched through the town at Chrom’s side the leering stares and shouted insults were beginning to take their toll on morale, but fortunately no one had thrown anything at them yet.

“Monsters! How do you sickos justify this!?”

“Invaders! Murderers!”

“My son was stationed at Steiger, you animals!”

“Go back to your dirt farms across the sea!”

Morgan looked out over the crowd as they jogged down the wide colonnade to the palace, central to the large city. The populace was angry and scared, and looking to take that out on someone, anyone that they could. Of course the easiest target would be the invading army that was forcing change upon their lives weather they wanted it or not.

The city itself was grand, and as yet untouched by the war that raged outside of its walls; the only enemy soldiers thus far to breach the gate had been the Shepherds, and they were a small unit that could easily outpace any guard squads. There was still fighting at the gate, being led by one of Roark’s lieutenants that was attempting to hold an exit point for the Shepherds, but aside from that the massive city was still pristine.

Huge dark stone buildings reached to the sky, delicate architecture making them seem almost like pieces of art in themselves rather than shops and homes. The streets were carefully paved and maintained, and there were small gardens set at regular intervals. The overall feel of wealth and prosperity was in stark contrast to the desperate poverty the travelling Shepherds had witnessed in the outlying villages and towns.

“It’s as if they’re happy under Walhart’s rule,” Morgan muttered to no one in particular.

From next to her she heard Virion sigh and droop his head a little, eyes focused on the ground. The archer had been incredibly downcast since they had entered the city for some reason that he had yet to divulge to Morgan.

“These people in the capital, they do not directly feel his cruelty,” the archer explained. “It is the Dynasts and kingdoms around his own that suffer, forced to be little more than slaves while his own nation prospers. He hides behind an ideology of equality, but it is merely the strong lording over the weak, like every other dictator in history.”

“You sound like you speak from experience,” Morgan tentatively prodded.

Virion let out a self-depreciating chuckle, running a hand through his long hair. “Yes. I suppose I do.”

Morgan blinked a few times, waiting for the usually talkative archer to continue explaining.

“It has been a very long time since I’ve been back to the Capital,” Virion added wistfully, looking around him. “It has not changed a bit.”

Morgan knew that her father’s friend had once been the ruler of the tiny Valmese kingdom of Rosanne, but no one could say more than that about him; his past was shrouded in secrecy, something he seemed to relish as a talking point, even if that talking point was ‘alas, I cannot speak of my most painful past!’ He simply loved the attention it gave him.

“It is much easier to enjoy the scenery while not being chased by angry guards, though,” he added with a forced smirk.

“Give it time,” Vaike chuckled from his other side. “’M sure they’ll realize we’re here sooner or later. We ain’t exactly bein’ subtle here.”

*

Priam darted from shadow to shadow, silent as the wind while he raced through the Capital City. Normally he would have simply fought his way through the city guard, destroying any that wished to oppose him, but this day was different. This day he had someplace to be, and he had to get there before the others did.

The older swordsman ducked low behind some crates, hand lightly resting on his sword’s grip poking over his shoulder as a squad of Guards raced by, running for the city gates and completely missing him.

Priam was almost disappointed they hadn’t spotted and challenged him, but reminded himself that he had a mission to fulfil.

Perhaps less a mission and more an old promise, though.

As he raced through the streets he was overcome with a bitter sense of nostalgia for his younger days as Captain of the City Guard, before Walhart had pressured him to take up the position of General. His Guards would have been checking every nook and cranny, especially if the city was under siege like this.

It seemed like so long ago, the time he spent as a youth with his two closest friends on these streets; the idealistic young knight who wanted nothing more than peace for his homeland; the pure, yet curious priestess who saw the good in everyone; and him, the newly appointed city guard whose only desire was to master the sword and live up to his ancient bloodline. They had been inseparable, even as they had advanced in ranks of their chosen orders. However the young Knight grew to despise the weakness he perceived in others after a training accident, though, and became cold and cruel. The priestess and the Guard had tried to reopen the Knight’s heart, but he had closed himself off forever.

Such memories had long lain dormant in Priam’s heart, but the feeling of nostalgia brought them back. Such days were long past, however; Walhart had long lost himself to madness, and Pheros was dead. He was alone now, but he had never forgotten his promise to Pheros.

_“If the day comes where Walhart strays from the path of good and justice you must be the one to put him right. I lack your strength, my friend, or else I would do so myself. However all I can do is watch over him and protect him from others. It must be you that protects him from himself. Goodbye, Priam. I shall miss you, my friend.”_

The priestess, Pheros, who had long ago given up her robes and mantle for the path of the sword and war, had said these words to him before he had fled into the night to protect his friends and loved ones from Walhart’s assassins. ‘The Conqueror’ had already been in power for years when he had deserted, poisoned against his friends and the common will of his people by the toad Excellus and the simpering yes-man Cervantes. When he had tried to speak to his friend his words had fallen on deaf ears, and that night assassins had come for him at Excellus’ order. Afterwards Priam had fled knowing that he could no longer make a difference by serving, but not before speaking with the only person he still trusted.

He had begged Pheros to join him, to form the core of a resistance movement that would operate from the shadows and work to restore peace to their homeland. They would start small, gather others to their cause like them; veterans that had grown weary of the Imperial bully tactics. They would stay on the road, living on handouts and working to slowly disassemble Walhart’s army piece by piece. She had listened to all his pleas and plans, heard out every word he had said, then sadly said her farewell to him. Not that Walhart had been able to see it, but she was still utterly loyal to the ideal that he had once sworn them to; the original, untainted ideal of a world without conflict, cared for by the strong so that the weak would not have to live in fear any longer. Walhart’s ideals had grown twisted and dark, but Pheros had been the shining light that had kept that ideal alive. She had died for that ideal, but Priam had sworn that it wouldn’t die with her.

And now, finally, Priam would make good on his promise to Pheros; he would put Walhart back on the path of righteousness, or die trying.

He had trained relentlessly for the last ten years. He had honed his mastery of the sword to an artform, where nobody could stand against him any longer. He was a god of the blade now, and only now could he face Walhart.

Above him the Imperial Palace loomed. He would simply walk in the front door and strike down any that stood between him and his target; no more sneaking, no more striking from the shadows. The way of the sword demanded justice, it demanded blood for blood, death for death. This day there would finally be a reckoning for all the evil Walhart had done. Priam wasn’t an agent of justice; he was acting as justice itself now.

Priam wasn’t wielding his sword as he marched up the stone steps; he was a part of it.

*

Walhart’s castle, in Chrom’s opinion, put to shame every other palace and castle he had ever seen, including his own back in Ylisstol. Giant stone buttresses held up a building at least three times the size of the Ylisstol palace, every surface covered in delicate edging and looming gargoyles. Complete with perfectly manicured lawns it absolutely screamed decadence at the top of its lungs, cementing in Chrom’s mind exactly what kind of man Walhart was. For all his talk of honour and righteousness he was nothing more than a bully that squandered his resources on his own inflated ego.

Between the rows of hedges and beautiful marble fountains of the palace grounds stood the remaining Valmese Honour Guard, waiting for the Shepherds.

“Form up!” Chrom shouted over his shoulder, stepping back as the Knights and armoured Shepherds, and Vaike, all stepped forward, forming a line and marching ahead, heedless of the hedges and gardens.

At Morgan’s urging he and Lucina would be joining her in the second rank where they could conserve their energy but still fight. Somehow they had to defeat Walhart, and the three of them were some of the best single-enemy combatants in the Shepherds. Lon’qu was with them, and Chrom would have liked him to join them against Walhart, even though his furs and leather armour wouldn’t be much protection against the Emperor. The stoic Feroxi swordsman knew the odds and had agreed to be part of the attack force anyway, though.

The Shepherds advanced quickly through the Honour Guard, sweeping aside their resistance with a combination of the blunt force of the skilled Knights in the front and the wrath of the mages in the rear of the group. From above the enemy soldiers were peppered by spears thrown by Sumia and Cordelia, Cherche fighting on the front with the other armoured fighters and Nowi and Nah holding in reserve.

As the Shepherds charged up the stone steps to the palace’s entry hall Chrom heard Morgan lean over to Lucina and ask “Is it just me, or does this seem too easy?”

Lucina shrugged as Vaike and Kellam began beating on the heavy oaken doors.

“No doubt there are scores more soldiers waiting for us within,” Lucina answered.

The doors smashed inwards, Vaike hooting and hollering victoriously, only to have the shouts of celebration die in his throat as his tanned face went pale. Arrayed before the Shepherds, filling the long, straight entry hall, was a sea of heavily armed and armoured Honour Guard, easily outnumbering the men they had just fought in the courtyard five to one.

“I hate being right,” Lucina muttered with a tired sigh.

“Where does he keep getting these guys!?” Morgan practically wailed, shoulders drooping before she picked herself back up and readied her magic tome.

While Chrom was forced to agree with the girl he couldn’t do so verbally, knowing that he needed to present a strong front for the Shepherds looking to him for leadership now more than ever.

“Shepherds!” Chrom shouted. “Advance!”

They flowed into the giant hall like a high-tide in the same formation they had taken the courtyard with; Kellam, Frederick, Sully, Stahl, Vaike and Donnel taking the front line while the rest of the combat Shepherds crowded in behind them, protecting their flanks and making sure none made it past them to the support Shepherds, who were either shooting magical bolts at the closely packed enemy, or else firing arrows randomly into the press. The hall was as impressive as the outside of the castle, easily high enough for the fliers to still move freely despite being indoors. With excited roars at Morgan’s signal Nowi and Nah changed into their dragon forms, taking to the air with Sumia, Cordelia and Cherche and beginning to rain destruction down on the more numerous foes. A near miss from a bolt of lightning struck the stones at Chrom’s feet, and before he could shout for someone to target the mages Miriel and Laurent shifted their focus, entering a devastating magical duel with the Valmese mages that left the soldiers beneath it reeling from the shock of spells being cancelled out by each other above them.

Over all of it Chrom could see Walhart at the back of the hall, standing before a giant, ornate throne holding an equally impressive-looking axe. He stood impassively, as if this threat to his very throne room was little more than a show he would watch to pass the time, glaring out at the performers motionlessly like a red-steel clad gargoyle.

However, for all their skill and strength, Chrom could see that the Shepherds weren’t making any progress against the Valmese force. Their enemy fought like men possessed under the cold, empty gaze of the Conqueror. Death came at them from the front, but if any man tried to turn and run death waited behind them, too; the Valmese soldiers were trapped between their Emperor and the Shepherds, and apparently they feared the wrath of their Emperor more than the blades of the Ylisseans.

“Fight on!” Chrom urged, deciding he had had enough of supporting the front line and shouldering to the front. “We must end this war here! Fight on, brave Shepherds! For Ylisse!”

Across the great hall Walhart twitched at Chrom’s cry, turning his head as if focusing in on only the young Exalt. With a satisfied smile closer to a snarl the Emperor shouldered his axe and slowly and methodically began to push through his soldiers in the direction of the Shepherds. Chrom watched all this happen before losing himself to the melee in front of him, vowing that this time the Conqueror would fall before him and not the other way around.

*

Morgan felt a spike of anxiety when she watched Walhart step down from the raised dais his throne sat on, but quashed it almost as soon as it sprung up. She would deal with that particular problem when it reared its ugly head and not before; she had an entire battle to worry about in the meantime, and she wasn’t about to let her father down by dying now that he had just come back from the dead.

“Vaike, will you please pull back for five minutes and let Lissa heal you!?”

“Lon’qu, watch the flanks; they’re trying to get sneaky now!”

“Panne, Yarne; leapfrog with the front line! Let’s try and make a little breathing room!”

Every time she addressed a problem, though, another rose to take its place; if the front line pushed forward, the flanks would start to collapse; if the mages took their attention off of the enemy spellcasters for just a moment to help with the infantry the support team was attacked; if Virion and Noire stopped shooting at the enemy archers they would start to target the flying Shepherds. Morgan was on the verge of pulling her hair out in frustration, but freely admitted that she didn’t have the luxury of time to do so at present.

The earlier confidence that her father had instilled in her when he had told them to finish the battle with the younger tactician in his place was quickly evaporating under the strain of the seemingly unstoppable and endless Valmese Honour Guard’s assault.

“Nowi! Nah!” Morgan shouted, waving her arms above her head to get the two manaketes’ attention. “Hit their flanks! Their flanks!”

“Henry, once they bunch up I need you to hit them as hard as you can.”

“Stagger the line! Create some space!”

Morgan kept shouting orders over the tumult of the battle; probably up there for the most vicious she had seen so far. The Shepherds were the very best that the Ylissean League had to offer, and they were being fought to a standstill. Even with Chrom once again leading from the front they were still barely maintaining their foothold.

Morgan hated to admit it, but they would have to pull back and rethink their strategy; they weren’t getting anywhere like this, and-

Reeling, the young tactician fell backwards with a new scorch mark on the breast of her tattered coat, the magical reinforcing thankfully protecting her from the worst of the spell. One of the enemy mages must have taken the opportunity to strike at her while Henry was too occupied to intercept the spell…

“Morgan! Are you alright!?” Anna said, grabbing her by the elbow and helping her back up.

“Fine,” Morgan replied, already eyeing the battlefield again. She could smell burnt hair as she stood, shrugging the coat back into place.

“Your head’s on fire!” Anna suddenly practically screamed, roughly patting at the smoking ends of Morgan’s hair.

“Well put it out!” Morgan shouted back, recalling her last experience with magical burns and finally beginning to panic as she danced around.

In the time it took the two women to put out the small flames licking at Morgan’s hair the Shepherds were finally pushed back a few meters, desperately fighting to regain the momentum they had lost almost immediately. Much to Morgan’s dismay the sound she had been dreading to hear the entire day rang out; the sound of one of the Shepherds falling.

Kellam went down, a large sword having finally broken through his thick armour and embedded himself in the Shepherd’s chest. Frederick instantly moved to cover the hole in the line he left, Lucina taking up position next to him, but no one could stop or be distracted by their fallen friend, lest they follow his fate.

“Anna! Help me!” Morgan shouted over the fighting, thin wisps of smoke still rising from her hair as she charged forward, intent on dragging the bigger man back to the healers.

The redheaded merchant hesitated a moment before doggedly following after the younger woman, muttering to herself the entire time about ‘seriously needing to talk to someone about increased hazard pay’.

Morgan skidded to her knees next to the fallen soldier; much to her relief he was still alive and trying to staunch his wound before he bled out.

“Hold on, Kellam,” Morgan muttered, hastily dragging the first aid kit she carried everywhere with her out of her pouch and beginning to apply pressure to the wound.

More cries from the Shepherds distracted the tactician as Anna joined her, forcing her to look back up to the front line. Chrom had taken a hit to his shoulder, and was still fighting one-handed while Libra tried to heal his injury. They were starting to tire; they couldn’t keep this up much longer…

“Can you drag him back to where it’s safe?” Morgan asked the merchant.

Anna nodded a mute affirmative, pale and tight-faced, before grabbing Kellam under the shoulders and dragging him back in the direction they had come. The soldier waved a weak thank you to Morgan as Anna dragged him to safety.

Desperately hoping to take a little attention off of the Shepherds fighting in the front, Morgan lashed out with her trusted elthunder spell sending arcs of bright lightning dancing along the Valmese soldiers. Much to her chagrin the encroaching horde barely slowed. Gritting her teeth, Morgan dug deep in desperation and began to cast a spell she hadn’t actually trialled in combat before.

“Chrom, I’m going to try something!” she shouted in warning, already channelling without waiting for his response.

A magic circle appeared beneath her feet, glowing bright light creating a small updraft that lifted Morgan’s burned hair about her face. She ignored it, focusing on getting her spell absolutely perfect; she wouldn’t get another chance at it.

“Devastation!” she cried, magic circles beginning to rotate around her outstretched hand, now, too as her eyes blazed white with mana. “The endless dark void! I call to the abyss!”

It was a spell she had been working on secretly with Tharja and Noire whenever she had time; thanks to Noire’s almost prodigious knowledge of dark magic incantations, and the experience that Tharja could bring to the matter she had developed a dangerous and deadly spell. She, like her father, hated using dark magic, but for some strange reason she had an innate affinity to the arte, making developing a ‘super-spell’ like this easier for her than trying to use her father’s elemental ones.

“Verrine!” Morgan roared, the white glow in her eyes turning to a burning black as she finished the incantation.

Much to Morgan’s relief she felt the casting go smoothly, and as the mana left her body a dark cloud began to gather around the enemies’ feet, resembling the clouds of vapour and ash that the Risen exploded into upon death more than anything else. Just as the first of the Valmese began to notice the clouds gathering around them ethereal hands began to form and grasp onto their legs, crawling up their armoured bodies or dragging them down to the ground. The Shepherds were stunned, watching on as dark ghostly limbs lashed out and began to tear at the Valmese soldiers, Morgan grunting and forcing herself to maintain control of the spell, lest it break free and dissipate before the Shepherds could regroup.

Descending into panic immediately the Imperial forces practically forgot they were meant to be fighting the Shepherds, striking hopelessly at the ghostly limbs that were dragging them down and tearing at exposed flesh with vicious hooked claws the shade of midnight.

Morgan had to resist the urge to giggle with renewed hope - It was working! Out of the corner of her eye she could see the Shepherds beginning to rally, wounds being healed and the line coalescing again. She blocked out the screams of the terrified and wounded Imperials, focusing only on holding on a few more seconds; every moment she maintained the spell was another moment that her friends took to ready themselves for what would most likely be the final push…

She could do it! She had to; her father would have no problems –

All of a sudden Morgan’s world inverted, her body going limp and her spell fizzling out almost instantly as she flew through the air.

“Heresy!” Walhart roared as he charged through the Shepherd line like it was nothing, his axe swinging in a wide arc that threw the other Shepherds to the sides as he barrelled on towards Morgan. “Blasphemy! You would dare to bring such unholy magic into my very throne room!? Know your place, vile insect!”

The young tactician landed hard, feeling stressed ribs that had only recently been healed break again as she hit the stone floor, all the breath escaping her lungs at once.

“I will grind you all to dust beneath my boot!” Walhart raged, the calm veneer he had been wearing earlier finally disappearing.

In the face of the Conqueror’s rage even his own Imperial soldiers seemed hesitant to follow their lord, holding back and watching, or else trying to assist those wounded by Morgan’s spell.

Frederick was first to leap to her defence, the big knight bringing his own axe down in a high arc, only to be sent flying before the blow could land by a vicious kick to his stomach, cracking the armour. Chrom and Lucina both charged at Walhart from behind, their twin Falchions tearing great rents in his back armour and shredding the already tattered cape Walhart was wearing, but he spun like a whirlwind and knocked their swords aside with his own weapon, forcing both royals back. Lon’qu darted in low, aiming to strike at the giant man’s flank, only to turn his attack into a rolling dodge as he narrowly avoided being stomped on. Walhart reached out and actually caught Yarne as he leapt to his friend’s defence, lifting the large transformed Taguel into the air and throwing him into a multitude of the other Shepherds.

“Worthless, all of you!” Walhart snarled, stomping towards Morgan again, who still lay reeling on the ground. “Weak! Pitiful! You will all die by my blade!”

He knocked Anna aside with barely any effort as she moved to defend Morgan, taking Severa out with the flat of his axe on the backswing, the moody red-haired girl’s head snapping back as a trail of blood jetted into the air from her injured mouth and she crumpled.

Morgan tried to rally herself, rolling onto her back and holding her sword across her chest for all the good it did; Walhart merely kicked the blade away before stomping down on her chest, breaking more ribs in the process. He ground his heel into her stomach before stomping again; Morgan felt something in her shoulder separate as she was driven further into the stones beneath her, forcing an involuntary shriek from her throat.

“Now die!” Walhart roared, towering over Morgan and preparing to bring his giant axe down.

Morgan closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable final blow to land, but after a few seconds when she found herself still breathing she risked cracking one eye. Walhart stood frozen above her, facing the palace doors with a look of utter contempt on his face.

“You,” he whispered, his voice so loaded with hatred and malice that it sent shivers up Morgan’s bruised spine.

The Conqueror lifted his foot from the tactician, now utterly ignoring her and the other Shepherds ringed around him with weapons trained on his massive form. The only thing that he cared about now was slowly, confidently striding through the broken doorway.

“Hello, old friend,” a scruffy-looking older man in mismatched Valmese and blue-painted armour plates said with a sad voice, reaching over his shoulder and drawing the biggest sword Morgan had ever seen, its ancient golden blade dully reflecting the dying sunlight from behind him. “Fitting that I should be the one to end you here, where our feud began, no?”

“Priam!” Walhart snapped, spitting the name like a curse. “You dare to darken my doorstep again, traitor!? I should have killed you when I had the chance!”

Morgan hissed as hands grabbed her beneath her arms, jarring the broken bones in her chest and her dislocated shoulder. Severa ignored her pain, blood running down her won chin from a split lip as she dragged her friend away from the source of their injuries. All of the Shepherds backed up, sensing a confrontation brewing as the Honour Guard soldiers did the same in the opposite direction.

The two combatants stared each other down, Walhart seething with barely contained fury while the other, smaller man, apparently named Priam, simply watched him, breathing deep and holding his giant sword in a two handed low-guard. Despite the fact that Walhart was easily nearly three times the size of the newcomer and head and shoulders above him, Priam didn’t seem nervous at all; instead he almost seemed excited, like he was looking forward to this.

“I think that this has gone on long enough,” Priam said at length, breaking the silence that had descended on the throne room and stepping forward. “You have nothing left to prove to anyone, old friend. It’s time to give this war a rest.”

“This stopped being about proving my strength decades ago!” Walhart bellowed, his deep and gravelly voice echoing throughout the silent hall. “I am the strongest, now! By that right this world belongs to me!”

Priam shook his head sadly, the long ends of the green headband he wore waving in the slight breeze as he did so.

“Do not make me kill you,” Priam seemed to beg. “Ragnell has tasted your blood once before. I will not hesitate to finish what I started.”

Walhart scoffed, holding his axe out one-handed as he took a step back into a side stance. “Then come, if you think you can stand against me.”

Priam seemed to deflate a moment before disappearing from sight, only to reappear in a shower of sparks before Walhart, their weapons locked. Morgan gaped; he had moved so fast she hadn’t even seen it! And Walhart had been able to counter the blow!

Morgan couldn’t help but wonder what manner of monsters were they in the presence of.

Walhart forced Priam’s blade down, and they disengaged with another shower of sparks before swinging wildly at each other. The two men’s weapons were little more than blurs as they circled figure eights around each other, almost as if performing an intricate dance. Time almost slowed down as the blurs of their weapons created a sort of bubble around their duel, neither weapon touching armour or its counterpart, slicing through the air with such speed they were practically invisible to the naked eye.

All at once the illusion was destroyed by a clap of thunder as the weapons met again with enough force to vibrate the very earth that their audience stood on. Watching the other Shepherds actually stumble and fall made Morgan grateful she was already on the ground.

The stranger Priam’s golden sword was a blur in his hands, never striking Walhart in the same place twice; new rents were torn in the Conqueror’s ornate armour, blood beginning to flow from his multitude of wounds and patter to the floor as he struggled to keep pace with the smaller man running circles around him. Priam would strike low, and when Walhart moved to block his sword was already elsewhere, striking high. This pattern was repeated again and again, Walhart only twice managing to get glancing blows past the swordsman’s blistering offensive, but where his blows landed Priam stumbled, his armour plates destroyed by the larger man’s axe.

The monster that had run roughshod over the Shepherds was being beaten down by a man half of his size as the Shepherds and Valmese Honour Guard sat and watched, too shocked to so much as move. Morgan could feel Severa’s hands, still under her arms, shaking in awed terror as she watched the two-man battle unfold.

Among the Valmese soldiers Morgan could hear whispers; ‘the golden swordsman’s returned’, and ‘this war is over now’. Whoever Priam was apparently his enemies had more than a healthy dose of fear for him. Morgan registered all of this as she began to go into shock from her injuries, the edges of her vision growing fuzzy as darkness closed in on her. She fought to remain awake, knowing that if she passed out she would just be a burden on those she was meant to be helping to lead.

Priam, stone faced and still breathing evenly, struck downward at Walhart’s thigh, puncturing the thick armour and landing a solid blow to his leg that would have crippled a normal combatant. However Walhart leaned forward, suddenly bringing his empty fist down on Priam’s shoulder like a hammer striking an anvil. The sound of shattering armour and breaking bones echoed through the hall, but Priam merely danced back out of the Conqueror’s range, silently switching to a single-handed stance as if pain were a foreign concept to him. Barely even limping as he left a trail of blood in his wake Walhart sought to close the gap by barrelling forwards, bellowing his rage like the bull he so resembled and forcing the smaller swordsman to roll left; as he did he brought his massive weapon up, running it along Walhart’s stomach armour in another shower of sparks, this time followed by a mist of Walhart’s blood coating his shoulder and back as he turned the Conqueror’s momentum against him.

The Emperor coughed blood onto the stone floor at his feet but barely slowed, spinning and bringing his axe around with enough force to actually make a sound as if the air itself were being torn. Priam rolled again, coming up with his sword being held back over his shoulder. With a grunt he brought it down into the empty space between them, a blast of golden mana shooting from the sword directly at Walhart, who swept it aside with his own weapon.

They stopped, then, both men wounded. Walhart clutched at the hole in his stomach armour as blood poured through, dying his greaves and boots a lighter shade of red. Priam rolled out his neck, careful not to move his shattered shoulder too much. With a grunt the smaller swordsman reached up and yanked the remainder of the plate from his shoulder and threw it to the side.

“You’re slow, Priam,” Walhart gasped, still managing to sound threatening as he desperately tried to take air in. “You must be getting old.”

The blue haired swordsman, now breathing just as heavily as Walhart, grinned self-depreciatingly as he leaned on his sword.

“True. I remember the last time we did this; you’ve improved quite a bit. I denied myself one of life’s true pleasures by putting this fight off for so long.”

Walhart chuckled, spitting blood onto the ground and running the back of his gauntlet across his chin before lifting his axe into a ready position again.

“Let’s end this, then, old friend,” he said, his deep voice eerily soft.

“Indeed,” Priam agreed, resting his sword on his good shoulder and crouching low, adopting a side-stance much like Walhart had used in their opening moves.

Tension built up as the two titans stared at each other again, their breathing slowing and their fists tightening around their weapons. An aura of murderous intent so thick that Morgan could practically see it lingered between the two, the men glaring wordlessly at each other, still as statues.

They both sported wounds that would have caused other men to curl up and wait to die; Morgan had no doubt that the only thing holding Walhart’s stomach in was the remains of his armour, while Priam winced every time he took a breath, his shoulder most likely crippled for life now. Yet still they faced each other with fire in their eyes, and none in their audience could even fathom interfering with the duel.

All at once they charged forward, Priam reaching up heedless of his wounded shoulder to bring Ragnell down with all his might as Walhart swung the Wolf Berg horizontally. Both men put everything into their blows, leaving no space for defence as their broken bodies were pushed past even their god-like limits.

It happened so fast Morgan wasn’t sure what the outcome was; Priam slid on his knees past Walhart, who stumbled forward a few more steps, both men sitting perfectly still for what seemed like an eternity.

With a clatter unbearably loud in the silence Walhart’s bisected breastplate fell to the hall’s stone floor in a shower of red vitae, seconds before the Emperor fell to his knees, blood pouring from a near-fatal wound across his torso. He caught himself before he could collapse with one hand supporting him, the other hanging limply to the ground before he gave in and dropped. Behind him Priam groaned, teetering sideways and falling onto his uninjured shoulder with a thud, his hand never leaving the grip of his sword.

Morgan was stunned. So was everyone else watching. She had fought against Walhart in single combat twice and he had utterly annihilated her both times; yet he lie broken and bleeding on the stones not ten meters from her.

“What…” Chrom said, finally speaking up.

The Exalt shook his head, striding forwards and clearing his throat, standing tall before the shocked and silent Valmese soldiers.

“Imperial soldiers!” Chrom called. “Walhart has been defeated! Throw down your weapons and you will not be harmed! This war is over!”

That was the last thing Morgan saw before she finally faded into unconsciousness.

*

Robin resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair as he guided Cynthia’s pegasus back towards the Ylissean League, having to remind himself that while she and many of the other Shepherds were proficient enough with the skill of flying to manage their mount one-handed, he was not.

He was, however, feeling wretchedly guilty about striking Excellus down in cold-blood. No matter what spin he put on it, no matter how much the other tactician had deserved his fate, Robin couldn’t see his actions as anything else besides murder.

He had tracked down and murdered Excellus.

The other man had been too dangerous to let live; he had been a blight on the world that had orchestrated the war in Valm as a senseless power-grabbing move; he had tried to kill not only Robin and Lucina, but had also left Morgan scarred for life; he had been the cause of the deaths of thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands, of innocents. Excellus had deserved to die; he was little more than a rabid animal, and Robin had put him down like one.

The tactician sighed, trying to shake the thoughts clear as he began to fly over the rear ranks of the Ylissean League. Soldiers looked up as the lone pegasus passed over them, and Robin winced sympathetically every time he spotted the white of bandages or the red of wounds. This war had gone on far too long, and far too many people had lost their lives already. The soldiers that Ylisse would need to combat Grima in the future were seriously depleted; no doubt Lucina would be having words with him and her father about that fact once things settled down a little.

Flying over the rear lines of the League Robin saw for the first time just what toll this war was taking, and it broke his heart. Hundreds of soldiers lay wounded and bleeding, moaning piteously or shrieking in agonizing pain, waiting for the over-worked and exhausted healers to make their suffering end. Further back row upon row of bodies lie in orderly lines, black shrouds pulled over their faces as grim-faced soldiers stood vigil over them, dissuading the circling carrion birds from their fallen comrades.

Robin was no stranger to the price of war, not at this point, but he had only seen it on paper and from the frontlines, never from a birds-eye view before. He had never watched men die on such a horrific scale, never been faced with the abhorrent hopelessness of the dead and dying after a battle. He realized now that he had always cocooned himself within his tactics and strategies, using them as a buffer from the reality of war; after all, it was easier to think of the soldiers and units and battalions as pieces on a board. Rather than help the injured by volunteering at the medical tents like Lissa and Libra so often did, he had chosen to either blindly throw himself into his work or treat war like a game, drinking and carrying on after victory with the other Shepherds. But there was no glory in what he saw now. What Robin saw sickened him.

The only things stopping him from landing right then and there and lending his assistance to the exhausted priests and clerics were the thought of Cynthia hitting him with the same right-hook her father was known for, and the fact that in the distance he could still make out fighting.

Robin was first to admit that his skills, without factoring in his tactical knowledge, leaned further towards the martial than the healing arts. He had proven that he was capable of using the healing magic what felt like a lifetime ago back in Valm Harbour after their initial beachhead, when Lucina had been wounded and stubbornly refused to bother the three healers in the Shepherds, but Robin was a combat mage. Elemental magic came as almost second nature to him now, and it took mere seconds to accomplish spells that would take groups of the most accomplished mages to cast in minutes. Dark magic, too, came easily to him, but Robin still feared to tread that path, even more so now that the voice had finally left him.

But he couldn’t just go back to the command tent and bury himself under tactical tomes and planning; for some reason this time the thought of doing so didn’t sit well with him. He had been absent for too long; he had let others fight in his place for too long. He needed to fight.

“You’ll be able to find your way back to Cynthia on your own, right?” Robin asked the pegasus, bending low over its neck to whisper in its ear as he made his decision. “Yeah, you’re smart. You’ll be fine. Tell them not to worry about me, okay?”

Steeling his resolve, the tactician dug his heels into the beast’s ribs, forcing it to pick up speed again as he pulled the reins, angling it for where it looked like the Chon’sin army was still fighting against the last of the Imperial forces.

No more bodies would lie in those rows if he could help it.

*

Say’ri shouted her defiance to the heavens as she struck again and again with perfect form, Valmese soldiers falling before her like wheat before a scythe. She had lost track of the men she had killed that day, her once-pristine white armour and clothing almost unrecognizable beneath the dirt and the blood. Still she fought on, ignoring the multitude of small wounds, leading her brother’s soldiers, her soldiers, against their oppressors.

Too long had Chon’sin suffered under Valmese rule; too long had her country’s men been forced to leave their homeland and fight at the beck and call of strangers that knew nothing of their honour. She would fight until the end, selling herself dearly if that was what was needed of her. So far none had stood before her wrath for more than three blows, wilting beneath her endless fury.

Her soldiers struggled to keep up with her; she knew that the majority of the battle was over, and she knew from preliminary reports that Cervantes, the last of the Valmese Generals, had fallen to the noble savages from Regna Ferox, but that changed nothing. Walhart’s armies had taken everything from her, and now she had the perfect opportunity to seek her revenge.

Absently she noted that she was being blinded by bloodlust, lost in the melee as her soul cried out for vengeance for the fallen, but she no longer cared.

She absently wondered as she stepped into a lull in the fighting what Robin would think if he could see her now, covered in blood with wide eyes teetering on the brink of madness. Her own soldiers were no longer looking on her with respect and admiration, but with fear that grew with every enemy that fell before her sword.

Her exhausted muscles burned, and her lungs felt like they were unable to get enough air into her chest, but still she had to fight on. There were still enemies crashing upon her soldiers, so she would continue to fight until either they or she lay dead at the other’s feet.

A horn sounded from the Valmese lines, and over top of the foot soldiers heads’ Say’ri could see that the remaining cavalry forces were being gathered. Answering horns began to blow from her own lines as Keiji almost instantly caught on to their plans, and the exhausted Chon’sin lines began to shift, forming a bulwark of spears and polearms to combat this new threat. Behind them the dour commander was shouting his own cavalry into position, waving his masterfully crafted nodachi above his head, the long blade catching the light and inspiring the men around him.

Say’ri was forced to step back behind the front line, knowing that with only a sword she wouldn’t be much help against the enemy cavalry, and fell in with the second rank of swordsmen behind them.

Say’ri resisted the urge to growl as she wondered where the hell Roark or Liung were and why her army was facing down the Imperials alone; surely by now they would have noticed that the Chon’sin army was facing the worst of the fighting and sent reinforcements. Perhaps without Chrom or Morgan leading them they didn’t care about the disposable southern army, choosing to marshal their own forces and attack the last of the Imperials when they were weakened from fighting against her soldiers.

Say’ri realized at the same time as Keiji, though, that their men were moving too slowly; the Imperials were already in position, drawing back from the enemy army like a wave receding from a shore and preparing to charge while the Chon’sin lines were struggling to reform. All they could do was hope that Keiji could muster a counter-strike and pray that the League sent reinforcements.

*

_I am not jumping this time_ , Robin thought to himself as he scanned the opposing armies. _I’ve already filled my stupid quota for the day, so I’m not jumping again. Even if it was tremendously cool and fun, I’m not jumping again…_

The Chon’sin army looked like it was in trouble; while they outnumbered the remaining Imperial forces it looked like there wasn’t an overwhelming strategy going on, like they had just been thrown into a melee and were expected to come out victorious. The Imperial force, wasn’t looking much better, but they still seemed to be focusing on basic tactics; form a line, strike hard, reform a line, hit the flanks with cavalry.

Robin tsked. He had expected better from Say’ri.

What they were doing so far separated from the Ylissean League Robin couldn’t even guess at; it was as if they weren’t cooperating at all, rather just sharing the same space as the foreign soldiers.

_Eh, whatever,_ he reasoned, angling the pegasus downwards and aiming for the frontline. _It’s still an easy win, just so long as I manage to get into contact with whoever’s in charge fast enough._

Robin landed the animal much more nimbly than he had so far, dismounting and giving it an encouraging slap on the rear. The pegasus whinnied and took to the air again, leaving Robin alone among the gaping Chon’sin soldiers.

“Who’s in command here?” he asked the nearest soldier, who pointed towards a thick knot of cavalrymen obviously preparing for an assault. Among the horsemen Robin spotted Keiji desperately trying to control the flow of the battle and organize the charge, looking confused and irritated, and mostly out of his depth.

Robin set off towards the horses. No doubt with a little more practice Keiji would make a fine leader, but by all accounts he had been thrown into the deep end. He was still relatively young for the position in Robin’s opinion, not that age really held much meaning among the Ylissean League anyway. Putting two fingers in his mouth Robin let out a loud, high pitched whistle to get the Chon’sin commander’s attention.

“Hi there,” he said when the soldiers around him all went quiet. “Need a hand?”

“I would dismount and show you proper respect, but we are a little busy right now,” Keiji said shortly, turning away from Robin. “If you wish to help then go join the second rank. We can manage.”

Robin sighed and rolled his eyes, dropping his head and taking a deep breath while the clamour in the Chon’sin lines began to pick up, mentally preparing himself. He had known this wouldn’t be easy, especially after the cold stares he’d gotten in the command tent, but if Keiji wanted to play hardball…

“Commander Keiji!” the tactician snapped, his loud shout echoing around them. “As ordered by the leader of the Ylissean League and Exalt of Ylisse Chrom the First I hereby order you to stand down and relinquish control of your forces to me immediately! Any attempt to subvert my authority will be considered an act of war against the sovereign kingdom of Ylisse on Chon’sin’s part! I tried to be nice about this, but we don’t have time for your arrogance! Now stand down!”

The silence was deafening this time, all eyes darting back and forth between the tactician and the commander to see what Keiji would do. Fists tightened on weapons and murderous glares were shot in Robin’s direction, but the soldiers around him held still, waiting to see what their commander would do. After a few seconds the Chon’sin commander dismounted his horse and approached Robin, red in the face as his men cleared a path between them.

“You listen to me you jumped-up dirt farmer-” Keiji hissed menacingly before Robin punched him in the face, taking the bigger man by surprise and knocking him flat.

“No, you listen,” Robin ground out dangerously, his sword suddenly pointed at Keiji’s throat. “I meant every word I just said, but more than that I’m here to help you, not replace you.”

Robin lowered his sword and held out his hand.

“I know you’re scared,” he added in a softer tone. “Hell, if you weren’t, I’d be wondering just what Say’ri saw in you to place you in charge of her entire army. But it’s that fear that tells me you’re a good man, capable of leading his soldiers to victory rather than wasting their lives on his foolish pride. So swallow that pride before it gets you and your men killed, and let’s finish this war. Together. For Ylisse and Chon’sin.”

Keiji looked at Robin’s hand for a moment like he was about to reject the tactician, but swallowed and nodded, grasping the proffered hand and allowing himself to be pulled up.

“You speak truth, tactician,” Keiji grudgingly admitted. “I can see why my Queen holds you in such high regard now.”

“Thanks,” Robin said with a grin, patting the commander on the shoulder. “Now get back on your horse and prepare your men. I’ll handle the rest.”

Keiji nodded again, spinning and striding back to his horse with his head high, shouting orders to the cavalrymen waiting for him. Robin rolled out his neck and cleared his throat, looking around him to the expectant faces.

“Right you lot!” he shouted, his voice carrying across the soldiers. “I want lances and pikes in a staggered row up front! Swords and shields behind them, no gap! Archers, I want you hitting the enemy flanks! Soften them up for Commander Keiji’s cavalry! Go!”

“You heard him!” Keiji roared above the sudden burst of horns as orders were distributed. “Move! For the glory of Chon’sin! This war ends today!”

“For freedom and liberty!” Robin shouted as he began elbowing his way past the rushing men.

“Start dragging the wounded back!” he added, seeing that many of the Chon’sin warriors sported wounds. “I don’t care if it’s a flesh wound or a missing limb! Go to the medical tent in the Ylissean camp!”

The Chon’sin soldiers began to follow Robin’s orders, spaces between the lines closing as they changed positions. Gaps were made by wounded men retreating, but were quickly filled by others.

“You,” Robin said, stopping one of the more mobile retreating wounded. “Find Duke Roark. Tell him ‘Robin says get your one-eyed arse over here with every Knight that can still ride.’ Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir,” the soldier said, snapping to attention before running off as fast as his wound would permit.

“We only have to hold out until reinforcements arrive!” Robin shouted as he walked the length of the line. “Help is coming! Hold the line a little longer! Archers, fire at will! Keiji, as soon as you see an opening you take it!”

“Pack it in close!” Robin shouted to the infantry, still too spread out. “Make it so that they can’t run over our lines! Come on; don’t make me take all the glory for myself!”

The steady rhythm of bows being fired began to sing out from behind Robin as he continued pacing back and forth, shouting encouragement and organizing the Chon’sin forces. Just as he was sure the Imperial cavalry would begin their charge soon someone caught the sleeve of his coat, stopping him short before he could shout more orders. He turned to see a vaguely familiar soldier covered in dirt and blood, her filthy hair plastered to her face with sweat and grime as she stared up at Robin with wide, disbelieving eyes. Something about her seemed oddly familiar, though, and as her shining blue eyes brimmed with tears realization hit Robin like a blow to the gut.

“Say’ri?” he asked in an awed whisper, turning to face her.

She was a mess, like she’d been rolling around on the battlefield rather than fighting. Her beautiful white armour was cracked and practically hanging off of her and her once-fine clothes were shredded and torn, wounds showing up beneath them.

“You…” she said in a broken voice. “I watched you die. I… Fie, Robin, you were dead…”

“I’m not dead, I’m right here,” he said as soothingly as he could over the sound of beating hooves as Keiji’s cavalry charged at the Valmese flank.

“Robin!” she cried, throwing herself at him in a tight embrace.

_I should really start preparing myself for this reaction_ , Robin told himself as he patted the woman’s back.

“This really isn’t the time or place to talk about this,” he added, looking over his shoulder to the now static lines that were finally taking shape as he gently extracted himself from her grip. “Go with the rest of the wounded to the Ylissean medical tents and-”

“No!” Say’ri burst out suddenly, taking hold of Robin’s arm. “I will not leave you now! I left you behind at Steiger and-”

“Alright, fine!” Robin cut her off. “We really don’t have time to argue anyway! But you stay where I can see you and don’t take any stupid risks! I’m not explaining to Morgan that she just got her father back in time to lose her mother, too, understand?”

Say’ri nodded, releasing Robin’s arm and drawing her sword, her face hardening again. She really looked like hell to Robin, but he couldn’t spare any sympathy for her right now, not while he had a battle to win.

“Lancers prepare for impact!” Robin shouted as the Valmese lines surged forward. “Swordsmen, prepare to repel their charge! Ready!”

Robin struck with a few quick fire spells once he was sure that the Chon’sin lines were prepared; at least they could follow orders properly. The long, dry grass caught fire from the spell in a number of places, bringing large sections of the charging Valmese line to a grinding halt while the rest surged on around the flames. To Robin’s experienced eye this seemed like their last push, like this was all they had left. Of course the Chon’sin soldiers were in much the same boat, but now that he was giving the orders he doubted that they would fall against a rough charge like this. The Chon’sin soldiers wouldn’t be dragged into another melee; they had formed proper ranks, and even if the Imperial soldiers got past the lances there was no way they were getting past the swords. All they had to do was hold out a little longer…

Robin threw a few more quick fireballs out for good luck, small explosions tearing through the charging Valmese soldiers before he turned back to the men under his care. Keiji was leading the cavalry off to one flank in a desperate mounted battle progressing almost faster than he could follow, but at least he had tied up the enemy cavalry.

“Hold!” Robin shouted as he shouldered his way to the front of the second rank, Say’ri right behind him.

With a horrendous crash the Imperial charge hit the Chon’sin lines, driving many of them backwards, feet digging up large gouts of dirt as they struggled to remain standing, but for the time being the line held firm. Robin thrusted his new weapon over shoulders and around shields at the enemy pressing themselves to the line of shields, pressing himself close to the backs of the soldiers he was leading, suddenly warming up to the extra reach of his new sword. As he withdrew momentarily he sighed with relief seeing that the line had held.

“Archers! Take some of the pressure off!” he called to the bowmen some distance away.

Arrows began to rain down on the Imperial force, weakening their resolve and the strength of their push as they began to fall.

“Prepare to counter-push!” Robin shouted, orders being sent out by signallers with their horns. “We drive them back, open some space and move back to the Ylissean League! On my mark!”

“Push!” Robin roared, and as one the Chon’sin lines shoved, knocking the Imperial soldiers down and off of the line.

“Lancers withdraw! Swordsman forwards! Prepare to leapfrog!”

Robin raced forward with the second rank, his long sword cutting arcs within the Imperial forces as Say’ri desperately tried to keep pace with him; she must have taken a wound to her leg at some point, but still she followed Robin, striking down any soldiers that escaped his swings. Around them the swordsmen were hacking and slashing like their lives depended on it, running over the stunned Valmese lines. Much sooner than Robin had hoped for the Valmese began to rally, and he knew he had to change tactics.

“Lancers reform the line!” Robin shouted over the clamour of steel on steel and the screams of the dying, backpedalling with the swordsmen.

The swordsmen stepped back, lancers with shields taking up position again and forming a wall that the Imperials crashed into a second time. The Chon’sin held again, and just like before the lancers and those with longer blades struck around and over the shields, driving their enemy further back. Robin glanced over his shoulder as familiar horns blared in the distance, smiling wickedly.

“They’re breaking!” he shouted, turning back to the battle. “Push!”

The shield-bearing soldiers pushed forward again with all their strength, staggering the closest Imperial soldiers that were pressing to the line. However this time rather than pressing forward with the Chon’sin line opened to allow Roark and his Ylissean Knights to stream through.

“For Ylisse and the Exalt!” Roark roared, striking out with his lance as his banners flapped in the wind behind him.

“Alright, everyone make for the League’s position!” Robin shouted as the horsemen all but obliterated the Valmese line. “Hold formation and move slowly and we’ll make it there alive! Carry the wounded! Leave the dead!”

The Chon’sin warriors all sagged with relief as they retreated, Robin having to urge a few on by grabbing them and pulling them back up, telling them that they could rest once they were safe. Say’ri was silent by his side the entire time, watching him with a mixture of awe and admiration.

In the distance Robin could see Flavia’s banners flapping as her warriors raced after Roark; no doubt she was irked that he had asked for the Knights rather than her men, but Robin had needed someone that would close the distance faster. Checking over his shoulder Robin could see the Chon’sin light cavalry disengaging as Roark’s Knights spread out, Keiji leading his men as a rearguard for the infantry.

A shadow passed over Robin, followed by two much larger shadows as Huginn descended on his favourite perch and Cynthia and Gerome landed a small way away from him and Say’ri.

“Robin!” Cynthia called, ignoring the retreating soldiers being forced to now move around her and her pegasus.

“Robin, hurry! It’s Morgan! She…”

Robin didn’t hear the rest of what Cynthia said, a cold lump settling in the pit of his stomach instead as he stumbled to a halt. Trembling fingers gripped his hand from behind, Say’ri reacting much the same way he had. Robin turned to look back at her, nodding reassuringly.

Without another word he climbed up behind Gerome onto Minerva as Say’ri did the same on Cynthia’s pegasus and they took off in the direction of the camp that was quickly forming in the field outside the city.

“Gods, Morgan,” Robin whispered as Gerome pushed Minerva to fly faster than he had ever seen before. “Please be alright…”


	42. Chapter 42

Robin sat with his head bowed, hands resting in his lap and shoulders slumped outside the medical tent. Around him the Ylissean camp was an ordered chaos, the unwounded soldiers and the other camp followers running to and fro, setting up tents and preparing patrols for the newly established League camp outside the capital. Fortunately Robin was in the Shepherds’ camp, far away from the moans and cries of the other wounded soldiers; right now those piteous sounds would have pushed him over the edge into despair as he waited for news on his daughter’s condition.

Say’ri was sitting next to him, tense and stiff as a board, still filthy from her ordeal out in the field before the armistice had been called. She would need healing, too, but the line was already pretty long.

Morgan was currently inside the tent behind them being treated by all three of the Shepherds’ healers simultaneously. She had been barely alive when Walhart had finished with her, beaten to the verge of death. Her injuries were mostly internal, the kind that took that much longer to magically heal for fear of making a mistake, which given the circumstances could make matters much worse. Every so often they heard hushed voices hurriedly whispering to each other beyond the canvas, medical jargon that went right over Robin’s head. At some point he’d managed to get the last pieces of Valmese armour off of his shoulders and hands, but he was pretty sure he ruined the gauntlets when he’d yanked them off, not to mention almost dislocated his fingers. The red steel was sitting in a forgotten heap off to one side, utterly forgotten. He was still wearing the dark officer’s tunic, but he’d change that soon enough.

Night had fallen while he wasn’t paying attention, and all around him the other wounded Shepherds were being treated by more mundane means, those with first aid knowledge applying it to their wounded comrades while they waited for the healers to finish with Morgan.

Kellam had been almost fatally wounded, too, but Brady had personally worked on his father’s wound before collapsing from exhausting his mana much the same way Robin was known to do; now the soldier sat, holding his son up and talking quietly with him while they waited patiently for Maribelle to finish in the medical tent. Severa was sitting on a crate across from Robin, the vain woman looking fierce as she held a rag to her bleeding face; a blow from Walhart had split her lip, but fortunately not done any damage to her teeth besides rattling them a little. Robin hoped for everyone’s sake that it didn’t leave a scar. Vaike had the usual list of cuts and contusions on his bare torso that Miriel was busily cleaning with an experimental antiseptic she had been developing. Sumia was busily fussing over a deep looking gash to Chrom’s sword-arm while he insisted that ‘it was only a flesh wound’. Frederick sat off to one side with a concussion, Donnel supervising his commander and forcing him to stay awake while Severa occasionally cast worried glances at her injured father. Panne watched over Yarne like a hawk, viciously glaring down anyone that stepped anywhere near him while he rested, the young Taguel’s neck bruised and shoulder muscles sprained. She was so obsessed with her son’s safety that her superior senses hadn’t even picked up Robin’s scent yet. Sully and Kjelle were busy comparing wounds with smiles on their faces while an increasingly irritated Stahl tried to bind them. The list went on; there was barely a single Shepherd that hadn’t suffered some form of injury that day. Much to Robin’s immense relief, however, Lucina wasn’t among the number waiting for treatment.

The fact that most of the Shepherds hadn’t even spared him a second glance concerned Robin a little, but he just assumed that they hadn’t noticed him yet. After all, they were all wounded and exhausted, and he hadn’t been ‘dead’ for more than a week, so perhaps they just wouldn’t notice him unless he did something to get noticed. It sounded like an interesting social-experiment to Robin. Chrom had waved a quick greeting to him before Sumia had latched onto him, but now he was simply waiting to see how long it took the rest to realize he was there.

The tent flaps rustled and an exhausted-looking Lissa popped her head out, motioning for Robin and Say’ri to enter before disappearing back inside.

Robin got up silently, following the princess into the small, well-lit healing tent; it reeked of lamp-oil and antiseptic, and the benches along the sides of the space were piled high with bandages and bindings that would be needed to treat the others. Libra sat in a position similar to the one Robin had been in outside while Maribelle was busy organizing and cleaning the tools they would need to use for the next patients, fully invested in her role of a healer rather than the high-class lady she usually presented, as Lissa led them to the table Morgan was resting on. Libra glanced up and blinked a few times when he saw Robin approach before breaking into a radiant smile.

“By Naga’s grace it is good to see you well, my friend,” the priest said softly, rising and giving Robin a light embrace before stepping back. “I had thought the Exalt mad when he gave us news of your return, but…”

Whatever Libra had been about to say was lost when Lissa wrapped Robin in a tight hug, making the tactician squeak as the air was pressed out of his lungs.

“I’m so glad you’re alive!” she sniffled, trying to hold back her tears. “It is you, right? It has to be you!”

“Yeah,” Robin said with a tired smirk. “Yeah, it’s me.”

Robin glanced up to where Maribelle was watching the ordeal and shot her a grin once he managed to pry Lissa off of him.

“Would you like a hug, too?” he asked, spreading his arms out a little.

“I believe we have had this conversation once before,” the haughty noblewoman scoffed, turning away from him.

“However,” she added, glancing over her shoulder. “It does my heart good to see you well, Robin.”

Robin chuckled a little before sobering and approaching where Morgan was resting, her entire torso and her right shoulder wrapped tightly in thick bandages while she breathed shallowly. Where the bandages ended the bruises began, and Robin felt his blood rise as he looked down on his injured daughter. Hesitantly Robin reached out and ran a hand along her cheek, trying to assure himself that she was still actually alive. His fingertips brushed warm, soft flesh, and Robin let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding.

_She’s still alive._

“We’ve done everything we can for her,” Lissa said, laying a hand on Say’ri’s shoulder as the woman silently circled to the other side of the table, staring stunned at Morgan. “It was close, but she’s going to be alright. She just needs rest now. We were hoping you could take her to her tent where she’ll be more comfortable. It should be safe to move her.”

Robin nodded, leaning down and gently scooping his daughter up. Morgan moaned a little, but instinctively curled into her father’s arms as if she were accustomed to the motion.

“Thank you all,” Robin said, his voice hoarse from spending half the day shouting orders at everyone.

Say’ri echoed him before following the tactician out of the tent and past the knot of inattentive Shepherds patiently waiting for their turns.

“Maybe you should stay and get those wounds looked at, too,” Robin suggested as they walked through the camp in the direction of the younger Shepherds’ tents.

Say’ri shook her head. “Eventually, but there are things I must do first.”

Robin shrugged, choosing not to press the issue. As far as Say’ri was concerned he really didn’t know how to act. Before Steiger she had been cold and distant, even hostile, and rightly so in Robin’s opinion; he had acted a right-royal arse, as Vaike would have put it. But then during their rescue mission she had softened a little, even encouraged him when fear and despair had begun to grip the tactician and shake his resolve. Now she was being docile, like she was afraid Robin would disappear in a puff of smoke if she said or did the wrong thing. To say that the atmosphere between the two was awkward would have been an understatement, and Robin hated it. He wanted to go back to being friends, to being comfortable around each other, not just for his sake, but more for the sake of the unconscious girl in his arms that called them ‘mother’ and ‘father’.

Fate had apparently decided long ago that Robin and Say’ri were meant to be together, but Lucina had changed that fate when she had travelled back in time with the other Shepherds. Robin didn’t regret his choice, and never would, but he regretted the way he had handled things with Say’ri and regretted the situation he found himself in now.

The camp was still practically empty as they walked through it, the majority of Shepherds either helping out with the rest of the army where needed or patiently waiting out front of the medical tent. Robin was actually grateful for the solitude at present. He was indeed looking forward to reuniting with the rest of the Shepherds, but right now he was exhausted and had a million things on his mind, chief among them the whereabouts of a one Shepherd in particular.

They reached Morgan and Noire’s shared tent, the timid archer nowhere in sight as Robin gently laid Morgan down on her bedroll, careful not to disturb her. After ensuring that she was comfortable Robin reached out and stroked her cheek, simply happy that everyone was still alive.

“Will you stay with her?” Robin asked the other woman in the tent without looking up from his daughter’s peaceful face.

Say’ri was silent for a moment before answering.

“You are going to go and find Lucina,” she said, stating it as a fact rather than a question.

The tactician nodded. “Morgan is safe. The fighting is over. I need to see her.”

“Robin… I…” Say’ri began, unsure how to continue.

“I’m sorry, Say’ri, but my heart hasn’t changed,” Robin said quietly.

“Fie, Robin, I know that,” Say’ri said past the lump in her throat. “And I accepted that the moment I saw you striding across the field, shouting at my soldiers. I am simply happy that you are still alive. But while we thought you were dead…”

The woman trailed off again, and Robin stood to face her. She wouldn’t meet his gaze, looking everywhere but at Robin’s face.

“Robin, we thought you were dead,” she said at last. “I was… I was devastated; angry. I loved you and you were taken away from me not once, but twice. In my anger I… lashed out. I said cruel and hurtful things to her. I fear that is why she is not with the camp at present.”

The exhausted tactician felt a spike of anxiety as his tired mind woke instantly.

“What happened?” he asked in a neutral tone.

Say’ri continued to look away from him as she spoke. “I… found myself going to your tent for comfort. Simply to be around what was… left of you. She was there and… gods, Robin, I’m sorry.”

“Say’ri, what happened?” Robin repeated.

*

_Of course this had to happen_ , Robin growled in his mind. _Why didn’t I see this coming? Of course everyone would be upset by the thought of me dying, but I didn’t properly think about how they would react. I was too busy drinking and carrying on with the resistance like a child on holiday._

Robin had to physically stop himself from slapping his head as he sat by Morgan’s bedside.

_I’m such an idiot!_

He had done it again, not thinking the whole situation through before jumping to conclusions. Of course there would have been people venting their grief and frustration; that was just human nature. While he had been off gallivanting, his friends had been suffering and continuing the fight, tearing themselves other apart in the process.

“I’m such an idiot,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

“So… what’s tha’ make me?” Morgan mumbled, stirring beneath the blankets of her bedroll.

“Well, that’s easy,” Robin chuckled without thinking. “It makes you the daughter of an idiot. How’re you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by Anna’s cart,” Morgan groaned, shifting a little and grimacing.

“Yeah, you gotta learn to duck, kiddo,” Robin said with a small smile, gently ruffling her hair.

“So… it’s really you?” Morgan asked groggily. “You’re not going to disappear again?”

“And leave you to take all these beatings in my place?” Robin scoffed. “I don’t think so.”

“I got stepped on…” Morgan groaned, trying to shift again.

Robin burst out laughing; he tried not to, but couldn’t help it. The amount of times someone or something had trod all over him on the battlefield…

“Like father like daughter, eh?” he chuckled when he noticed Morgan’s curious stare.

“’M thirsty,” Morgan mumbled.

Robin reached into his pouch, pulling out the waterskin he carried everywhere with him before helping Morgan sit up a little.

“Here,” he said, bringing the spout to her mouth. “It’s not particularly fresh, but it’s wet. I’ll make sure to bring you some more later, okay?”

Morgan nodded before drinking greedily, Robin holding her up the whole time. She let out a small sigh when she finished draining the half-full skin, and Robin gently eased her back down. She didn’t seem to be fully conscious yet, but she was aware of her body’s needs, so Robin’s worries eased a little. They sat in silence, Robin gently stroking the girl’s hair as her breathing slowed.

“I did my best while you were gone,” Morgan muttered, coughing a little.

“You did better than that,” Robin said without hesitating. “You led everyone better than I ever could have. I’m proud of you, Morgan.”

“But… I got hurt,” she whined, sobbing a little. “I… got taken out of the battle. I’m… I failed at the end…”

“Honey, have you seen me without a shirt on?” the older tactician chuckled sadly. “I look like a thatched roof under this coat I’ve been hurt and taken out of the battle that many times. Tacticians like us that lead from the front, we make ourselves targets. Any enemy commander worth his title will recognize us and what we do and target us over any others, that’s the lot of a tactician. We bear the heaviest burden, and we bear the deepest scars, all to keep our men alive. Every time we march on that field we’re in greater danger than even the front-line soldiers.”

“I know all that, but-”

“No buts,” Robin insisted. “You minimized casualties not only on our side, but for the Imperials, too. You did so well today, and all the time I’ve been gone. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Now rest before I find Tharja and have her put a sleeping hex on you.”

Morgan closed her eyes and went silent again, the only sounds in the tent her laboured breathing and Robin’s heartbeat in his ears. Just as he thought that his daughter might finally have drifted off again she turned her head, staring up at him with big, tear-filled eyes.

“I’m so glad you’re back. Promise… you’ll still be here when I wake up.”

“Of course,” Robin said, leaning down and kissing her forehead. “Now sleep.”

*

Robin rushed through the Ylissean camp, hood up in an attempt to stave off being delayed or distracted by people recognizing him. He had delayed just long enough to change back into his spare set of regular clothes, lovingly cared for in his absence and waiting in his tent, but was still carrying his ‘liberated’ sword slung over his shoulder; it was just too long to strap to his hip.

It had taken the better part of an hour for Robin to gently goad the entire story out of Say’ri, after which he had made her go back to the healing tent so that he could think while he watched over Morgan and had his little conversation with her. He had done his best to be calm and gentle with Say’ri, but it was a difficult task as his tension grew with each passing moment. He had also felt bad about leaving Morgan again, but he would be there when she woke up in the morning, he would make sure of that. However for now he was racing around the camp looking for the future Ylissean Princess.

She hadn’t been in her tent, or any of the other common areas. Robin had considered asking one of the trackers for help, but had decided against it; he needed to find her before…

The tacticians thoughts ceased as something barrelled into him from behind, lifting him off the ground for a second before he crashed painfully back to it, two strong, furry arms wrapped around his midsection.

“Good gods!” Robin choked, pushing himself up and reaching for his sword as the weight settled on his back.

He relaxed as a familiar musky animal scent reached his nose.

“Panne, what in Naga’s name…?”

“Once I had your scent I knew it was you,” the Taguel said, releasing Robin and pulling him to his feet by his scruff.

“You are alive, man-spawn,” she stated, looking at a very confused Robin as if she had just approached him casually rather than crash-tackled him.

“Yeah, although that came very close to just changing,” Robin complained, rubbing his ribs.

“The dark-haired woman that never smiles is looking for you,” Panne said, matter-of-factly. “She said that it was of the upmost importance.”

“And for that you crash-tackled me?” the tactician complained.

Panne shook her head, long hair and rabbit-ears swaying with the motion before her usually severe face softened into a charming smile.

“No. I tackled you because I was glad you are alive.”

Robin sighed and smiled a little himself, running a hand through his hair.

“Alright, but let’s make this quick. Take me to Tharja. After you do I have a… mission for you. More like a favour, really.”

Before they could start moving back towards the tents a shrill and outraged cry echoed around them from the direction of the supply wagons.

“What in the name of unholy hell happened to my beautiful cart!?” Anna raged in the distance, reminding Robin what he had done in the pursuit of his coat earlier that day.

“Go, now, go,” Robin urged, panicking and starting to urgently push Panne away from the angry merchant. “If she catches me I’m dead, and I don’t think I’ll be able to come back this time!”

*

_There was a stench of cloying smoke in the air as Lucina ran through the palace corridors; a sickly sweet mixture of burning wood and charred flesh, thick black smoke billowing through the once-beautiful palace as the young Exalt fought her way through the crowd of servants running the opposite direction._

_She had known that eventually Ylisstol would be attacked; they couldn’t hold out forever, and the skirmishes with Risen testing their weak spots had increased of late, but still she had clung to the vain hope that Ylisstol would remain a bastion of freedom. Refugees had flocked to the capital from as far north as Regna Ferox; from the Eastern lands of Valm across the sea, there had been no word in months. Plegia, too, had been silent, and the tales that the refugees from the north had told were all grim stories of thousands slaughtered and lands despoiled._

_And now they had come to strike at the heart of the final hope for humanity._

_“I will not allow my home to fall,” she promised herself quietly as she hurried to the fighting, putting even more distance between herself and her friends leading the mass exodus with Duke Roark of Themis and Khan Flavia of Regna Ferox as the city burned around them._

_Despite the panic rising within her breast Lucina presented a firm face as she continued to press through the fleeing servants and retainers, clad in the blue tunic and armour that her friend Gerome had crafted at her request, Falchion gripped firmly in her hands._

_No doubt Severa and Laurent would give her an ear-full about her foolish decision afterwards, and the thought of having to leave Cynthia and Owain alone without a word of what she was doing didn’t sit well with her, but she had no choice. They were the best hope for the future, so she couldn’t endanger them. But at the same time she couldn’t simply escape into the darkness while her soldiers fought and died in vain._

_She came out into the Great Hall of the Ylisstol palace from the servant corridors, although one might liken it to diving feet-first into the pits of hell themselves. Flames were everywhere, as were bodies. Blood coated everything, but still the brave Royal Guard fought on against the Risen invaders, foul monsters from beyond death itself. At one end of the hall the beautifully carved statue of Naga was aflame, wreathing Lucina’s goddess in a hellish halo._

_“Stand firm!” a booming, strong voice shouted from somewhere in the press. “We hold them here! For the Exalt and Ylisse!”_

_Lucina leapt into the fray, swinging Falchion two-handed, desperately trying to fight her way to the source of the voice. What old man Cullen was doing in the middle of a battle…_

_She came upon him almost instantly, beating the Risen off of the soldiers around him with his shield, his silver armour gleaming atop the blue uniform tunic of the Royal Guard as he swung a beautifully crafted morning-star in wide arcs. He was still nimble for an old man, but Lucina could already see that the heat and smoke were taking a toll on him; he was far too old to be on the field like this. His lined face was grim as his long white hair fluttered in the breeze created by the flames, turning to shock as he noticed Lucina fighting her way towards him._

_“What are you doing, fool girl!?” he roared over the battle. “Why are you still here!?”_

_“I will not allow my castle to fall so easily!” Lucina responded, twirling Falchion in a figure-eight as her father had taught her to before lashing out in a quick over the shoulder strike that Cullen had taught her._

_“I will not retreat!” she added, stabbing another of the endless horde of Risen._

_“Then you will fall along with Ylisstol and all hope will be gone!” Cullen snapped, lashing out again and again with his mace. “You must survive, my lady! We can hold them here! If you die then all of our deaths will be for naught!”_

_Lucina continued to hack and slash at the enemies around her, but for every one she felled three more entered the hall through the broken gates at the other end. She couldn’t win; not here, not this time, not like this. The thoughts pained her as she realized she was simply denying the truth._

_Ylisse had fallen._

_“Go, Exalt! I beg you!” Cullen urged her in a brief lull in the fighting, wheezing now as his old lungs fought against the thick smoke for breath. “This will be your last chance! Go!”_

_Lucina nodded once, turning away as frustrated tears threatened to overflow._

_“Here they come!” one of the guards called as a fresh wave of Risen poured into the hallway, some of the biggest and cruellest looking that Lucina had ever seen._

_“This is where we make our stand!” Cullen roared above the incessant moaning of the monsters, his brilliant cobalt cape flapping in the wind as he strode forward, every inch the hero of song he was said to be. “This is where we show these soulless bastards what it means to attack the halls of the Exalt! This is where they die!”_

_With a lusty shout the Honour Guard charged forward with him, but the Risen greatly outnumbered them and their line was broken almost immediately, the hall descending into a gory free-for-all once more. The Risen were merciless as they set upon the Ylisseans with axe and sword, butchering them. Lucina watched from the doorway she had come in from, two steps from safety and escape but unable to tear her eyes away from the spectacle of Cullen holding the enemy back almost single-handedly._

_Lucina watched as one of the Risen pinned one of the few female Guard against the wall, holding her by the neck and leaning in close to inspect her face, and it hit her like a bolt that they were looking for her specifically. Throwing caution to the wind as her blood boiled she charged back out as the Risen pinning the woman raised its axe, impaling it before it could strike at the defenceless Guard._

_“I believe the woman you’re looking for…” she said, running the beast through the back with her perfect blade._

_“Is me!” she roared, neatly bisecting the Risen in a cloud of purple and black ashes._

_The Guard sunk to the floor against the wall, whimpering and holding her shoulders as shock began to set in._

_“We can’t let these things win! Now grab a sword and fight!” Lucina urged her, returning to the melee herself._

_She wouldn’t let her castle fall; she couldn’t. Between her and Cullen and the soldiers still fighting in the streets they could repel the Risen, at least from the castle so that it could begin to offer sanctuary for those still in the city._

_“Dammit all, girl!” Cullen grunted, seeing that Lucina had re-joined the fighting. “You’re worse than your father was, do you know that!?”_

_Lucina ignored him and kept fighting. Slowly they were driving the last of the Risen from the Great Hall. Then they would take the fight to the grounds and eventually the gates, form a line there, and move into the city._

_Lucina’s plans were dashed when the side wall of the Hall erupted inwards, knocking the majority of the Guard off their feet. Unnervingly the Risen still fighting stopped and stepped back, retreating to the periphery of the room as the smoke and dust settled as a great gust of wind extinguished all of the fires and knocked the statue of Naga from its dais._

_In the darkness a voice began to laugh, one so eerily familiar yet horribly deformed that Lucina couldn’t recognize it as chills ran up and down her spine._

_“So ends the human race,” the voice called from the darkness._

_Lucina’s gaze snapped up as three giant red orbs lit up the dark, before turning to focus on her, more evil laughter echoing through the otherwise silent hall._

_“No…” Lucina whispered, breaking out into a cold sweat as she beheld the Dark Dragon, Grima._

_She had failed. All was lost. He would kill her here and extinguish the last hope for the human race because she had been too stubborn and hot-headed to admit reality. The world was over, and it was her fault…_

_“Your mother and father are dead, tiny one,” the giant dragon mocked, a note of laughter still in his voice as his head rose on a great serpentine neck._

_Now all six eyes stared down at Lucina from between the creature’s massive horns, teeth longer than she was tall glinting wet with saliva in the firelight from the burning city behind him. Even the screams from the city, which had been constant so far, died away as Lucina stared into those six hellish red orbs._

_“And now…” the dragon added, his head rearing further back as four wings wide enough to wrap around the entirety of her palace spread wide, eclipsing the moon in the sky._

_“So are you!” Grima thundered, his head shooting forward._

_Lucina screamed, bringing her sword up as a meagre show of futile resistance. The endless maw of the Dark Dragon closed, coming closer and closer. She could smell his ancient, carrion breath, the breath of a thousand innocent souls consumed for no better reason than the destruction of all mankind._

_Just as Lucina closed her eyes something hit her from the side, throwing her clear with a pained grunt. From the corner of her eyes she saw a flash of blue and silver as Cullen barrelled into her, spinning to gain momentum as he grabbed her and tossed her clear across the hall._

_For a split second the entire world stopped as she watched the face of the man that had been like a second father to her after her own had died, raising her and the other children, teaching them to fight and safeguarding them until they were ready for the war. A sad smile played across his rugged features as Grima’s maw crashed down around him, shattering the stones of the hall and consuming the old Knight in a single bite in her place while Lucina watched._

_Cullen’s last word echoed in the silence that followed as Grima’s head withdrew._

_“Go.”_

_And Lucina ran, the Dark Dragon’s taunting laughter following after her, even if he did not._

*

Robin ducked into Tharja’s dimly lit tent, the familiar smell of her hexing materials and other spell reagents making his nose itch.

“Tharja?” Robin called out, jumping a little as one of the shadows separated from the rest and quickly approached him.

“There you are!” Tharja practically hissed as she glared at Robin, not wearing her usual robes but the skin-tight body suit she usually wore beneath it. “Where did you run off to? Do you have any idea-”

“I’m sorry, I get you’re mad, but I’m in the middle of something,” Robin cut her off quickly.

The dark mage blinked up at Robin a few times, a perplexed look on her face. In all the years they had known each-other Robin had never snapped at her like that; he hadn’t meant to, but he was in a hurry right now.

“Then I will keep this brief,” the Dark Mage said shortly, regaining her composure. “Do you recall your loss of control in Steiger?”

Robin groaned and nodded, glancing down to the dark purple brand burned onto his hand.

“It is my belief that you were under the influence of an ancient and powerful curse,” Tharja said simply before she turned and began to dig around in the chest behind her. “I suspected it for some time, but that potion I gave you confirmed it.”

“You never did tell me what was in that,” Robin muttered as he watched his friend digging around her chest.

“And I assure you, you still don’t want to know,” Tharja said forebodingly.

“So… I was cursed?” Robin said, scratching his head and choosing to change the subject.

This didn’t seem all that important; why it couldn’t wait until later…

Tharja shot back up, holding a small amulet hanging from a leather cord in her delicate hands and approaching Robin again.

“Yes. However I no longer sense the curse’s influence lingering around your aura anymore,” she continued, holding the amulet up in front of Robin’s face and watching his eyes intently. “It is not unheard of for a curse victim to throw off the afflicting spell alone, but…”

“What was I cursed with?” Robin asked, mesmerized by the patterns on the slowly spinning amulet.

Tharja made a satisfied sound and dropped her hand and the amulet.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Which means it was either custom-tailored for you, or immeasurably ancient; I have studied every known curse available to practitioners of dark magic during my years as an apprentice, so I should have recognized it, but…”

“Okay… I’m all better now, though, right?” Robin asked hesitantly when the mage trailed off.

“For now,” she said, her bearing darkening again as she held out the amulet. “However I do not know how long that will last. I suggest you wear this around your neck at all times. It will protect you from other curses at the very least. I’d also like to do a few more tests when you’re not ‘busy’ just to be sure.”

Robin took the little trinket and pulled it over his head without hesitation, almost feeling a little disappointed when nothing happened.

“What’s wrong?” Tharja asked, reading his face.

“I just… I dunno. I don’t… feel any different.”

“That is a good thing,” Tharja said, rolling her eyes. “If you had burst into flames then I would have known there was a problem.”

Robin blinked a few times.

“Are you telling me this amulet could have set me on fire!?” the tactician exclaimed, staring aghast at the tiny golden circle hanging on his chest.

“Er… no?” the mage said awkwardly, moving away from Robin.

“Tharja, I need you to tell me this thing isn’t going to cause me to spontaneously combust,” Robin said, a note of pleading entering his voice.

He trusted the dark and enigmatic woman with his life, but she was still a dark mage, and as a profession practitioners of the Dark Arts weren’t exactly known for their overwhelming care for their test-subjects’ safety. As answer to Robin’s question Tharja shuffled awkwardly, looking away from him.

“Tharja!” Robin insisted.

“It should get unbearably hot before you ignite!” she assured him quickly. “The only other options were to place a scrying hex on you or follow you around everywhere again! And I know from experience how you value your privacy and personal space.”

Robin sighed, running a hand through hair that now hung to his shoulders as he approached Tharja. The Dark Mage let out a little squeak as she backed away from the man towering threateningly above her.

“If this thing kills me you had better believe I will haunt you for the rest of your days,” Robin warned her half-jokingly.

Tharja nodded, breathing a soft sigh of relief as the tactician stepped back again.

“Was that all? Because I was kinda in the middle of something just now.”

Tharja shook her head, lowering it and beginning to blush before stepping forward and embracing Robin for a second time.

“It’s… good to have you back,” she whispered.

“Hey, no-one said you get two hugs,” Robin chuckled, returning the embrace. “I’m limiting everyone to a single ‘welcome back’ hug. But you gave me a present, so…”

“Stop talking,” Tharja muttered, making Robin burst into a fit of hushed laughter.

*

_“Morgan?” Lucina called as she wandered the halls of the Ylisstol castle. “Morgan? Where are you?”_

_Of course, it was her castle now; her mother and father were dead, killed in battle with Plegia. The only thing she had left of them was the sword sitting in her room and the pegasus that she had given to Cynthia, the budding Pegasus Knight._

_“Morgan!? Please answer me! We’re all worried about you!”_

_Morgan, the daughter of her father’s tactician Sir Robin, had been missing since the night before. She had not come to dinner, and her bed was still made the next morning. It was enough to begin a city-wide search for the girl._

_Lucina’s younger cousin Owain and her little sister Cynthia were searching the lower floors of the castle, treating it as an epic quest while they tried to distract themselves from harsh reality they now found themselves in. Lucina would take the upper floors; the royal apartments and the library, the offices that her father and Robin had used that had been sealed on her orders. Cullen was leading the Royal Guard and the City Guard in a joint effort to search the city and the surrounding countryside with the surviving Shepherds and their children, while her Aunt Lissa spoke to every servant in the castle that might have seen her._

_“Morgan!” Lucina called again as she stepped into the corridor that led to the various offices._

_Perhaps she was in her father’s old office. Not that the Ylissean Royal Tactician and Ambassador to Chon’sin had spent all that much time in there recently, but it had still strongly felt of Robin’s aura when Lucina had sealed it up a few weeks ago. She had left his coat folded up neatly on his desk as a sign of respect, but eventually the office would have to be cleaned out for the next tactician to use. Once Morgan came of age, anyway. There was no one else that Lucina could imagine as her tactician, just as Robin had been the only tactician for her father for more than ten years._

_Lucina cautiously cracked the door, peeking inside. She noticed that everything was as she had left it before; Robin’s things were piled up everywhere, books and parchment spread around the room haphazardly on low tables and hanging over the backs of couches. There were various weapons lying about too; an axe sitting on the floor, half covered by a collapsed pile of books; a beautifully crafted lance, one of Lady Cordelia’s if Lucina wasn’t mistaken; a long, thin sword that Robin had been presented when he had married Queen Say’ri, called Sol, the sword of the King of Chon’sin, sat across his desk. His weapon of choice had been the rapier that her father had given him so many years ago, though; lovingly cared for and restored time and again by the master artisans in Ylisse. The hook that the rapier usually hung on while Robin was working sat empty and forlorn, looking like a beckoning finger in the dim study._

_Lucina became aware slowly as she walked deeper into the room that something had changed since she had sealed it, though. Something small but important was different. All the books were in the right place; all the scrolls and grimoires were exactly where they had been left; the multitude of weapons and other junk were still there…_

_Lucina gasped, rushing towards the desk._

_The coat. Robin’s coat was gone. In its place was a small sheet of paper, familiar messy handwriting on the front of it._

_~I’ve gone to go and find my father. He’s still alive, I can feel it. I’m sorry, but I needed the coat as a scrying catalyst. I’ll be back with him soon. Don’t worry about me. Lots of love, Morgan~_

_That was all that was written. It hadn’t even been addressed to anyone. Lucina sat down heavily on the sofa closest to her, reading the note over and over and not fully grasping its meaning. At first they had all talked about riding out together to find their parents and taking vengeance against the Plegians, but then the survivors had returned and those thoughts had been extinguished by tales of the twisted monsters that had been summoned by the Dark Dragon’s return. So few had returned from so many that had set out in the initial rescue party, including even more of the Shepherds…_

_And now Morgan was alone in the harsh wilderness, surrounded by enemies. Her best friend, just like Robin had been her father’s… alone and at Grima’s mercy._

_She should have seen the signs… she should have paid more attention to her friend’s condition…_

_Alone in the dark office Lucina brought her knees to her chest and for the first time she gave in to despair at the crushing weight of the hopelessness she felt._

_*_

Robin wandered around the night-time camp, scratching his head and looking around. He was running out of ideas; hopefully Panne would find him soon with news, or else he’d simply have to widen his search area. He’d tear the entire Valmese capital apart if he had to.

In the distance and all around him Robin could hear the sounds of post-victory revelry beginning as the soldiers and the Shepherds all began to relax and unwind, breaking out the wine and ale as musicians began to play. Hopefully Roark had been smart enough to post guards and patrols so that no celebratory shenanigans got too out of hand, but it had been a hard won victory and the men deserved to let off a little steam.

As the tactician shuffled back through the Shepherd camp on his third circuit he noticed a shirtless brawny man with tanned skin and spiky blonde hair carrying a cask of ale over one shoulder, heading towards the mess tent. Robin gave an evil smirk, his hand wrapping around the trinket in his pocket as he decided to finally pay Vaike back for the incident with Sully’s horse so long ago. Vaike was one of the Shepherds that weren’t aware he was back yet, too…

“Vaike…” Robin whispered in a ghostly fashion as he ducked behind the nearest tent.

The larger man turned, looking around curiously before shrugging and beginning to walk again. Robin snuck forward, getting as close as he could and gripping the trinket tightly in his fist as he got less than a foot from his friend.

“Vaiiiiike…” Robin whispered again.

When the spiky haired man turned the space behind him was empty. He looked around, taking a few steps back the way he had come before shrugging again and turning around to head to the mess tent, only to come face to face with Robin doing his best impersonation of a zombie, eyes rolled back as he reached one hand out to the man.

“Vaaaaaiiiiiiiiike…” Robin moaned before activating the spell in the ring he had taken from Excellus and disappearing again with a small flash.

The tanned man went pale, dropping the cask he was carrying and glancing every direction around him while Robin tried to desperately stifle his laughter behind the nearest tent, watching from the shadows with a hand clamped over his mouth.

“Robin!?” Vaike called in a shuddering voice, turning in circles. “Buddy!? C’mon, man! I… we were friends, right!? You… you wouldn’t haunt ol’ Teach, now, would ya?”

Robin decided to put the cherry on top and teleported so he was standing directly behind Vaike. The tactician reached out and clasped a hand onto the axeman’s shoulder and leaned close to his ear.

“Boo,” Robin whispered before teleporting back behind the tent again.

Vaike’s reaction was priceless. He swirled, lashing out at the empty space behind him and falling as he lost his footing before darting back to his feet and running as fast as he could in the direction of the mess tent, screaming the whole time.

“Waugh! Robin’s haunting me! I’m sorry, buddy! I never meant to steal your desert rations! Don’t haunt meeeeeeeeeeee! I’ll never do anything bad again, I swear! Miriel! Miriel, save me!”

Robin burst out laughing harder than he had since he had travelled with Virion and Tharja so long ago, falling backwards and holding his sides as he rolled around on his back for a good few minutes as Vaike’s screaming faded into the background.

“Was that entirely necessary?” a voice asked from above him.

“No,” Robin chuckled, his laughter finally dying down a little as he climbed back to his feet, wiping a tear from his eye. “But then again revenge never is. But he had it coming and you know it. I didn’t even realize he’d been stealing my desert rations…”

Cordelia stared down at the tactician with a frown on her face before her stern countenance cracked and she let a grin break through.

“I can’t believe you’re alive!” she practically shouted, throwing her arms around his shoulders in a tight hug.

Robin winced involuntarily, mentally preparing for the all-too familiar sensation of metal plates grinding into his chest, but it never came. For the first time since Robin had met her Cordelia wasn’t wearing her armour, obviously fresh from the bathing tents considering the damp smell of soap coming from her hair and the plain clothes she was wearing.

“I knew that you would make your way back to us,” Cordelia continued with a sniffle, squeezing the life out of Robin. “I prayed for you every day you were gone, and here you stand! Gods, Robin!”

The tactician blushed a little, hating himself for enjoying the contact as he realized why she constantly wore her breastplate everywhere: The plate was a lie. Her chest was flat as a board. Severa finally had something up on her mother, although it really wasn’t Robin’s place to ever mention that to the volatile redheaded girl.

“Okay,” Robin groaned, somehow managing to pry the Knight’s iron grip off of him. “It’s good to… see you too, Cordelia… but… stop with the… squeezing now… please…”

“Sorry,” Cordelia said, sniffling again as she took a step back from him. “I guess I got a little carried away. Er… why is your hair white?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Robin said with a grin and a shrug. “You haven’t seen Panne or Lucina around by chance, have you?”

Cordelia shook her head, clearly still studying Robin’s new hair colour in the torchlight.

“Okay, well, if you do run into either of them let them know I’m looking for them, okay? Oh, and keep the whole ‘teleporting’ thing under your hat. I want to mess with a few more people before it becomes common knowledge.”

Cordelia nodded, smiling as she crossed her arms and sunk back to a hip. “It’s nice to see that you haven’t changed a bit.”

“I was gone for like, a week,” Robin scoffed, waving her comment off. “That’s not exactly a lot of time for personal growth. Or maturation, for that matter. I’m still a kid at heart, you know.”

*

Robin poked around the camp for a little longer, considering giving up a few times as cold winds blew through the tents and made him shiver. Winter was definitely approaching, and all he could think about doing was going to sit by the bonfire that the others had lit, perhaps teleporting in directly next to Vaike just to mess with him a little more, getting the reunion over and done with and getting absolutely plastered with everyone in celebration of their victory, just like they all had together when the war with Plegia had ended.

One thought about the person that would be missing from that gathering was enough to steel his resolve, however. He’d just have to start searching the rest of the army camp, starting with the medical tents. If she were anywhere she would probably be helping with the relief efforts.

Robin cursed silently as he rounded the corner and came face to face with a long, black, reptilian maw. Minerva stared at him inquisitively, tilting her head a little. Of course, behind Minerva would be…

“So the rumours are true,” Virion muttered from next to Cherche, holding a hand to his chin and grinning. “However I think that the oaf Vaike may have been exaggerating a little. He seems fully flesh and blood to me.”

“Yeah, I’m alive,” Robin said, reaching up ad stroking the patiently waiting Minerva’s crest.

The wyvern let out a soft croon, shaking out her wings and dropping to the ground like a dog being scratched behind its ears.

“Although your new hairstyle does make you seem particularly spirit-like in this darkness,” Virion added, stepping over the wyvern’s splayed legs as she panted and lolled her tongue over razor-sharp teeth.

“Truly the most tactical of tacticians is a genius if he can out-manoeuvre death itself!” Virion said gleefully, patting Robin on the shoulder gracefully.

“Oh stop holding back already,” Robin said, rolling his eyes and wrapping the archer in a tight hug. “You know you missed me.”

“But of course!” Virion chuckled once the tactician released him, stepping back and flipping the hair from his face. “No one even presents a challenge in the most tactical game of chess. I was beginning to grow bored without you.”

Cherche crossed the distance while Virion was composing himself and gave Robin a quick hug, too, before kneeling beside Minerva’s head and proceeding to pick up pampering the wyvern where Robin left off.

“It is good to see you alive and well, my friend,” Virion said as the two men watched the spectacle of a miniature dragon rolling onto its back so that its master could scratch at the softer scales on its stomach.

“Yeah,” Robin said softly. “Thank you for watching over things while I was gone. Morgan especially.”

“What else are friends for?” Virion said nonchalantly with a theatrical shrug, the effect being ruined by the giant smile plastered to his face. “She did you proud while you were gone. Pride, I am not ashamed to say, I felt for you in your stead.”

“Well, your son definitely impressed me, too, while we were with the resistance,” Robin said, mimicking the archer’s earlier movements.

Virion’s jaw dropped as he stared at Robin.

“Wha… you… my…” the normally eloquent archer stammered.

Cherche, however, was much more animated as she jumped up, suddenly in Robin’s face and invading his personal space.

“Our son, hrm?” she purred, smiling pleasantly like a cat about to eat a bird. “Tell me Robin dear, where is he now?”

Robin tried to backpedal, only to have Cherche stay with him, smiling that terrifying smile.

“Look… look for the other Minerva,” Robin finally managed. “Gerome’s the one wearing the mask with her; you can’t miss him.”

Cherche nodded, still smiling as she spun and grabbed her fiancé’s wrist and hauled him in the direction of the bonfire, Virion still stunned and following silently.

“Wait!” Robin called after them. “Have either of you seen… aw forget it.”

He looked at the wyvern still lying on the ground and looking up at him expectantly.

“Well, while I’m here…” he muttered, beginning to thoroughly scratch at every spot he knew that Minerva loved, the creature’s tail happily beating into the ground and raising small clouds of dust while Robin worked.

*

“Man-spawn! I’ve finally found you!”

Robin bolted up from where he was still pampering Minerva, having moved on to scratching at the ridges under her jaw. The large reptile’s eyes were glazed with pleasure and she crooned disappointedly when he stopped.

_Crap_ , Robin thought, momentarily panicking. _How long was I playing with the wyvern for!?_

Panne approached them, shifting back into her human form as she stepped closer, slightly out of breath.

“Well?” Robin pressed excitedly. “Did you find her?”

Panne nodded, warily eying the large wyvern.

“I did. Her scent looped around the Valmese capital a few times, before heading back to the palace. It was difficult to find. She has not actually returned to camp yet.”

Robin’s heart skipped a beat; Lucina was still at the palace, and hadn’t come back for healing!? She had been barely standing when they had separated that afternoon, even with the healing she would have needed to keep fighting she should have returned to take rest at the very least!

_Curses on the stubborn women in my life!_ Robin growled internally.

“You’re sure?” he asked instead.

Panne nodded.

“Thank you Panne, this means a great deal to me,” he said, beginning to walk in the direction of the castle.

“I wish you the best, Robin,” she said after a moment, making him stop and turn back.

The usual brusque tone of voice the Taguel spoke in was gone, replaced by hesitation as she looked intently at the tactician.

“I… never told you how much you helped me to… acclimatize to life with humans when we met,” she said quietly. “Before you… died. I had thought I would never get the opportunity. It was due in no small part to your kindness that I was able to open my heart again. You were the first man-spaw… the first person to treat me like an equal since my days as a kit in the warrens of my people. Thank you, Robin. In case I do not get the opportunity to say it again.”

Robin turned and walked back to the Taguel, wrapping her in a light hug.

“That’s what friends do, Panne,” he said softly. “Now go and celebrate with your son and husband. You’ve earned that much ten times over. Thank you for your help tonight.”

The Taguel woman nodded awkwardly when Robin released her, turning and walking away at a brisk pace, no doubt excited about spending quality time with her family.

A thought occurred to Robin as he beheld the wyvern still sitting and watching him with its tongue lolling.

“Feel like stretching your wings a little?” he asked Minerva, to which she answered by slapping her tail into the ground with delight again.

*

_Owain sobbed brokenly as he stood with Lucina and Cynthia over his mother, laid out on a beautiful pyre in the centre of the place grounds._

_“There there, Owain, don’t cry,” Cynthia soothed, tears streaming down her own face. “Heroes don’t… don’t cry, remember?”_

_Lissa had died defending a village beset by Risen, shielding the villagers with her own body while the monsters had closed in around them. The scene Lucina had come upon had made her retch; the people had been butchered and the bodies of Ylissean soldiers littered the ground. Then, in the middle of it all, lay her Aunt, Princess Lissa, still shielding the bodies of the children she had been trying to protect. No one from that village had survived though._

_Lucina watched her sister comfort their cousin with a cold disposition; she couldn’t go to pieces in front of the entire funeral procession. The people from the city crowded into the grounds needed her to be strong, to show no weakness. She told herself that as Cynthia led the distraught Owain away, leaving Lucina standing alone with the body of her beloved Aunt. They were all alone now. Lucina was officially the oldest member of the Ylissean Royal Family now. She had to be strong. She had to be like steel, cold and unwavering, to shepherd her people through the war for their very survival that they now found themselves in._

_With a nod as Lucina stepped back the priest of Naga began the last rights, and the pyre was lit. Lucina was the only one with dry eyes, even the normally unflappable old man, Cullen, wept silently for his departed mistress._

_As the funeral ended and the pyre burned down Lucina turned away from the crowd, silently walking back towards the palace. In the cool night air she could hear the citizens’ voices carrying as they watched her, accusing her of being cold and unfeeling. They said that she felt nothing, that she had a heart made of ice and that even though she was their only hope Princess Lissa had been the compassion from the ruling class that had kept the populace’s faith alive._

_She ignored it all as she passed into the shadows of the castle. She had hardened her heart out of necessity. There had been no other option available to her; she had to become cold to lead the last of humanity to victory. She had no time for grief; she had a world to save. Nothing else mattered, not while the entire world burned down around them. Not even the sobs of her cousin and sister as she left them standing by the pyre._

_*_

Robin slipped off of Minerva’s back onto the churned-up earth of the Valmese Imperial palace, giving the affectionate wyvern a quick hug around her neck before telling her he would walk back to camp and sending her back alone.

The palace was dark, and Ylissean guards were posted at all the entrances to protect it from looters that would take advantage of the fact it had been temporarily vacated. He had snuck past them atop Minerva, though, landing away from the gates and in darkness. Wind whistled forlornly through the remains of what must have once been beautiful grounds, ruined garden beds trampled under the feet of soldiers dotting the silent plain. Thankfully the bodies had been cleared, but a slight scent of sweat and blood still lingered.

Robin forced himself forward, nerves taught as he prepared himself for what was apparently waiting within.

He was nervous. He had no idea what he was going to do or say, but he knew that the end result would be that Lucina was coming back to camp with him. That was the only option here; no other result would be good enough. He had briefly thought about bringing flowers with him, but that seemed a little tacky and desperate given the circumstances. He would just go in, tell her to ignore what Say’ri had said, remind her how he really felt and hopefully things would go smoothly from there.

“I hate winging it,” Robin muttered, climbing the stone steps to the gaping palace doors and realizing that he didn’t have an actual plan.

The hall beyond the doors was a wreck; rubble from smashed columns was everywhere, as was the detritus of war in the form of abandoned plates of armour and broken weapons. In the moonlight from the various skylights Robin could make out dark stains on the floor, scorch marks from both spells and bloodstains stained into the stones and carpets. Robin shivered, noting the fact that it was cold in the hall for some reason, colder than outside. At the end of the hall under a shaft of moonlight from one of the many skylights was a raised dais with Walhart’s throne sitting untouched atop it. Perched on the edge of the dais was a woman in silver armour with long, straight blue hair, looking at the ground between her feet.

Robin gathered his courage, suddenly aware he had yet to bathe after the day’s fighting, and stepped forward, his footsteps echoing in the silent hall. Lucina showed no sign of hearing him approach as he crossed the hall, making Robin almost believe that she had fallen asleep.

“I’ve been looking for you all night,” Robin called softly as he approached.

“I was going to leave,” Lucina said without looking up as Robin finally reached her a few moments later, standing only a few feet away. “I have caused so much discord by meddling with the timeline so far… Your death; Morgan being wounded time and again; this entire war went off the rails, and it was my fault. It would be best if I returned to watching from the shadows, ensuring that fate is averted without interfering any more than necessary.”

“Firstly, I’m still alive here. Not dead. Everyone needs to get that one right already. Secondly, I don’t believe what you just said for a second,” Robin said, taken aback by her defeated tone.

“But it’s true!” Lucina cried, her voice echoing around the hall. “I brought all this misfortune on all of you, simply by being here! I… I have no right to… you… you don’t belong with…”

Lucina trailed off, her shoulders beginning to shake.

“She was right,” the Princess sobbed brokenly. “It’s all… my fault… My foolishness in meddling with things that were unnecessary to my goal… it cost everyone so much… She was right… I don’t… don’t deserve your affection. I’ve acted out of selfishness this entire time, altering events that are meant… to be set in stone. You and Say’ri…”

“Not this again,” Robin groaned, rolling his eyes. “She and I are not, and will not now, be an item. End of story. We’ve already come to terms with that, she and I.”

“You and she are meant to be together, not you and I,” Lucina insisted quietly. “I had no right to… interfere the way I did. I am sorry, Robin. I pray you forgive me.”

“No,” Robin said flatly.

Lucina finally looked up, her cheeks shining as she stared at Robin in shock. The look on her face tore at his heart, but he couldn’t stop now.

“No,” he repeated, stepping forward. “If you leave, I won’t forgive you. Ever.”

“Please,” Lucina begged, dropping her head again. “Do not make this harder for me. Return to the camp and… and…”

“No,” Robin repeated again. “If you leave, I’ll follow you. To the ends of the earth. Back to your own forsaken future if I have to. I’ll fight my way through hordes of Risen, armies of men and the Dark Dragon himself if that’s what it takes. Naga knows your father will be right there beside me, too. But you’re not getting away. Not now, not after I finally made it back to you. For pity’s sake, Lucina, I’m pretty sure I came back from the dead for you! I don’t know what you’ve been sitting here thinking about all night to wind you up like this, but you leaving is not going to fix anything. It’s just going to hurt you and everyone that cares about you.”

“I spoke to Say’ri,” Robin added in a softer tone as he finally reached Lucina’s side, the woman flinching involuntarily when he spoke. “About what happened while I was gone. Everything she said was out of grief and anger. Even if she meant it, she was still wrong. You belong here, with us, and with me.”

“I cannot…” Lucina persisted, still refusing to look up at him.

“Why?” Robin asked, moving around to her front and kneeling down. “Tell me. Please. Don’t shut me out.”

“I have been sitting here,” Lucina mumbled after a brief silence, “sitting here and thinking of all the deaths I have caused, all the people I have hurt, both here and in the future. Men and women dead because of my pride and arrogance, dead because I couldn’t accept reality, or because I was foolish enough to think I could change fate itself-”

“Fate can be changed,” Robin said, cutting her off. “Nothing is set in stone. Nothing. You’re grasping at straws now because you’re scared, and you know I’m right. You belong with us, Lucina.”

“Stop saying that!” Lucina pleaded.

“It’s the truth,” Robin told her, reaching out and taking both of her clenched fists in his own.

It was like grabbing ice; she had been sitting here so long she was probably numb from the cold. Without thinking about it Robin stood and shrugged off his coat, draping it about Lucina’s shoulders.

“You feel like a Feroxi lamp post,” the tactician said softly, squatting back down.

Lucina shuddered as the coat settled on her back. “Why are you… still…”

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” Robin said lightly. “I love you, Lucina. I’m not going to leave you alone again.”

Lucina shuddered again, curling in on herself slightly before letting out a sob and throwing herself towards Robin, knocking him off balance in his precarious position squatting on the balls of his feet and sending them both tumbling to the ground as she wrapped herself around him.

“I’ve been sitting here, unable to leave,” she sobbed into the tactician’s chest, clenching his shirt tightly in her fists and burying her face in it. “Unable to because… I can’t do this alone anymore… and it’s your fault.”

“Guilty as charged,” Robin said softly, wrapping his arms around her back and pulling her close. “So you’ll come back with me, then?”

“Yes, gods damn you,” Lucina half sobbed, half laughed. “You win. I’ll go back. With you.”

They stayed like that for a time, lying beneath Robin’s coat as Lucina let out all the wretched emotions that had been building up for so long inside of her. Robin waited patiently, stroking her hair and tacitly ignoring the armour grinding into his chest, a feeling he was sadly beginning to become accustomed to. When Lucina finally quieted Robin continued to hold her, relishing the fact that they were so close at present, even if there was a suit of armour between them.

“Feel a little better now?” Robin asked gently, to which Lucina sniffled and nodded.

“I sat here, hoping that you would find me,” she admitted softly, turning her head up to look at him. “I think I knew that you would be able to convince me to return. So I waited here for you to find me.”

“I’m sorry I made you wait so long,” Robin said earnestly, looking into the captivating blue orbs and losing himself in them for a moment.

“But, er, maybe we should be getting back to camp?” he added, realizing that it was now getting quite late.

“Of course,” Lucina agreed quickly, drawing back from the tactician.

The Princess finally rose, still wrapped in Robin’s coat and stumbling a little, almost falling as she did so.

“You’re hurt!” Robin said, reaching out and stopping her from falling. “Dammit, I knew you were too stubborn to go and see a healer on your own! Curse all the stubborn women in my life!”

“I am fine, Robin,” Lucina said, much calmer now than she had been as Robin held her up. “I am merely exhausted from everything that has happened today.”

“Okay, so I’ll just carry you back,” Robin said nonchalantly, scooping the woman up in a bridal carry and starting to walk back to the camp.

Lucina let out an involuntary shout, followed by a very girlish giggle as Robin lifted her up, throwing an arm around his neck.

“It is a long way back to camp,” she pointed out, a note of laughter creeping back into her voice.

Robin did his best to shrug with the added burden in his arms.

“I have good motivation,” he said flippantly, continuing to walk.

Lucina smiled as she leaned forward, planting a kiss on Robin’s lips that stopped him dead in his tracks for a good few minutes.

“See!?” he practically shouted when she withdrew, breathless now and blushing hard. “Great motivation! We’ll be back to the camp in no time at all!”


	43. Chapter 43

Morgan woke, slowly and painfully opening her eyes as consciousness gradually returned.

_By the gods above everything hurts so badly_ , she thought, blinking a few times and letting out a soft moan. Her lips were dry and her throat was parched; she felt like she’d been run over by a berserk wyvern and then marched over by the entire Ylissean League in a single file line, in the middle of a desert, but at least she was alive.

The events of the previous day returned slowly to her groggy and pain-addled mind; they had won, her father had come back from the dead, she had been stepped on and then passed out. That… was the sum of her day.

A sound from Morgan’s side made her slowly and painfully glance over, the muscles in her shoulder and neck protesting the entire time. When she finally managed to turn she felt a smile rise unbidden to her lips. On the other side of the tent, curled up on Noire’s cot, was her mother sleeping peacefully, and on the ground next to Morgan’s bedroll, using the very edge of it as a pillow, was her father sleeping curled into a ball on the bare floor.

The young tactician sighed and relaxed, scratching absently at her bandages. The fact that she was wrapped up the way she was, not to mention the fact that her mother was sporting bandages of her own visible beneath her flowing white clothes, spoke volumes of just how desperate the fighting had been. The healers only resorted to more mundane methods of healing, like bandages, ointments, salves, vulenaries, elixirs and the like, when they were running low on mana. The three healers in the Shepherds, Libra, Maribelle and Princess Lissa, were among the best in the League, if not the entire world; for them to be so exhausted they were using such methods made Morgan realize just how close her plans had come to failing.

She desperately wanted to lie there and bask in the moment of having both of her parents alive and well, in the same space and not trying to kill each other; but she was overcome with anxiety thinking about what the Ylissean League’s next move was going to be. Her head spun with possibilities, each of those possibilities coming along with three or four tactical scenarios at lightning speed, but her thought process was derailed when something prodded her in the hip.

“Stop thinking tactics so early in the morning,” her father grumbled sleepily, burying his face deeper into the bedroll substituting a pillow as he drew his arm back.

“How could you tell?” Morgan whispered, wary of waking her mother.

“I can smell it a mile away,” Robin muttered, sitting up and letting out a wide yawn.

Morgan raised an eyebrow from her prone position, realizing she wouldn’t be sitting up unaided for a while.

“Okay, so I’m your father and I can read you like an open book,” he mumbled, pushing the hair from his face after stretching.

“Without even looking at me?” Morgan chuckled.

“I followed the most logical thought process you’d take, considering what I knew and what we talked about last night,” Robin muttered blearily, blinking and obviously struggling to return to full consciousness. “I could hear you shifting and sighing; it was an easy deduction after that, really. Want some breakfast?”

Morgan nodded, marvelling again at her father’s thought process and deductive skills; he hadn’t even been awake that time, and he had read her like an open book.

“Yeah,” Morgan said, squirming a little. “But first…”

“Huh?” Robin asked when she trailed off, looking away and blushing.

“I can’t really move around… all that well yet,” Morgan explained, obviously embarrassed. “And, well… I have to go to the bathroom.”

The older tactician blinked a few times, mouth opening and closing as his tired brain struggled to comprehend what she had just said.

Only one word popped into Robin’s head: _Nope._

“Say’ri!” he shouted at last, making both of the women in the tent jump. “Wake up and take your wounded daughter to the bathroom!”

Morgan’s embarrassment intensified as she turned scarlet, staring aghast at her father and praying no one outside had heard his shout as Say’ri looked around much the same way Robin had when he had first woken.

“Dad!” the younger tactician cried, hiding her face with her hands.

“What?” he asked with a curious shrug. “This is most assuredly not a ‘dad’ job, so I asked your mother. Elementary, my dear Morgan; nothing to be ashamed about.”

“Fie, Robin, you truly are dense,” Say’ri muttered as she rose and stretched before she shooed him out of the tent, softly cuffing him upside his head for good measurement. “Out! For once allow your daughter a modicum of privacy and modesty befitting a young woman.”

“And take a bath, for pity’s sake!” she called after him as he disappeared from the tent. “You reek of a battlefield! Show some pride in yourself and clean up!”

“Bring back food!” Morgan called, her voice still strangely strained and sounding more like an order than a request in her current embarrassed state.

_Wait,_ Robin thought, blinking as the canvas flaps were closed in his face. _Why am I all of a sudden the bad guy here? Ooh, I do reek, though._

*

Robin stumbled a little as he walked through the pre-dawn camp, running a hand through his long hair and yawning again, thinking to himself that it might just have been a better idea to stay awake rather than try to sleep in the few hours left of the night when he’d gotten back to camp with Lucina; no doubt the Princess was still out like a light. She probably slept like a log, just like her father. His arms still ached like he’d done a thousand push ups, but he was proud to say he’d actually managed to carry her the whole way back without resorting to the teleporting ring in his pocket. Yesterday had been a long, long day, and then he’d spent all night running around looking for the errant princess before finally finding her. He estimated he’d barely gotten three or four hours sleep at most.

_And yet I feel better than I have in months_ , Robin mused with a small smile creeping onto his face, attempting in vain to tame the tangled mess that was his hair at present.

Giving up on doing it with his hands as he ducked into his own tent, Robin stretched and let out another huge yawn, blinking and looking around as he scratched idly at his chest. It was exactly the way that the camp followers always set it up for him beneath the clutter of the items he’d simply dropped in his haste to return to Morgan’s side last night.

_Feels like finally coming home,_ he thought with a smile, sitting down at his table and glancing around.

Lying on one side of the floor was his new sword, the one he’d taken from Walhart after the initial duel with the Emperor; he’d have to see Jake about getting a proper sheathe made for it, one that actually fit. Sitting on his desk was the remains of his old rapier; another job for Jake, Robin had decided he’d have the remains of the beautiful weapon turned into a dagger, and the blacksmith was the only one he trusted to do it. His soiled Valmese officer’s tunic disguise lay strewn about the floor; he’d either have to wash it or get rid of it, and considering the fact that he was the Ylissean tactician having an enemy uniform may raise some eyebrows back in the capital, so he’d probably wind up just throwing it away. He’d definitely have to get more clothes soon, or simply walk around shirtless under his coat for a while; he could probably get away with it, too, it was starting to get cold enough to keep his coat closed now.

Robin rose and stretched again, thinking that a bath might not be a bad idea after all as he caught another whiff of himself and tried not to gag; the fact that precious few of the male Shepherds bathed in the morning made the prospect all the more appealing. Grabbing his last clean clothes from the bottom of his trunk, the dress uniform shirt and pants that he’d acquired before they’d set out from Ylisstol for Valm, he set out for the men’s bathing tent.

*

With a towel wrapped around his shoulders and his soiled clothes under one arm Robin slowly made his way back through the early morning camp, basking in the sensation of finally being able to properly clean himself after so long as the new dawn sunlight washed over his aching form.

“Robin?” someone called from behind him.

The tactician spun, coming face to face with a familiar green-haired woman in red and pink walking towards him, a cheerful skip in her step.

“Morning Tiki,” Robin said with a lazy wave. “Sorry it’s just me today; no Mar-Mar over here.”

“Oh, I know who you are, Robin,” Tiki said with an embarrassed laugh. “I apologize again for my mistake the other day.”

“Eh, no harm done,” Robin said with a shrug. “C’mon, while you’re here let’s go get some breakfast.”

Tiki smiled happily, nodding assent as she fell into step with him. They walked in amicable silence for a few heartbeats before the ancient and powerful manakete let out a soft sigh.

“You have no memories of your past, do you, Robin?” she asked, glancing over at him. “It must be especially unnerving, then, for someone to confuse you with another. For all I know, you might start thinking that you really are that person...”

The tactician let out a depreciating snort.

“Me? Compare myself to the great Hero-King Marth? Not likely,” he said dismissively. “I was only kidding around; don’t give it another thought.”

“Even so,” Tiki persisted. “It must be frightening to look into your past and see nothing there. I know that better than most, for long ago I fell under the control of an evil man...”

Robin considered her words; he knew all too well of the pain she spoke of, losing one’s control to another overriding force that forced them to do evil things, but he really hadn’t been bothered by her mistake. In fact he’d been so busy in the last few days that he had barely thought about his loss of control in Steiger. She’d obviously over-thought this, though, and was worried that his feelings had been hurt.

“I'm touched by your concern, but you don't have to worry about me,” Robin said sincerely, giving his best approximation of Chrom’s ‘winning smile’ that melted hearts when the Exalt had first taken the throne. “Still friends?”

“Oh, I surely hope so!” Tiki said earnestly.

“To be honest, I don't even mind if you do call me Mar-Mar,” Robin said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “After all, it's not so strange for close friends to share nicknames, is it, Tikiwiki?”

The manakete woman actually stumbled and blanched at Robin’s awful sense of humour, making the man laugh even harder as she hurried to catch up to him.

“Please,” she said, blushing furiously. “Never call me that again, Robin.”

“So you're not going to call me Mar-Mar after all, huh?” he asked, still chuckling.

“I much prefer Robin,” Tiki said, glancing away from him. “Don’t you?”

“Sure; I mean, it is my name, right? I’m kinda stuck with it.” Robin said as he discretely tossed his dirty clothes and towel into his tent while they passed it. “It's just that, well… I have no family here, nor even memories of a family. Okay, well I have Morgan, but she’s not technically from ‘here’, though, and I don’t have any past memories of her; I haven’t had her yet. So when you called me by a nickname, the truth is, I rather liked it. Even if it was someone else's nickname.”

“I understand,” Tiki said, growing slightly more serious. “But there is only one Mar-Mar, and that was Marth, the great king of ages past.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m hardly qualified to fill his shoes, am I?” Robin snorted, resting his hands behind his head and looking up to the sky as they walked.

_It’s so blue this morning… Beautiful. Just like Lucina’s eyes…_

Robin hesitated a moment, eyes going wide as a slight blush crept to his cheeks.

_I did_ not _just think that, did I? Oh gods, that was so embarrassing. Thank Naga no one can read my mind._

“And there is one more reason I cannot call you by that name…” Tiki added.

Robin glanced over questioningly, tearing his eyes away from the spectacle above them and raising a brow as he did so, thankful for the distraction. “That being…?”

Tiki crossed her arms, pouting and looking away again.

“Mar-Mar was never such a jerk to his friends,” the manakete said in a child-like tone so cute Robin burst out laughing again, making Tiki ‘humph’ and speed up her pace a little.

“Oh come now, my lady Devine Dragon Voice!” Robin said, reaching out and latching onto the woman’s arm with his own. “I merely jested! Please do not take my jerk-ness to heart, oh divine-maiden of nana-naps fit for a goddess!”

Tiki shook him off, struggling not to encourage his behaviour by laughing at his antics as they reached the mess tent.

*

“So,” Robin asked around a bite of whatever porridge had been ladled into his bowl without him noticing that morning. “What now?”

“Yes, what now indeed?” Virion added unnecessarily from across the table as he glanced over the rim of his tea-cup; all morning the archer had been like a baby chick that had mistaken Robin as it’s mother, following him everywhere.

It was nice to have been missed, but Robin was dreading the moment the rest of the Shepherds started crowding into the practically empty mess tent. He had tried to get there before everyone else so that he could actually eat before the others started hanging off of him like everyone else so far had been.

Chrom shrugged from next to Robin, Sumia sitting beside the Exalt eating from her own bowl as the quartet spoke. Tiki was on Robin’s other side, slowly eating from her own bowl and seemingly struggling to stay awake as she did so; after Robin had introduced her she’d been welcomed as a new member of the Shepherds, no questions asked, and offered breakfast. Olivia and Cherche were on cooking duty again, making Robin think he’d have to take a look at the roster and make sure that it was being rotated properly, and the timid Feroxi dancer let out a pitiful sniffle as she stirred the large pot. Despite knowing he was going to be there she had started bawling and clinging to him as soon as she’d seen Robin, completely the opposite to the graceful reaction he’d gotten from her partner Libra the previous evening; she’d practically strangled him, she’d hugged him so hard before Cherche had saved his life by dragging her behind the cooking bench.

“Once everyone wakes up and shakes off their celebratory hangovers I think we’ll need to have a war council,” Chrom said. “We’ll need to remain in Valm for the time being to make sure that the continent doesn’t descend into anarchy in the power vacuum.”

Robin perked up instantly, dreading the answer to the question he was about to ask. “So… playing politics, then?”

“It appears so,” Chrom said with a resigned sigh.

The tactician crossed his arms, closing his eyes and nodding a few times as if he were in deep contemplation. Coming to a decision he made a satisfied sound, opening his eyes again and resuming his breakfast.

“Well, I’d love to help you with that, but technically I’m dead, so…” he said, hiding his grin in his bowl.

Chrom burst out laughing as Sumia blinked a few times uncomprehendingly. Virion sighed and shook his head, no doubt rolling his eyes beneath his fringe, and Tiki let out a soft giggle.

“Well the first thing we need to do is decide what to do with Walhart dead,” Chrom said once he stopped laughing, making Robin choke on his food.

“Are you kidding?” the tactician asked. “He’s got to have some kind of line of succession; let the Imperials figure it out. Besides, how’d he wind up kicking the bucket, anyway? If I recall correctly it took four of us just to wound him, let alone…”

“Peace, Robin,” Chrom said, holding a hand up to forestall the tactician from getting too worked up. “It was the damndest thing. Out of nowhere, while Walhart was running roughshod over our lines, a lone swordsman appeared and started to duel with him. They fought each other to a standstill and then…”

Robin sighed and nodded his understanding once Chrom trailed off. Tiki had said Priam had been absent from the fighting…

“Priam,” Robin said after a moment. “The swordsman… his name was Sir Priam.”

“We will honour him as one of our own,” Chrom stated after a moment’s pause. “As for Walhart, I would personally have seen him brought back to Ylisse to stand trial for his crimes against us.”

Robin sat silently for a moment, choosing not to address the Exalt’s awful joke, mind working in overtime. Walhart had been, in a word, dangerous. He was the most physically dominating man Robin had ever met; the tactician had fallen out of the sky and landed on the Emperor, and Walhart had barely taken a step back. The monster had practically killed Morgan, and Chrom was saying he would have rather taken him alive for, of all things, a trial.

“Well, you’re definitely living up to your sister’s ideals,” Robin sighed.

Chrom blinked a few times, cocking his head slightly. “What do you mean?”

“See?” the tactician said to Sumia, ignoring the Exalt’s perplexed face. “He doesn’t even know he’s doing it!”

“I can’t help but feel vaguely insulted right now,” Chrom muttered as Robin and Sumia shared a quiet laugh at his expense.

“And to think, we actually missed him,” Virion drolled, placing his cup down and scooting to the side.

Before Robin could ask what the man was doing he noticed the white-and-green blur careening towards him across the table. The tactician was thrown backwards from his chair as Nowi barrelled into him, squealing in delight.

“You’re alive! You’re alive, alive, alive!” the young-seeming manakete cried shrilly, all laughter and smiles at her friend’s return.

“Yeah, and if you don’t let go of my neck that’ll change really fast!” Robin managed to gasp.

_Really,_ he wondered as Nowi climbed off of him, half dragged by a wistfully smiling Tiki. _Why must everyone hug me around the neck?_

“What happened to your hair!?” the manakete asked loudly, looking at the unruly white mop sitting atop Robin’s head. “It’s so pretty! It’s like clouds or snow! Oh! I know exactly what it needs! You wait right here, I’ll be right back!”

_Damn Virion, using manaketes as ammunition against me now…_ Robin thought, rubbing his chest where Nowi had hit him.

With that the energetic little manakete rushed out past the press of Shepherds waiting to get into the tent, all of whom stopped and stared when they noticed Robin.

“Riiiight,” Robin said, moving back to his chair and running a hand through his hair, a sheepish grin on his face. “It’s breakfast time now, isn’t it?”

There was another moment of silence before a shout came from the back of the crowd, spoiling the moment and growing steadily more distant.

“Waugh! It’s Robin’s ghost!” Vaike screamed as he ran as fast as he could. “I told ya! I told ya! He’s come back to haunt me! Run for your lives!”

*

“Geez, mom, I’ll be fine on my own,” Morgan grunted as she was lowered back onto her bedroll.

“And yet you could not even reach the latrines on your own,” Say’ri pointed out. “I cannot afford to not attend this meeting, but I cannot simply leave you here alone. Do you not share this tent with another? Where is she?”

Morgan perked up a little. “Noire? I have no idea. She’s probably pestering her father to protect her from Auntie Tharja’s weird curses again.”

Say’ri let out a sigh, sagging a little. “I will simply have to find Seiko and send her to watch over you while-”

“Er… ex-excuse me?” A timid voice said, light knocking coming from the thick canvas of the tent flap. “I… er, I couldn’t help but… overhear…”

“Yarne!” Morgan exclaimed, shooting into a sitting position and instantly regretting it as pain shot up her injured back and shoulder.

“Owwwwww,” she moaned, falling back as Yarne shuffled into the tent.

“You were eavesdropping?” Say’ri accused coldly, narrowing her eyes at the Taguel and dropping her hand reflexively to her sword’s hilt.

“No!” he said, eyes going wide and taking a step back. “It-it’s the ears! I couldn’t help it! But I… I can keep an e-eye on Morgan while you’re at… your… thingy…”

He trained off, trembling and looking exactly like an animal caught in the gaze of a hunter. Say’ri cast one glance at her ecstatically smiling and nodding daughter and relented; she didn’t have the time to waste anyway.

“Very well,” she said, stepping up to the Taguel, invading his personal space and getting right up into the taller boy’s face. “But if you lay so much as one hand on my daughter for any reason besides her health in my absence I shall have a new rabbit-fur coat. Are we clear?”

Yarne squeaked and nodded, ears flopping about from the manic movements. Morgan practically swooned from the cuteness on display from the terrified shape-shifter as the fur on his shoulders, arms and ears rippled with terror.

“I will return once my business is concluded, but that may be many hours from now,” Say’ri said sadly, moving to kneel by Morgan’s prone form.

“That’s okay,” the young tactician said cheerily. “You’re Queen, right? That means you’ve gotta be busy. When I can get up again I’ll start helping out with whatever I can, okay? I mean, if you want me to. That is what a Princess does, right? Help out?”

“Of course. I would welcome your assistance,” Say’ri smiled before leaning down to place a light kiss on her daughter’s forehead, before standing again, casting one final warning glare at Yarne, and leaving the tent.

The Taguel let out a sigh and relaxed a little, but was still tense when he sat down by Morgan’s side, fidgeting and looking around like a caged animal.

“Why the eyes the size of dinner plates?” Morgan asked curiously. “And why’re you sitting so far away? I practically have to shout to talk to you!”

They were alone now, so he should be able to calm down a little. But it looked like he was still on guard against something.

“Because you're always tugging on my ears and tormenting me,” Yarne replied, holding his long, fluffy ears close to his chest protectively.

“I wouldn't do anything like that anymore, silly!” Morgan laughed, a radiant smile lighting up her face.

“Uh, why not? I mean, I'm glad, but... Hey, you called me by my name just then. What happened to Bunny?”

“You've been a changed man in the last few battles,” Morgan explained. “It's only fun teasing you when you squirm and squeak and try to run away. There's no reason for any of that now.”

“So all that torment was your way of encouraging me to be braver?” the Taguel asked, wrinkling his nose a little.

“Nah,” Morgan said, waving her hand a little and trying to hide her master plan from him.

She had actually been trying to motivate the timid young man into being a little braver on the battlefield, in all honesty; it had worked, too! He’d even leapt to her defence against Walhart, even after the Emperor had tossed aside the other veteran Shepherds like an instructor breaking in the new recruits, completely heedless of his own safety. He’d been fighting on the front lines and he hadn’t even realized it yet; Morgan wasn’t about to tell him that, though. If she did he was liable to have a panic attack.

“Growing up, all girls know that boys overreact when they're teased,” Morgan said, hastily coming up with an excuse on the spot. “I figured it was worth trying, so I gave you a little push and watched what happened.”

“Well… thanks… I guess,” he muttered, looking away and stroking absently at his ears.

“Huh?” Morgan asked, looking over at him.

“It was the fear that you'd cuddle me to death that ‘encouraged’ me in combat. I guess I owe you one for taking my ears hostage… Which is weird, by the way.”

“So, what, I don't get to play with you anymore?” Morgan asked, feigning at being heartbroken.

“You're the one who said it was no fun to pick on me now,” Yarne reminded her with a small laugh.

They were silent for a few moments before Yarne glanced over, scratching his nose.

“Hey, so I've got to ask... In the end, were you trying to cheer me on, or were you really just torturing me for fun?”

Morgan’s heart jumped into her throat as she desperately tried not to blush.

_Timing could be better, but hey, what the hell,_ she thought to herself.

“Both, I suppose,” she admitted, taking a deep breath. “But more than either of those, I just... I just wanted to play with you. To… touch you.”

Yarne went still and blinked a few times, ears twitching a little. It was adorable, but Morgan couldn’t afford to get distracted at present.

“What's that supposed to mean?” he asked slowly.

“Rrgh, are you really going to make me say it in so many words?” Morgan asked, exasperated that he was being so dense. “I like you! Okay?!”

“Oh,” the Taguel said dumbstruck. “I guess that makes sense.”

“I mean, you were always kinda… there,” she explained quietly. “I don’t remember my past, or if you were in it, but you’ve been around constantly supporting me since we all gathered in Port Ferox. Always there in the background. Just having you around made me feel more confident.”

Yarne nodded silently.

“Plus you scored major points jumping on Walhart to get him off of me yesterday,” Morgan said with an awkward laugh. “So from here on, I hope we can have real fun together. Fun for both of us, I mean. Together. No more teasing, I promise!”

“Hmm,” Yarne sighed, finally relaxing a little more to a somewhat normal level. “I suppose you did help me to become less of a coward… And I guess I like you, too. Don't ask me why.”

“Really? Yay! Woo-hoo!” Morgan whooped, pumping her fists above her and wincing when she remembered her shoulder was still wounded.

“Wasn’t that going a little overboard?” Yarne asked with a sigh, obviously concerned as he leaned over her to inspect the bandages.

The young tactician surprised him by reaching up and pulling him into an awkward hug, oblivious to anything else around them at present as she linked her fingers behind his back so he couldn’t get away.

“Can I still call you Bunny?!” she asked excitedly, ignoring his desperate squirming.

“No,” Yarne half-shouted, trying to pull the girl off without causing his own strained muscles any further pain; something Morgan was not making easy for him. “Easy, easy! I’m still wounded here, too, remember!?”

“Ooh, and can I play with your ears every now and again? Maybe give you an updo?” Morgan persisted, still completely oblivious.

“No!” Yarne repeated a little more forcefully.

“Aw, worst boyfriend ever! You're no fun at all…” Morgan pouted, still not relinquishing her hold on Yarne’s shoulders.

“You don't want a boyfriend. You want a rag doll you can abuse!” Yarne muttered, giving up his struggling and deciding to wait for her to just get bored.

“I totally do!” Morgan laughed happily, rubbing her cheeks against his closest ear, the soft fur tickling at her skin. “Good thing there's no rule that says you can't be both, Bunny!”

It was Morgan’s turn to be surprised when Yarne shifted and pressed his lips to hers.

“I said don’t call me that,” he muttered when he pulled back from the stunned tactician.

Morgan smirked evilly, no longer able to hide the blush creeping up her face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, _Bunny_ ,” she whispered into his ear. “What’re you going to do to stop me?”

Yarne grinned before leaning forward again, Morgan moving to meet him this time.

*

“So what was it like with the resistance?” Ricken asked curiously from the crowd surrounding Robin, his short stature making it difficult to pinpoint exactly where the question had come from.

The tactician shrugged, leaning back in his chair and throwing a gesture in Tiki’s direction.

“Ask her. She spent more time with them than I did. But from what I saw it was like an army of Shepherds. Scary stuff.”

Most of the Shepherds new and old were crowded into the mess tent, eating their breakfasts and having one giant communal conversation with Robin at their centre. Of course he had been nearly killed by strangling hugs and bruising slaps and punches of greeting, but he had endured the initial burst of attention. Vaike, however, had yet to return to the tent. Miriel had given up trying to coax him at some point and bade Robin farewell, choosing to make sure her husband still ate by bringing food to him. Nowi had returned, too, and had spent about fifteen minutes organizing an entire garden’s worth of colourful flowers in Robin’s ‘blank canvas’ hair. Chrom and Sumia had disappeared as soon as the crowd had descended on Robin, the tactician barely hearing the Exalt say something about needing to prepare for the council as he was crushed in a friendly headlock by Sully.

“So what took y’all so long ta get back?” Donnel drawled, spooning some of the porridge in his bowl to his mouth.

Robin was interested to note that the young soldier was now sporting a cross-shaped scar on one cheek, making him look like a hardened veteran in his Ylissean uniform. No doubt the village girls back on his island would be fawning all over the boy next time he went home.

“Discretion is the better part of valour,” Robin said nonchalantly.

“We snuck in right under the Imperial army’s nose,” Tiki explained with a yawn. “We stole or made uniforms matching theirs, then pretended to be part of the Imperial army and blended in right up to the Capital. It was all Robin’s idea.”

A chorus of ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ greeted the revelation, making Robin chuckle and roll his eyes.

“And the Feroxi?” Stahl asked, on the edge of his seat beside his wife and daughter. “When did they join up with the Resistance?”

Robin grimaced internally; he’d already told the story once, but apparently he’d left a lot out, lacking the same artistic flair for telling a story that Virion possessed. The archer in question was sitting in the corner watching the unfolding spectacle with a smirk on his face, no doubt enjoying Robin floundering at something he was so good at.

“Well,” Robin said with a smile plastered on his face. “We ran across them by chance when…”

*

_It’s not that I don’t enjoy the attention,_ Robin reasoned as he ducked between tents, hoping to avoid any of the others that were so insistent on spending time with him now that he was back. _I just can’t handle another neck hug, arm punch, drink offer or training challenge._

His friends and comrades were just over-excited that he had seemingly ‘returned from the dead’. He had gotten distracted and wound up talking for a lot longer than he’d intended to; he was supposed to be fetching Morgan breakfast, after all. The food in his hands was testament to that fact; a bowl of the same oats he had eaten, diluted with fresh sheep’s milk to make it easier for the poor girl to digest, plus a fresh waterskin.

_Sheep’s milk, huh?_ Robin thought, wrinkling his nose at the strange smelling stuff. _Well, there were no cows around here, so… I hope it’s not too bad._

Robin slowed, dipping his pinkie finger into the porridge and tasting it.

The tactician rolled the peculiar taste around in his mouth a little; it was… different; weird, but not all that bad. It would do, though; apparently cows were scarce in Valm, despite all the grassland they could use as pastures. Sheep were apparently the big thing on this side of the ocean, meaning the entire time Robin had been eating meat he had been mistaken about the animal it had come from; he hadn’t been eating beef, he’d been eating lamb.

_Probably should have tasted it_ before _I started bringing it to Morgan,_ Robin thought as he started walking again, staring down at the bowl. _Hindsight really is 20/20, isn’t it? However I find this taste… oddly addictive…_

The tactician was so engrossed with the small bowl in his hands and reminding himself not to eat the contents of it that he completely missed the shadow falling across the gap between the tents when he stepped out, and collided with the shadow’s owner, desperately shifting his weight and throwing himself backwards in an attempt to not drop his daughter’s meal.

With a loud thump Robin fell on his rear, hissing in pain and yet also relieved he’d managed to save the porridge. Looking up he could see Sumia sitting in a similar position, rubbing her head and moaning in pain as she tried desperately to collect herself.

_Oh gods I just assaulted my Queen_ , Robin thought with a mixture of horror and amusement as he climbed to his feet and dusted himself off with one hand, before offering it to the former-pegasus-knight-turned-Queen.

“Sorry, Sumia,” Robin said earnestly as she allowed him to pull her up. “I didn’t see you there. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said with a sad sigh. “By now I’m used to falling down like this.”

“I thought you were at that big whatever-council with Chrom?” Robin said, momentarily forgetting his current quest.

“I was,” she said chirpily as the duo began walking again, Sumia falling in with Robin as she apparently completely forgot what she was doing beforehand. “But it ended pretty quickly. All we really managed to decide was that there was going to be a peace summit in Chon’sin in about a month.”

“Really?” Robin asked, curiosity piqued. “Why Chon’sin?”

“Well, Lord Liung pointed out that it is, out of all the kingdoms in Valm, the most untouched by the war, so the different leaders would be most comfortable there. Chrom agreed to it, because he wants to give the Shepherds a chance to rest someplace safe. And I think Lady Say’ri agreed to host this summit because she wants to use it as a show of power now that she’s in charge of the nation. But I could be wrong on that last one; I’m hardly the politician you or Chrom are.”

“You know how you can tell Chrom and I are good at politics?” Robin asked in a low voice. “Because we absolutely hate it. You’re probably right about it all, though; post-war stuff tends to be pretty transparent. Might be nice to get a chance to rest again.”

Robin let himself relax a little as they strolled through the camp, occasionally waving the other Shepherds that were out and about and trading greetings with the ones that crossed their path; it was idyllic, in a way, the atmosphere in the camp right now. It felt like a different, secluded world. If one didn’t look too hard it was easy to completely miss the bandages and limping, the bruises and slings.

“Wait,” Robin said, snapping himself out of his reverie. “Where exactly is Chon’sin, anyway?”

“Don’t you stare at maps most of the day?” Sumia asked playfully.

“Yeah, tiny battlefield maps,” Robin snorted.

“It’s to the east,” Sumia answered him. “Near the coast. The Capital, where we’ll be headed, is in the mountains. Say’ri said that it would be snowing by the time we get there, but there’s a private palace just outside the Capital that she’s having prepared to house the Shepherds while we’re there.”

_I hope it’s a big palace, in that case,_ Robin chuckled inwardly, thinking about the size of the current roster of Shepherds. _But snowing this early in the season? It must be pretty high above sea-level…_

“That high up, huh…” Robin mused, something about the entire conversation striking him as odd.

Then it clicked.

_Wait,_ Robin thought, eyes widening. _If Say’ri was at that meeting then… who’s with Morgan?_

“I gotta go,” he said quickly, rushing off in the direction of his daughter’s tent with a strange sense of foreboding and ignoring Sumia’s questions about what he was doing.

*

Robin panted a little as he reached Morgan’s tent, still carefully cradling the bowl of rapidly cooling oats. Rather than barging straight in Robin decided it was probably a good idea to reheat the little wooden bowl with a small fire spell. Doing his best to ignore the strange sense of foreboding that just wouldn’t leave him be, the tactician conjured a small flame into existence above the fingers of his free hand and held the bowl just out of reach of the flames, glancing at his daughter’s tent the entire time.

She was most likely fine; safe in there with her tent-mate Noire watching over her; the timid archer was a good friend and practically family. Or would be when she was born in this timeline. There was no way that Say’ri would leave Morgan alone with her wounds, anyway, and-

A soft moan from within the tent made Robin’s little fire spell explode upwards before sputtering out, charring the bottom of the bowl and almost lighting the cuff of his coat in the process.

_Morgan!_ the tactician thought desperately, swinging the tent flap wide and racing in.

He shouldn’t have left her alone! He should have just done what she needed, rather than being a child and palming it off to Say’ri! Now she was alone and in pain and it was his… fault…

Three sets of eyes widened at once as three throats let out strangled sounds of surprise. A shirtless Yarne leapt off Morgan like she was on fire, the young tactician quickly pulling her sheet back up over her bandaged but otherwise bare chest while Robin looked on, absolutely stunned. They all stared at each other a moment, Robin completely at a loss as to what to do in this situation.

_How… I… What… They… Marp? Marp is good. Let’s go with marp._

“I’m so sorry, Sir Robin!” Yarne was saying quickly, eyes wild and clearly on the verge of hyperventilating from fear. “Lady Say’ri asked me to keep watch on Morgan and I’ve been so worried about her and I really care about her and she was hurt and I was so, er, worried and please don’t kill me you’ll be condemning an entire race to extinction if you do and-”

“Take a breath before you pass out,” Morgan said softly, grabbing the shirtless Taguel’s hand reassuringly.

The older tactician blinked a few more times, watching the way they looked at each other.

“Please don’t let me interrupt anything,” Robin mumbled, mind still blank as he set down the bowl on the closest flat surface and turned on his heel, all but falling back out through the tent flaps.

_I did not… need to see that. How… how do I react to this? I’m so… so lost here. Chrom! Where’s Chrom!? He’ll know what to do! Or Virion! Yeah, Virion’s used to this kind of thing! Hell, I’ll take Vaike right now! Anybody!_

Robin set off at a run, looking for anyone that could help him sort through his incredibly conflicting thoughts and emotions.

*

“Well that was… incredibly awkward,” Morgan sighed, relaxing a little as her father left the tent without lighting anything, or anyone, on fire.

He’d actually taken it quite well, all things considered. Yarne, on the other hand, looked like he was the one that belonged in a bed resting, not Morgan; the Taguel was pale and shaking, looking like he’d just stared down a dragon or something of similar fear-inducing qualities. This, considering the general consensus in the camp at the moment was that Robin had fought his way back from the dead, could be considered an accurate assumption.

“I just saw my whole life flash before my eyes,” he muttered, sinking to the floor and staring into space.

Morgan chuckled, wincing a little as she managed to push herself into a sitting position. She was starting to get a little more mobile now that her stiff limbs were being used again, but most everything still hurt. Fortunately Yarne had been being veeeeeery gentle…

“Aw, poor Bunny,” she couldn’t help but laugh. “And you were all worried about Noire being the one to walk in!”

“I think I had a heart attack,” Yarne muttered in a high voice, falling backwards onto his back. “I just had a heart attack. I’m seeing stars. I’m done for. If I don’t die here Robin’s going to kill me for sure, anyway.”

“Don’t worry,” she laughed. “I’ll protect you! I can’t let anybody hurt you now that I have exclusive access to your ears whenever I want them! But, uh, could you pass me that bowl? I’m starving!”

Yarne let out another moan. His life had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.

“I’m not feeding you,” he mumbled, rising.

“Aw…” Morgan moaned. “Pleeeeeease? I’m wounded, remember?”

“No.”

*

The morning was growing late and beginning to fade into lunch when Lucina’s eyes finally fluttered open. The first thing that the Princess picked up on was that there was something different about the camp’s atmosphere that morning. For a moment she lay there, simply trying to pass it off on the fact she was only now waking and that change in perspective was what was causing the difference, but that wasn’t it. There was a sense of calm about the camp now; a lack of the sense of tension that had built up lately.

Everything had turned out okay. Better than okay; everything had gone from horribly wrong to perfect in the space of a single day. That was the atmosphere she was picking up on now. Everyone was relaxed now; everyone was calm now that the hostilities had officially ceased.

But that would only last as long as it took for them to get back to Ylisse; then it was back to preparing for the battle against Grima for the fate of the very future…

Lucina forced such thoughts from her mind, sitting up and stretching her arms above her head. All of that could wait. For now, she would enjoy the brief and fleeting peace that they had earned.

As she rose from her cot she noticed the healing staff still sitting propped up against her small table from the previous evening; once again she had stubbornly refused to hinder the other healers and Robin had been forced to do it himself. She had insisted that her wounds would be fine until morning, but the tactician wouldn’t hear of it, forcing her to sit there while he fumbled around with powers he still wasn’t accustomed to using. It had gone much smoother this time, Robin casting the spell on his first attempt and healing all of her injuries in a manner of minutes without needing to make physical contact, something Lucina was secretly slightly disappointed about. Aside from the incredible exhaustion she had felt, it was as if she hadn’t stepped foot onto the battlefield afterwards. There weren’t even any new scars. Truly he had a gift for anything arcane that he set his mind to.

Lucina let out a small sigh, smiling as she thought of Robin carrying her the entire way back to camp, before her eyes widened and she stopped moving.

Had she just been swooning?

No! Of course not! She was a Princess! Princesses didn’t swoon, no matter how perfect the man they loved was!

Lucina quickly pulled Severa’s spare blouse on before doing the same to her pants, forcefully trying to stop herself from blushing in embarrassment at her own thought processes and trying to find a distraction.

Gerome had returned with Robin; the quiet wyvern rider had quite a talent with a needle and thread, even if he insisted it was only a hobby, and he had been the one that had made her ‘Marth’ disguise in the first place. Now that she had grown accustomed to it she was considering requesting that he make her another.

She should also make an attempt to seek out her sister and cousin, too; it had been years since she had seen them both, and she had much to discuss with them. Deciding simply wait for lunch to eat, Lucina would find Cynthia first and discuss their current predicament. She had no doubt been given a tent of her own, being royalty, so she would be close by.

The Princess strapped Falchion to her hip and stepped out into the merry sunlight of the Shepherd’s camp, looking left and right and deciding to take the path that led closer to her parent’s tent.

After taking a few steps she heard a shriek and the object of her search, Cynthia, came barrelling out of one of the tents in the row ahead of her, gasping and breathing heavily with wide eyes, moving faster than Lucina had ever seen her sister move before.

“Cynthia!” she called, hand dropping to Falchion’s hilt as she broke into a run. “What happened back there!? Are you alright?”

The younger girl looked up with large, wet eyes full of terror before latching onto her sister.

“Lucinaaaaaa!” Cynthia cried.

“Breathe, little sister,” Lucina soothed, patting her on the back. “Calm down and tell me what happened. You have nothing to fear now that I’m here.”

“B-b-bug!” Cynthia managed to stammer, pointing back to her new tent. “A bug!”

“A bug?” Lucina repeated incredulously. “As in… an insect? All of that commotion over a bug?”

Cynthia vehemently shook her head as she stepped back from her sister, her pigtails flying back and forth.

“A huge freakish nightmare with gross hairy legs!” she insisted. “It’s horrible!”

Lucina let out a sigh. “You’re telling me that all that screaming and flailing was over an insect? I thought Risen were attacking. You could have set the camp into a panic.”

Cynthia looked about to respond before she froze: there was a loud buzzing coming from inside her tent, drawing closer.

The younger blue-haired girl let out a loud shriek, panicking and trying to hide behind Lucina.

“It’s back!” she cried. “And it can fly!? S-stay away! Don’t let it come near me!”

Lucina rolled her eyes, frowning as she looked over her shoulder. “Come now, we spent years camping outdoors in the future! I don’t see what all the fuss is-”

Lucina turned back to the tent, the words dying in her throat as she came face to face with the object of her sister’s terror and let out a small shriek of her own, eyes widening in surprise and taking a few steps back as the insect did a lazy circle in the air inches from her nose and disappeared back into the tent. It was indeed very large and intimidating…

“See!?” Cynthia shouted, still hiding behind her sister and looking over Lucina’s shoulder. “See!? It’s the stuff of nightmares! Now hurry up and kill it! Kill it with fire magic or something!”

“Oh no!” Lucina exclaimed, taking another step back. “I’m not going near that thing! It’s huge! Besides, I’m not a mage, I don’t know fire magic!”

She knew she was being irrational and silly at this point, and that it was only a bug, but… it was so big. Plus it was fun to bait her sister like this, something she hadn’t done since they were children.

“What!?” Cynthia cried, circling back around Lucina to glare at her face. “What happened to having nothing to fear now that you’re here!? How are you going to save the future if you can’t even smoosh one little bug!?”

Lucina couldn’t help but disagree with her sister; it was most assuredly not a ‘little’ bug.

“Those…” she said, clearing her throat and composing herself. “Those two things are not related in the slightest. And how do you plan on being the big hero if you’re scared of a bug?”

“I’d sooner die a craven than touch that horrid thing!” Cynthia persisted, latching her hands onto Lucina’s shoulders. “Look, you’re the older one! You do it! Father told you to protect your little sister, didn’t he?”

Lucina deflated. Cynthia had played her ultimate hand, one that she knew Lucina had no defence against.

“I… suppose he did,” she admitted hesitantly, steeling her resolve. “Alright. I’ll… do something about it.”

“I knew I could depend on you, Lucy!” Cynthia shouted, throwing her arms in the air and doing a little celebratory spin. “Three cheers for the once and future Exalt!”

“You’re a royal, too, you know,” Lucina grumbled as they inched carefully into the tent, Cynthia clutching Lucina’s shoulders and using her as a human shield. “It wouldn’t kill you to show a little more spine.”

The younger royal let out a gasp, pointing to one of the crates in the corner.

“There!” she whispered excitedly. “Now’s your chance! It just crawled behind that crate!”

“It’s too dark,” Lucina complained, squinting in the dim light. “I can’t see it…”

“Then you should light up Falchion!” Cynthia said matter-of-factly. “Then once you spot it, ker-STAB!”

Lucina stopped, straightening and turning to glare at her sister.

“Falchion isn’t some common pitchfork, Cynthia,” Lucina chided. “It is a blade of legend and is deserving of respect.”

“All right, all right, I’m sorry!” Cynthia whispered, holding her hands out in a placating fashion. “Sheesh, I was just-”

Cynthia let out another scream as the bug flew up from behind the crate, circling them and heading towards the tent’s entrance.

“It’s flying again! It’s flying!” Cynthia cried, ducking behind Lucina as they spun to watch its progress.

“As formidable a foe as it may be, I won’t allow it to set a single hairy leg on you!” Lucina promised, grinning and losing herself to the moment, stepping forward as the bug landed on the ground near the entrance.

“Go Lucina, go!” Cynthia cheered. “Get him!”

A shadow blocked out the light from the entrance, making both of the girls look up sheepishly. Standing there with his sword drawn was their father, Chrom, with a very serious scowl on his face.

“Really?” he said, looking back and forth between the girls and the insect in question and sheathing his sword. “Really? All that for one little bug?”

“Father?” Both girls said simultaneously, in matching fearful tones.

“Honestly, you two,” Chrom scolded, crossing his arms and bringing his heel down on the huge bug with a soft thud and crunch. “What were you two thinking!? Half the camp started panicking, thinking there were assassins on the loose!”

“Sorry,” Cynthia muttered, looking down.

“I’m sorry, father,” Lucina echoed, gaze not leaving her father’s irritated expression.

“Just see that it never happens again,” Chrom sighed, holding a hand to his temple. “You can both report for kitchen duty tonight to make up for it.”

With that, the Exalt turned and left, leaving the two girls looking sheepishly at each other before they burst into laughter.

“It figures he would be the one to get it,” Cynthia said once they’d calmed down. “Just like when we were kids. He’s unshakable.”

“True,” Lucina agreed, leaning back against the cluttered table sitting off to one side. “Although he was much less calm when it came to scolding us.”

“Don’t be down about it!” Cynthia giggled. “I actually had a lot of fun. I can’t remember the two of us ever getting in trouble like that before, it felt like… I don’t know, like we were a normal family for a second there.”

Lucina smiled a little, knowing exactly what her sister was talking about.

“I confess,” she said with another grin, “That it did have its moments.”

*

Robin took a long, shuddering gulp from his tea cup before setting it back down with a clatter and a sigh.

“And that’s what happened,” he muttered to the archer sitting across from him.

Virion nodded sagely, fingers steepled as he leaned back and closed his eyes. Then without warning he leaned forward and rapped Robin on the head with his knuckles.

“Ow! Hey!” the tactician shouted in surprise. “What…”

“Your intelligence really only extends as far as your tactics, doesn’t it?” Virion said with a theatrical sigh.

“Care to explain why when I come in here looking for advice you decide to hit me and call me an idiot?” Robin growled, rubbing his head.

“Because you were acting irrationally,” Virion said lazily, rolling his eyes.

“I think my reaction is perfectly justified, thank you,” Robin countered, crossing his arms.

“Robin,” the archer said slowly, leaning forward and grinning. “When I found you, you had just spent fifteen minutes running around the camp in a panic screaming about bunny-eared grand-children. I’d say you were being a little irrational.”

Virion had managed to calm Robin down long enough to sit him down in the tent that he shared with Cherche and force a tea cup into his hands. Admittedly, Robin may have overreacted slightly. But only slightly.

“Okay, maybe you’re right,” the tactician conceded with a sigh.

“Besides, Morgan’s an adult,” Virion said gently. “You will get your very own baby Morgan to raise and dote on, don’t you worry; but this one is already full grown. There is nothing you can do if she wishes to be with Yarne.”

“I disagree,” Robin muttered darkly. “In fact, I believe there’s only one recourse available to me here.”

“Do I even want to ask?” Virion muttered.

“I have to kill the Taguel,” Robin said, punching one fist into his open hand. “It’s the only way. Yarne has to die.”

“Now you are most definitely overreacting,” Virion drolled, rapping Robin on the head again.

“It’s rabbit stew on the menu tonight!” Robin cried, jumping to his feet and making to charge out the tent before Virion yanked him back down into a sitting position.

“Fine,” Robin relented, pouting as Virion cuffed him again. “Maybe Tharja can help me; a curse that’s irritating, but not debilitating. Would that be better?”

“Did you regress to childhood while you were dead?” the other man asked exasperatedly, shaking his head.

“I will not let this outrage stand!” Robin cried, jumping to his feet again.


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter 34**

Life at the Shepherd camp was slowly winding down for the day; Sully had beaten all comers into submission on the training field, including a number of Feroxi and Chon’sin warriors looking to test their mettle; Inigo had apparently snuck off to the Ylissean army camp, more specifically to the nurses’ quarters, heedless of the danger he was putting himself in by violating the Head Nurse’s strict fraternization policies; Noire and Henry had given up on trying to undo whatever irritating hex Tharja had come up with to torture her daughter with that day and slunk off to the mess tent; Frederick, as always with Donnel in tow, had completed his inspection of the Ylissean and Feroxi camps, ensuring that everything was up to standard – his standard, not military standard which was apparently still too low; the healers in the Shepherds, now with the addition of Brady joining them, had returned from assisting the wounded villagers from the surrounding area and, in an act of incredible good-faith on Lissa’s part, had been in the capital all afternoon healing the wounded Valmese soldiers, too; Say’ri had given out her orders, and the majority of the Chon’sin army had begun returning to their homeland, including the conscripts from the Imperial army, although she would follow with the wounded and the Shepherds the next day; Cordelia had gotten reports from all of her Pegasus Knights, beaming like a proud parent when she learned that none had been killed all throughout the war as she looked over her paperwork at the end of the day; Cynthia and Lucina, true to their father’s orders, had been in the mess tent with Stahl since late afternoon, doing their best to keep up with the experienced cook; most of the rest of the Shepherds had congregated in the mess tent, preparing for dinner to be served before they went about their nightly rituals.

Robin sat at a long table in the corner of the mess tent, possibly the only one actually frowning in the entire camp, gripping his knife and fork pointed upwards in his hands so tight his knuckles were white. With him were Tharja, Cordelia, and Severa, all looking with raised eyebrows at Virion who was doing his best to ignore the tactician.

The awkward atmosphere had intensified when Morgan and Yarne had arrived together, the smiling young tactician using the Taguel as a crutch, talking animatedly as he practically carried her to a seat. A seat as far away from Robin as possible, he had noticed. However the younger man’s hands had never wandered, he had been a perfect gentleman, serving Morgan’s food for her, a weak and nutritious gruel that many of the wounded Shepherds were still eating as a matter of course to help them heal, and had been rewarded with a perfectly chaste kiss on the cheek. Robin was, on the one hand, happy his daughter was happy. However on the other he was about to jump across the tent and turn Yarne into a fur scarf, and he wasn’t sure entirely why yet.

“He seems… tense,” Cordelia whispered to no one in particular, eying Robin over the small stack of papers she was perusing while waiting for dinner to finish being prepared.

“He is merely being childish,” Virion said haughtily. “If you ignore him he will stop. Do not validate his most ridiculous of fantasies. Does anyone know what the most beauteous Princesses of Ylisse are serving for dinner tonight?”

“I think someone said something about rabbit stew,” Severa said, clearly bored with the conversation as she lazily propped her chin up with one hand, elbow resting on the table.

Robin and Virion both went silent.

“I swear I had nothing to do with this,” Robin said, corners of his mouth twitching a little before he and Virion began snorting with laughter.

“Ah, I knew you could still smile,” Virion said as Robin’s anger act finally dropped and the two men calmed down a little.

“Dammit,” Robin chuckled, setting down his cutlery. “You knew if I laughed I’d break. Ah, I don’t care anymore anyway. Because now he has to deal with Say’ri, and she scares the hell outta everyone. Including me.”

Virion was about to respond, no doubt some witty rejoinder about all women scaring Robin to some degree, and the others around the table all raised curious looks before a commotion from the entrance to the tent drew everyone’s eyes.

“Hark, noble companions and allies!” Owain cried as he exploded into the long tent. “Prepare yourselves, for Owain Dark, hero of the future and scion of legend has deemed fit to join you all in-”

Whatever the blonde boy was about to ramble was cut off when his father Lon’qu slapped him in the back of the head before silently stepping past and joining a giggling Lissa and perplexed looking Chrom and Sumia at the head table.

“Oh gods,” Severa muttered as Owain spotted them, a big grin breaking out on his face again.

“Do we want to be elsewhere?” Robin asked, finally paying attention to something besides Yarne. “Because we can totally be elsewhere for you.”

“Gods no,” Severa said in an angry whisper. “Don’t leave me alone with him! I caught him naming every piece of equipment in the supply tent today, for Naga’s sake!”

“Aw, that’s cute!” Cordelia cooed, holding her face in both hands.

“That is not the only strange happening of the last few days,” Virion muttered, eying Robin.

“Yeah,” the tactician muttered back. “I could swear I saw Miriel emit actual human emotion this morning.”

“No,” the archer responded in a mock-shocked tone.

“Be nice,” Cordelia warned, obviously trying not to laugh as she lightly nudged Robin’s arm. “She was just happy you were alive.”

“Oh gods…” Severa repeated, sinking in her chair.

“What-ho, Severa!” Owain greeted loudly once he was closer. “Might I join you and your boon comp-”

“Table’s full,” she said quickly, cutting him off and turning to face away.

Robin and Virion both winced sympathetically for the boy’s sake, but rather than get down from Severa’s harsh treatment it actually seemed to encourage Owain further. Fortunately, before either could begin shouting Cynthia’s high girlish voice rang out calling that dinner was ready, and Severa made her escape while Owain was distracted.

“Ah, to be young again,” Virion said with a wistful smile as the blonde swordsman made off after her. “So full of energy! So full of life!”

“So noisy,” Tharja muttered darkly as she, Virion and Cordelia all stood up to get in line for the food.

“I think it’s cute,” Cordelia repeated, smiling at her daughter’s back as she tried desperately to ignore Owain. “Oh? Robin? Are you not… eating? Robin?”

The tactician had disappeared, having spotted the Ylissean messenger peeking through the mess tent’s entrance.

“Don’t tell him I’m here,” Robin whispered desperately from beneath the table.

“Of course, my friend; we would never dream of it!” Virion said soothingly, making wild gestures and pointing at the table, mouthing ‘he’s under here’ as obviously as he could to the perplexed messenger.

“Er… Lord-Tactician Robin?” the messenger asked cautiously, approaching the table.

“Nope,” Robin said from his hiding spot, voice muffled by the table. “Robin’s dead. No one here but us camp fairies.”

“Just leave the papers and we’ll see that Robin gets them,” Cordelia said to the poor messenger, who gratefully did as he was told before beating a hasty retreat away from the eccentric Shepherds.

“Dammit,” the tactician muttered as he popped up from beneath the table and reaching for the package of papers the messenger had left behind.

“You should eat first,” Tharja said, always the first to worry about Robin’s health.

“I’ll eat later,” he sighed, hanging his head as he rose. “Frederick must finally have tracked me down. You know the saying; no rest for the wickedly handsome.”

“I think you added an unnecessary word to that saying,” Virion muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Make sure Vaike and Stahl don’t eat all the food on me!” Robin said, waving over his shoulder as he left the tent.

_I hate this job sometimes,_ he thought to himself, casting one final glare at Yarne before leaving. Despite his earlier statement apparently he did still care somewhat.

*

_Forty percent Ylissean and Feroxi casualties, keeping in mind we only had about half of our standing army here_ , Robin thought, leafing through the large stack of papers and reports while making notes on more sheets. _Twenty percent Chengshi casualties, limited mostly to the outriders and scouts; sixty percent Chon’sin casualties, due in no small part to the battle at the Demon’s Ingle. Only five percent Resistance casualties; Priam really is as good as I thought. Valmese Imperial Regular casualties are still being tallied, but it looks like… a little over seventy-five from preliminary reports. Dynasts and conscript casualties are still unknown; estimated at… thirty percent? Or is that a ‘two’? Gah! I can’t read this handwriting!_

Robin sighed, leaning back in his chair and letting his head hang back.

_What a mess. The wounded are another matter entirely; how in Naga’s name are we supposed to get so many seriously wounded soldiers back to Ylisse and Regna Ferox? Oh, right. That’s my job to figure out. Damn._

He had returned to his tent almost immediately, stopping only long enough to grab a small bread-roll to fill his stomach from a passing Ylissean cook delivering them to the Shepherds’ mess; good timing really on the baker’s part. Lighting an oil-lamp Robin had diligently set to work, knowing that it would just continue to pile up if he didn’t start now, especially while Morgan was out of commission.

The reports were all pretty bleak, but at least there was still positive activity from all of the armies. Liung had ordered the majority of his army back to Chengshi, although one hundred men and two of his Generals were to accompany him to Chon’sin. The Chon’sin army and the conscripts from Say’ri’s kingdom were already on the move, carrying most of their wounded with them; apparently they were under orders to simply return home for the time being. The Resistance army were acting as a police force in Valm Capital while the regular army was stood-down, assisting the city Guard in maintaining order; so far there had been no rumblings from the Imperials, and a number of the higher ranked officers still alive were in talks about who would be attending the summit in Chon’sin.

_Leaders attending that have been confirmed so far…_ Robin thought, searching for a particular report he’d seen a second ago. _Ah! Here we go… Queen Say’ri of Chon’sin; that’s a given. Lord Exalt Chrom the First of Ylisse; try saying that ten times fast. Khan Regnant Flavia of Regna Ferox; I hope Say’ri has a lot of beer on hand. King Liung of Chengshi; of course he’d go. The as-yet-undetermined Imperial delegation, which has twenty-four hours to finalize a response; I hope they get their butts in gear. And…_

Robin sighed, his eyes closing for a moment after he took a look at the sheet. “’Sir Wallace, former Second to the Captain of the Valmese Capital Guard and Current Leader of the Resistance is attending with a delegation of ten men, despite his wounds’. Dammit, Priam. We could have used you.”

Robin tossed the sheet uncaringly to the top of the pile on his desk.

“Good for Wallace, though,” the tactician muttered, sinking back into his chair and resting his hands behind his head. “Smart man. He’ll keep the Imperials in line.”

Chon’sin was going to be a madhouse; Robin could already tell. Despite not having any memories of ever attending a summit like this, he somehow got the gut feeling that it would turn into a circus.

_At least if it turns into a circus there’ll be some entertainment…_ Robin thought, chuckling quietly at his own turn of phrase as he looked at the names listed for the Ylissean delegation. Of course, just below Chrom and ‘Queen Sumia of Ylisse’s’ names was his. Right at the top of the list, exactly where he hated being.

_Didn’t I quit politics?_ He wondered, rocking on his chair. _I wonder if the ‘I’m dead’ excuse will fly? Probably not. What’s next, what’s next…? Casualty reports… Gaaaah… Bugger it. I need some air._

The tactician stood, stretching his arms above his head and wincing when his back gave an audible crack, vowing to look into getting a more supportive camp chair for the next campaign as he stepped out of the tent, slinging his oversized sword over one shoulder as he went.

_As big as it is, I think I like this sword,_ Robin thought idly as he strolled through the darkened camp. _What was it supposed to be called? Sol? I hope Say’ri doesn’t want it back._

Robin had been at the paperwork for a few hours now and had already exhausted his meagre emergency ‘work stash’ of dried fruits and nuts he kept on hand for just such an occasion. Procuring more was just one more thing to add to the list of things to do, but he would rather avoid the Shepherds’ wagons for a little while; Anna was still viciously hunting the ‘vandal’ that had assaulted her wagon, so Robin felt the urge to lie low overpowering his urge to eat.

She couldn’t stay mad forever… could she?

At least it was late, so she would have given up her attempts to locate the culprit for the evening; in fact most of the Shepherds would be asleep right now. Robin had long ago given up on a regular sleeping pattern, resigning himself instead to napping when he could rather than sleeping a full eight hours. Wandering through the camp in an attempt to let his over-worked brain cool off, Robin sighed as he stared upwards in a small puff of white as a cloud moved to cover the moon in the chill night breeze. Winter truly was getting close; another year gone. How many more would Grima wait to act? Perhaps he already was, and the Shepherds just had no idea. Reports of Risen in the Valmese countryside were increasing, but now that the Dynasts and conscripts were disbanding they should be able to defend the villages a little better...

The tactician stopped and spun when he heard a sudden scream echo from the direction of the mess tent, melancholy thoughts instantly pushed to the back of his mind; between meals the Shepherds often used the large open tent as a common area, but being so late there wouldn’t be many that would still be there…

“That sounded like Cordelia,” Robin muttered, beginning to jog in the direction of the mess.

_That would be just my luck_ , Robin thought with a grimace as he raced through the gaps between tents, steadily picking up speed. _Assassins attacking the Ylissean command structure, no doubt. It’s a smart move, though; strike while our guard is down. Dammit, we can’t afford this right now! Cordelia wouldn’t go down that easily, though; none of the Ylissean leaders would!_

Robin rounded a corner, pulling Sol free of its sheath over his shoulder as he did and sprinted the last stretch to the mess tent, skidding to a halt as his worry turned to confusion.

Cordelia, Sumia, and Severa were in the tent with Frederick, and Cordelia had her arms wrapped around the Knight Commander’s neck in a… hug? She was half laughing, half crying as Frederick actually smiled for the first time in the three or four years Robin had known the Knight.

“Robin!” Sumia said excitedly when she spotted him, before her face dropped when she spotted the sword in his hands. “What’s the sword for?”

“Er… nothing,” the tactician said sheepishly, returning Sol to its sheathe and stepping into the tent. “I just thought we were under atta-ACK!”

“Robin I’m getting married!” Cordelia cried, wrapping her arms around his neck, unfortunately still wearing her armour this time.

“Congratulations,” the tactician managed to choke out as the life was hugged out of him.

“Thank you, Robin,” Frederick said solemnly with a nod.

_He still hates me_ , Robin thought with a jerk as Cordelia shifted, moving him with her. _Gods she’s a lot stronger than she looks!_

“Geez, mom,” Severa groaned as she pulled her mother off of Robin. “Are you trying to kill him?”

The younger redhead let out a little shriek as she was wrapped in a hug now, too.

_Fortunately for the both of them, Frederick is possibly the only one in the world with the constitution to stand up to one of those hugs,_ Robin thought, gasping for breath and trying not to laugh as Severa made the same face he was just making over her mother’s shoulder. _This’ll definitely be good for him, too. Mellow him out a little._

“Run before… she gets you too,” he gasped to Sumia.

“I’m so happy for you!” the Queen sniffled to her best friend, oblivious to Robin’s warning. “And I can even help you plan your wedding!”

“Oh, please do!” Cordelia gushed, finally releasing Severa, who managed to stumble without falling to stand next to Robin. “Your wedding with Chrom was so beautiful… I still tear up just thinking about it!”

“Don’t cry or you’ll make me start!” Sumia said, hugging her friend and letting out an even more pitiful sniffle.

“Oh brother,” Robin muttered, rolling his eyes.

Severa let out a chuckle from next to Robin, smiling widely as she watched the two women discussing table decorations and dresses; not many children got to say they were present during their parent’s engagement and subsequent wedding, so this situation must have been quite the novelty for her. Frederick had a much more subdued look, but it was still a vast improvement over his usual glower; no doubt he was only now realizing what he was getting himself in for wedding-wise. The two highest-ranking officers in the Ylissean Haildom were getting married, to each other, no less; this would wind up being a huge deal.

“I’ll find some other people that can help us, too!” Sumia went on. “Chrom was such a big help I’m sure he’d be delighted to do so again, and there are so many organized people in the Shepherds, too! This is so exciting!”

Robin’s eyes went wide at the implied meaning of Sumia’s statement. _I think that’s my cue to leave. Now. Right now. Before she gets any more ideas._

“Well, since nobody’s at risk of being assassinated, I’ll get out of your hair,” Robin said, clasping his hands behind his back and stepping backwards towards the opening of the tent. “I wish the happy couple all the best; Sumia, don’t take over all the planning; Severa, have fun helping plan the wedding.”

With that, Robin beat feet, no one but Severa realizing he had left they were so wrapped up in the moment. He hadn’t even helped with Chrom’s wedding, so he wasn’t about to be suckered into planning anyone else’s, no matter how happy he was for them.

As Robin rounded the corner of the mess he let out a relieved sigh.

_Crisis averted and arrow dodged. The only wedding I’m planning is my own, and maybe helping out with Mor…gan’s…_ The tactician twitched and sighed, realizing what he’d just thought given the current situation.

_Aw. I made myself sad._

“Good evening, Robin” a voice said from behind the tactician, making him yelp and jump.

“Lucina! Don’t do that!” he gasped, heart racing. “You scared the hell out of me!”

“My apologies,” she laughed. “You have gotten to be quite jumpy lately.”

“With good reason,” Robin muttered, turning his head when he heard Sumia call his name. “Run. Run away. Don’t just stand there, go!”

With panicked whispers the tactician grabbed Lucina’s wrist and led her away from the mess tent as fast as he could, the Princess obviously stifling her laughter as he did so. Unfortunately it seemed like Sumia had spotted him after all, as footsteps followed them through the camp.

“Why are we running?” Lucina asked, still laughing and obviously not seeing the gravity of the situation.

“Have you ever planned a wedding?” Robin whispered, leading them around another corner. “No? Well, trust me when I say you don’t want to do it more than once. I didn’t help plan your parents, I was out of Ylisse for everyone else’s, and I’m not getting dragged into this one. Quick, in here!”

Robin ducked into one of the dark supply tents, pulling Lucina with him and straining his ears to see if they were still being followed.

“Robin, I am-”

Lucina was cut off when the tactician pressed a hand to her mouth, stepping forward and staring intently over her shoulder at the sliver of light that marked the entrance to the tent. A shadow passed in front of it, lingering a moment before moving on.

“Okay,” Robin muttered. “We should be safe now.”

He glanced over to Lucina, not having to look far, his hand snapping back as he stepped away, so caught up in the moment he had obviously not noticed just how close he was standing to her; they had been barely inches apart, and while he had been staring over her shoulder they’d been even closer.

_Oh gods. If Sumia had found us like that… in a dark supply tent… I shudder to think of the consequences._

“Are you just about done now?” Lucina asked, her tone, while lower, still full of mirth as she straightened her clothing.

Robin could tell she was smiling in the dim light coming in from outside the tent, but apart from that it was hard to make out any other details in the gloom.

“I would prefer it if you didn’t give away my position by leaving just yet,” he whispered pleadingly, sinking down to sit on a crate.

“I see,” Lucina said, sitting opposite him on another box. “I had hoped to speak to you at dinner, but you left before I had the chance.”

“A tactician’s work is never done,” Robin sighed, thinking of the gigantic pile still sitting on his table. “It wasn’t anything too important, was it?”

Robin heard the sound of Lucina shaking her head in the dark, imagining her silken blue hair swaying with the movement.

“I had simply hoped to spend more time with you.”

Robin felt himself blush a little.

“However I had also hoped to speak to my cousin today, too,” Lucina went on after a moment’s pause. “Fortunately your absence created that opportunity. I am glad to find him as spirited as ever.”

“That’s one word for it… The word I would have used is ‘loud’. What about Cynthia?” Robin asked conversationally. “I heard something about you two pissing off your father this afternoon.”

Lucina cleared her throat, obviously embarrassed. Rumours circulated fast in a small community like the Shepherds, after all.

“Yes, well… It is a long story.”

“You’ll have to tell me it some time.”

“Not likely,” Lucina muttered under her breath.

“What was that?” Robin asked curiously.

“Nothing,” she answered hastily.

“I’m glad you got to spend time with your family,” Robin chuckled. “I know it can’t have been easy being away from them for so long.”

Lucina scoffed. “Although I did miss her, my sister spent two hours grilling me about my relationship with you; I felt less like we were spending time together and more like I was being interrogated.”

“What did you tell her?” Robin asked cautiously after a moment of thought. “All good things, I hope.”

“I told her the truth,” Lucina replied with a shrug, saying nothing more.

“Er, that could be interoperated in many different ways, Lucina,” Robin pointed out, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

“I am aware of this.”

“You’re totally messing with me right now, aren’t you?” Robin deadpanned after a moment’s silence, envisioning the grin on her face and cursing his luck it was too dark to actually see it.

“I am,” Lucina admitted before she burst out laughing.

Robin sighed and shook his head. “Nice to see you’ve been developing that sense of humour. But I think that you might have been spending a little too much time around Severa and Virion.”

“What makes you say that?” Lucina asked, still chuckling.

“Because they’re both mean to me, too,” Robin moaned.

Lucina started to laugh again, and Robin joined her. It was nice, just spending time together like this. He made a mental note to set aside time to at the very least take meals with her. It was too easy to get caught up in his work, but now he had a reason not to.

_Well, I had reasons not to before, but my health and social life hardly count, and usually most of my planning time involves Morgan anyway,_ Robin thought as their laughter died down.

“So is that it then?” Robin asked hesitantly. “Are we… in a relationship?”

“That is a strange question for someone who professed to ‘coming back from the dead’ for my sake,” Lucina pointed out.

“Hey, this is all uncharted territory for me,” Robin said, crossing his arms and turning away a little as he felt his cheeks darken. “I don’t want to overstep any boundaries or anything. I mean, it is kind of a, for lack of a better word, ‘weird’ circumstance you and I are in.”

“How do you mean?” Lucina asked, sounding genuinely curious now.

“Well, you know me from the future,” Robin explained. “You grew up with my daughter. I’m… well, not much older than you, but the you in this timeline is… uh… gods this is so confusing. I had it thought out better before…”

Lucina responded by laughing quietly.

“Robin, the man before me isn’t the man I knew in the future,” she said softly as she moved to sit at his side. “You were a completely different person in the future, and not one I see you becoming in this timeline. You were cold and aloof, even to those closest to you. Your sarcastic wit was still similar, though.”

“Nice to see some things are universal,” Robin drolled, rolling his eyes.

“What I am trying to say is that for me, you are a different person,” Lucina explained, taking one of Robin’s hands in both of hers. “The Robin I knew would not have risked his life to rescue me, and he surely would not have leapt from the back of an airborne pegasus.”

Robin cleared his throat. “It seemed like a good idea at the time… But how do you know I won’t become that Robin?”

“I feel it,” Lucina said simply. “So do not fear overstepping any boundaries. If you do, I will surely let you know.”

A mental image of Lucina swinging her huge broadsword around, blue flames burning from within it passed through Robin’s mind, making him shudder involuntarily.

“But, as I was trying to say before,” Lucina added as she stood, releasing Robin’s hand, “I am meant to be on guard duty tonight.”

“Aaaaand I grabbed you, took you away from your route and made and arse of myself,” Robin said, wincing and holding a hand to his face. “Sorry. I guess I got a little carried away.”

“I forgive you,” Lucina said, suddenly at his side reaching up and planting a light kiss on Robin’s cheek before making for the tent’s exit.

The tactician smiled stupidly, bringing a hand to the lingering sensation of warmth on his cheek before he remembered what they had been talking about.

“Wait! You still didn’t tell me what you said about me!” Robin called after her.

“I am aware of that,” she laughed over her shoulder, leaving Robin alone and flustered, blinking in the dark supply tent.

_Crap,_ Robin thought. _I wanted to ask her when we should tell everybody. I guess I’ll do it later. Like when her mother isn’t snooping around trying to force me into planning a wedding…_

As Robin stepped out into the brisk night air, carefully checking to make sure Sumia wasn’t around, another thought occurred to him that made him falter in his steps.

_Huh. I’m in a relationship now. I thought this would make me feel a little more… Oh. Oh gods._ There’s _the panic of the unknown. Yup, right on cue. Now how am I going to sleep tonight?_

*

“Anybody seen Morgan?” Robin asked no one in particular the next morning, yawning as the last of the camp was disassembled around him.

He had wound up working late and oversleeping a little, but that was hardly unusual. It was surprising just how fast things had returned to normal around the camp now that things were calming down. A few of the other Shepherds shrugged at his question as they carried on with their duties, making Robin scratch his head. After a moment of contemplation his countenance darkened as a name popped to his mind.

“Yarne,” the tactician muttered darkly, spinning towards one of the equipment tents when he heard a terrified squeak.

He crossed the distance in a heartbeat, reaching under the limp canvas of the half-disassembled tent right in front of a very perplexed looking Inigo and dragging the Taguel out by the scruff. Obviously the two boys had been tasked with disassembling and loading this particular tent.

“I won’t take much of your time,” Robin said pleasantly to Inigo, before turning a frosty smile to the trembling boy his hand was still gripping.

“Now. Yarne. Where, exactly, is my daughter, hrm?”

The young Taguel trembled, blinking pathetically as his rabbit-flight instinct kicked in and he began struggling.

“You’re making yourself seem guilty!” Robin shouted as Yarne pulled out of his grip and he was forced to put the boy in a headlock. “It was a simple question! Answer me and I might not kill you!”

“I don’t know, I swear!” Yarne wailed, panicking as Robin flexed his bicep under his jaw. “Please, I saw her to her tent last night and that was all! Don’t make me extinct!”

“You dog, Yarne,” Inigo said in a low voice, clamming up when Robin shot him a warning glare over the struggling Taguel’s head.

“Er… R-Robin?” a hesitant voice asked from behind the three men, making them all turn and freeze at once.

Noire stood there, wilting under the curious gazes of the three men as she desperately tried to deliver her message.

“I… uh… Morgan went to… the healing tent before they took it down…” the black-haired girl muttered, looking down. “She said something about… marching with Queen Say’ri…”

_I guess she was in too much of a hurry to tell me,_ Robin thought, reminding himself that there was no reason to feel disappointed about this turn of events when he was the one that had overslept.

“Ah,” Robin said cheerily, releasing Yarne who fell to the ground with a soft thud. “Thank you Noire. Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

“Y…yes…”

“That’s good,” Robin said with a big smile, planting a foot between Yarne’s shoulder blades and pinning him to the dirt. “We wouldn’t want you to have an anaemic attack during the march, would we? Has your mother got everything in her menagerie of hex tools packed up yet?”

“N… Uh… I don’t think so…”

“Why don’t you and I give her a hand then?” Robin asked with a wink.

Noire nodded and Robin smiled again before he reached down and dragged Yarne to his feet.

“This isn’t over, Bunny,” he warned in a low growl, before nodding once to Inigo and taking Noire’s arm, leading her towards her mother’s tent.

“What in Naga’s name did you do to piss him off so much?” Robin heard Inigo ask in a low voice as he and Noire departed.

“I don’t know any more…” Yarne whined pathetically.

*

“It is a long way to Chon’sin,” Say’ri said. “Are you sure you will be alright?”

Morgan nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! I’m pretty much all better now that the healers are done with me, so I’ll be fine to ride with you!”

The two women were sitting atop horses at the head of a column of soldiers and carts marching down the road heading east from Valm Capital; Morgan was once again clad in her beloved coat, having been cleared to travel by Princess Lissa a little over an hour ago.

Morgan was travelling as Say’ri’s ‘long lost sister that had been travelling the world’ for ease of explaining her royal heritage to the officers and the courtiers waiting for them in Chon’sin; apparently it wasn’t uncommon for noble houses to keep the births of children secret after the firstborn, and luckily for Morgan she looked strikingly similar to Say’ri. In front of the general Chon’sin public Morgan’s alias would be ‘Princess Mor’gan’, which was, according to Say’ri, a perfectly normal Chon’sin name and also probably why she had been named that in the first place; it worked in both the Chon’sin and Ylissean dialects. It honestly sounded a little guttural to Morgan, but she wasn’t about to say as much to the woman that had chosen the name for her. Fortunately it seemed most people would be calling her ‘Oujo-sama’, which apparently meant something similar to ‘Princess’ anyway; there were a lot of terms in Chon’sin’s language that didn’t have exact translations.

The only other people from Chon’sin that knew the truth were Say’ri’s two retainers Seiko and General Keiji. Seiko knew because she was an excellent spy and Keiji simply because Say’ri had chosen to put her trust in the man. Keiji had seemed a little confused at first, but had taken Morgan’s outlandish story in stride and vowed to serve his Princess with the same fervour that he did his Queen.

“Besides,” the young tactician added. “I’m going to take the whole Princess of Chon’sin thing seriously! All I did before was study tactics and planning with Dad! Now I’m going to learn how to be a proper lady of my homeland!”

“You have the right attitude,” Say’ri laughed as they continued down the road. “But there is much to learn. A lifetime’s worth of culture and manners.”

“I’m sure I learned it once already,” Morgan said offhandly. “In fact, I can understand pretty much all of what everyone around us is saying already, so apparently I know the language. I’m sure once I get started I’ll remember everything else, too!”

“You… speak the tongue of Chon’sin?” Say’ri asked sceptically.

“Hai!” Morgan answered affirmatively happily, bouncing in her saddle a little.

“That will admittedly make life much easier,” Say’ri said, switching to her native dialect.

“I will not be stopped!” Morgan exclaimed in the same language, flourishing her hand and pointing into the distance theatrically. “Today, Chon’sin! Tomorrow, the world!”

The talking from the soldiers behind them grew quieter, and Morgan glanced over her shoulder sheepishly as Say’ri fought to remain composed.

“Maybe I oughta not yell that kind of stuff so loud, considering what the war we just finished was over…” she muttered sheepishly when she noticed the strange looks that the officers were giving her.

This proved to be too much for Say’ri, and the usually sombre woman burst into a fit of hysterical laughter so hard she doubled over her saddle as Morgan joined her mirth.

Admittedly Morgan felt a little guilty about ditching Yarne and her father to travel with her mother’s people, but they were her people too, and she wanted to get to know them. She just hoped that her father didn’t do anything too… overbearing to her new boyfriend while she was away.

“There will be much to do once we reach the Capital,” Say’ri explained once they had both calmed down. “First there will be a small coronation ceremony; only the two of us, a handful of other nobles, Seiko and Keiji and the monks presiding over the ceremony will be present. Then we will have a funeral ceremony for the Yen’fay, which will most likely be open for the public; he was a popular ruler, despite his ties to Walhart. Then there will be a naming ceremony for Keiji where he will take a second name to announce his elevation to General…”

“Stop,” Morgan begged. “Please stop. There’s no way I’ll remember all of this. At least let me write it down.”

“Do not bother,” Say’ri said as Morgan began digging through her pouch for paper and something to write with. “Keiji will no doubt be preparing itineraries for us every time the column breaks for rest.”

“He seems really similar to Commander Frederick,” Morgan commented in a low voice.

Say’ri laughed again. “I should hope so! Sir Frederick seems to run the daily workings of the Ylissean camp single-handedly! I almost offered him the same position in Chon’sin!”

“Good luck with that,” Morgan snorted. “He’s practically attached to Chrom at the hip.”

*

“So that’s the situation,” Robin said gravely as he walked along next to Panne and Gaius.

The Taguel woman nodded, obviously lost in contemplation, while Gaius waited to see what his wife would say; Robin had just laid all the facts out before them about Yarne and Morgan, as little as he knew, but neither of the younger half-Taguel’s parents seemed surprised.

“And you both already knew, didn’t you?” Robin said, making it a statement rather than a question.

The tactician pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned his head back, willing the headache he’d gotten after inadvertently taking a whiff of some _thing_ in one of the jars he had helped Tharja pack up to disappear. Just like most of what his friend did, he didn’t want to know what the jar had contained.

Gaius chuckled, rubbing the back of his ginger hair as they marched.

“Yeah, kinda,” he admitted. “The boy needed a little coaching; he’s pretty spineless, and that’s coming from his father.”

Robin grimaced. Apparently he was the only one left out of the loop here.

The Shepherds had been marching through the forested Valmese countryside most of the morning and right through lunch; Chrom was in a hurry to get out of what he still perceived to be enemy territory, and Robin agreed with him. They were due to hit Chon’sin’s borders sometime the next day while the Ylissean League proper followed behind at a more relaxed pace, led by Frederick and Roark. Flavia and her entourage were travelling up front with the Exalt, the warriors from Regna Ferox laughing and carrying on with the Shepherds like old friends. Robin supposed that was what a war did to people, built camaraderie; at least the bonds between Ylisse and its northern neighbour would be better than ever once they returned.

“I do not see why you are upset, man-spawn,” Panne said after thinking. “Yarne may be a coward, but he is brave at heart. I believe this is a good thing; your daughter is strong and intelligent, both are superior breeding stock. They will create many strong offspring together.”

A vein above Robin’s brow twitched.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just refer to our children as livestock,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “And ask again why nobody felt it necessary to tell me.”

“Well, they are adults,” Gaius shrugged.

Robin groaned and slouched, defeated.

“Besides, they’re young, Bubbles!” Gaius went on, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist. “Let them have their fun. It wasn’t too long ago it was us acting like them. Morgan’s a responsible kid, and Yarne’s a pushover; what’re you worried about?”

Robin actually hesitated a second.

_What_ am _I so upset about?_

“I think it’s the fact that Morgan didn’t tell me,” Robin admitted. “I thought we were closer than that.”

Gaius chuckled a little while Panne squirmed in his grip.

“Robin, do you have any idea how a Taguel chooses a mate?” the ginger thief asked as he released his agitated wife.

“Do I want to?” the tactician muttered with a sour face.

“It’s like a lightning strike,” Gaius explained, punching a fist into his open palm for emphasis. “All of a sudden ‘BAM!’ they’re in love. Plus, from what Yarne hinted at, they were pretty close in the future, so there’s that to take into consideration; even if Morgan doesn’t remember specifics she still feels trust towards people she knows from before, yeah? I don’t think Morgan knew enough time in advance to tell you.”

“And we mate for life,” Panne added absently, sniffing the air. “So I would get used to the idea of having my son around were I you.”

“You’re both very calm about this,” Robin deadpanned as Panne moved off the road a little.

“What’s there to be upset about?” Gaius repeated. “While I don’t agree with my honey-pot’s phrasing I do agree with her point; Morgan and Yarne’re both good kids. Let them live their own… Panne, what in Naga’s name are you doing over there?”

The Taguel woman continued to sniff the air as she wandered further from the road, bending down occasionally to check something on the road.

“I thought I caught a scent…” she muttered. “One that is familiar… but it can’t be…”

“Good familiar or bad familiar?” Gaius asked as both he and Robin reached for their weapons.

Panne shook her head, leaning forward and transforming without a word before racing off into the forest beside the road, disappearing soundlessly between the trees.

“Panne!?” Gaius called confusedly, jogging a few steps after her before stopping.

A few of the other Shepherds and the Feroxi had noticed her disappear, and the convoy stalled. Yarne rushed over to where Gaius was standing, obviously at a loss.

“Dad?” the younger Taguel asked.

“Keep the convoy moving!” Robin called to Chrom at the head of the column. “We’ll catch up!”

The Exalt nodded once and the convoy began to move again, leaving Robin, Yarne and Gaius standing at the side of the road looking into the forest.

“Well, what now?” Gaius asked, scratching the back of his head with the point of his short sword.

“I guess we go after her?” Robin shrugged, sheathing his own sword before snapping out an arm to stop Yarne with an audible ‘thump’ to his chest.

“Not you,” Robin ordered the quivering Taguel. “You go find Morgan and tell her where I’ve gone. Then you catch up _right away_ ; no funny business, clear?”

“Y-yes sir!” Yarne shouted, snapping to attention before shifting into his rabbit form and bounding off to the Chon’sin column that was ahead of the Ylisseans in the distance.

“Kinda free on the orders there, arentcha?” Gaius chuckled, sheathing his own sword.

“If he wants to date my daughter he’s gotta earn it,” Robin muttered darkly, stepping into the woods. “If that means being my bitch for a little while, then with Naga as my witness I’ll work him to the bone.”

*

Morgan growled, struggling with the two little sticks in her hand and dropping a portion of rice back into the little wooden box on her lap.

“Maybe I’m not as cut out for this culture as I thought,” she mumbled, trying and failing to pick up her food with ‘hashi’ again, the favoured cutlery of Chon’sin.

“You will learn,” Say’ri chuckled, effortlessly eating from her own small box. “Everybody starts with baby-steps.”

“Although you may wish to grab a fork from the Ylisseans, just in case,” Seiko added from Say’ri’s other side, laughing just as much as Say’ri.

The convoy had stopped for a late lunch, which for Morgan and the other two women consisted of rice, some sort of fried… thingy and what Morgan assumed were vegetables of some sort? She couldn’t tell. But Seiko had been kind enough to prepare a meal for them, and it did smell quite good, despite being impossible to eat, so Morgan was trying her hardest.

“The food’s going to take some getting used to, too,” Morgan mumbled, poking at a green thing that looked like a bean of some sort.

“Make sure you don’t eat the skin,” Seiko laughed, popping some of her own free of their pod before eating them.

Morgan nodded, poking at them some more.

“They are just steamed soybeans,” Say’ri explained, still laughing a little. “They’re not as bad as they look, and they are very nutritious.”

Morgan nodded again, popping some from their pod and managing to bring one to her mouth with her sticks. It was… bearable; almost tasteless, really.

“Is all Chon’sin food this weird?” Morgan asked as she continued to eat.

“This is actually quite average,” Say’ri said. “Rice is eaten with most everything, and…”

Her explanation trailed off as a clamour arose from further down the column of resting soldiers, shouts and the sound of weapons being drawn starting to rise in volume as something raced through their ranks.

“Wait!” Morgan cried, jumping to her feet as she recognized the creature frightening the men so much. “Wait! He’s friendly!”

The soldiers hesitated long enough for the giant rabbit to bound to Morgan’s side and turn back into a breathless Yarne.

“Why… does everyone… want to kill me… lately…” he panted, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

“Good timing!” Morgan chirped, latching onto his arm and dragging him over to the other two women. “I can formally introduce you to-”

“Morgan, wait,” Yarne said seriously, pulling away from her.

The young tactician tilted her head quizzically at Yarne’s behaviour.

“I only came to tell you that my mother’s run off into the forest and we’re going after her. I mean me, my father and your father. He told me to come tell you and…”

“Right,” Morgan said, switching to tactician mode. “Do you guys need backup?”

Yarne shook his head, eying the weapons still waiting in the hands of the soldiers behind them.

“No, we should be fine,” he said. “We’ll just be a little late. Everyone else is still on time though.”

“Alright,” Morgan said, relaxing again. “Be safe.”

Yarne nodded, exhaling before shifting back into his Taguel form and bounding off for the forest past ranks of surprised soldiers staring with wide eyes.

“He seems nice,” Seiko commented offhandly as the three women sat down to resume their meal, the soldiers behind them doing the same.

“He is one of the Shepherds,” Say’ri commented. “Yarne, I believe his name was. Quite the warrior, if I remember correctly.”

“He’s my boyfriend,” Morgan said with a huge smile on her face.

Seiko’s expression dropped at the same time her chopsticks did while Say’ri started choking on a piece of whatever she had been eating.

“Er… surprise?” Morgan added as her mother started gulping down water from a flask that Seiko helpfully provided.

*

“I am beginning to notice a trend here,” Robin grumbled as he followed the much lither Gaius through the thick forest. “Why is it always me that gets sucked into these little escapades? Can’t anyone do anything without me around?”

“Hey, you volunteered to come along,” Gaius said over his shoulder. “In fact, I seem to recall you suggesting that we go after her.”

Robin mumbled wordlessly as they continued to tromp through the underbrush. The forests were thick and wild this far from the Valmese capital; woodsmen had yet to reach this area, if Robin recalled the reports, and no one was sure what was in the deep, old parts of the woods. Thinking about the maps he’d been studying that morning before they had set out Robin recalled that there was an uncharted mountain range close by that few had dared to brave the forest to investigate. There weren’t reports of any natural resources on the mountain besides lumber, and that could be found in abundance closer to more civilized areas, so there was no real need to investigate the forests, even in this day and age.

“Okay, fine, this was my idea,” Robin conceded as they stepped into a small clearing. “But why do I always seem to do this without a local guide? Or a trained tracker?”

Gaius chuckled. “Winging it seems to be one of your favoured tactics lately, Bubbles.”

The ginger thief squatted down near the opposite edge of the small clearing, studying the bushes.

“Look here,” he said, growing serious. “The branches are broken. It looks like she came this way.”

“It also looks like she’s not trying to be subtle,” Robin commented over Gaius’ shoulder.

The entire bush was basically crushed and pushed aside, and every so often in the distance Robin could see another in a similar state.

“Think she wants us to follow her?” the tactician asked.

“I honestly don’t think she cares at this point,” Gaius sighed as they began to push through the bushes again. “I hate it when she goes all ‘alpha predator’ on me like this.”

“This happens a lot?” Robin asked curiously.

“Nah, only once and a while,” Gaius sighed. “But when she goes nuts she really lets loose. I’ve had to buy a new bed like three times, which let me tell ya, isn’t cheap.”

“Ew. Sorry I asked,” Robin gagged exaggeratedly.

“What? No, I mean she tore it up in the middle of the night!” Gaius laughed. “What the hell’re you thinking about?”

“Ah… never mind…” Robin muttered, ears going red.

“It happens two or three times a year,” Gaius explained as they continued to follow the trail. “The best guess we can come up with is it’s a territorial thing. There’s not really a lotta other Taguel experts out there, and she was pretty young when her people were wiped out, so she has no idea either.”

“A little healthy bloodlust, eh?” Robin muttered darkly, recalling something he’d heard not that long ago.

“I wouldn’t even call it that,” Gaius said solemnly. “We talked to Padre about it, and he seemed to think it might have something to do with the phases of the moon and her beastial instincts, but…”

“Padre?” Robin asked, scratching his head in confusion. “Who’s Padre?”

“Padre,” Gaius said distractedly. “You know, always wears priests robes, swings that scary axe around all mean-like, looks like a lady…”

“Oh,” Robin said, recalling Gaius’ penchant for nicknames. “You mean Libra.”

“Yeah, whatever,” the thief muttered as they came out onto a stony creek bed. “The trail ends… here…”

“What’d you find?” Robin asked, looking up apprehensively through the gap in the trees over the creek at the deepening red sky; thinking that it was getting late, and they hadn’t brought any camping supplies.

Gaius shook his head nervously as he stood, motioning Robin over. “Take a look.”

The tactician did as he was told, stepping over the rocks to small sandy area of soft earth.

“That’s… a footprint,” Robin said dumbly.

Gaius nodded as Robin bent down to inspect it further.

It wasn’t a rabbit’s print, like Panne would leave behind. It was far, far too big to belong to an average animal, but it definitely wasn’t one of Panne’s.

“It looks like it belongs to…” Robin began, trailing off when a mournful howl cut through the still air in the distance, followed closely by three more that grew steadily closer to the two humans.

“Wolves,” Gaius muttered, looking around the small clearing nervously.

“I have a good feeling I know why no maps of this forest exist,” Robin muttered as he and Gaius pressed their backs together, drawing their weapons as the bushes around them began to rustle violently in the twilight.

There, in the lengthening shadows, something was watching them. Something altogether inhuman.


	45. Chapter 45

“Run faster, damn you!” Robin shouted, leading the way through the dark forest with a decent fire crackling just above his fingertips.

“We need to… keep track of… where we are!” Gaius huffed, eyes everywhere as he studied landmarks. “I’m not getting lost… in this forest…”

“It won’t matter if we’re dead!” Robin shouted, skidding to a halt and brining his sword up as a shape leapt out of the trees at the two Shepherds.

Gangly arms and dark features flashed past Robin as he neatly bisected the creature with Sol, the two separate pieces vanishing in a cloud of purple smoke before they even hit the ground. Robin made a clicking sound as the rustling around them died down, growls and moans fading as the Risen retreated for the time being.

“What the hell’re Risen doing here?” Gaius asked, marking a tree with his sword.

“Don’t know,” Robin answered, scanning the trees around them.

The Risen had come out of nowhere, attacking the duo while they were inspecting the tracks at the small creek earlier. Now the sun hand set and the forest was in darkness, and they had completely lost track of Panne’s trail.

The tactician glanced at where the Risen that had attacked them had fallen, asking the same question as the ginger thief that was currently gulping down water from his waterskin. These Risen were similar to the hooded ones that he and Lucina had encountered in Regna Ferox when they had found Morgan, but they were smaller, lighter; and they attacked from the trees, swinging from branches and attacking from above, moving effortlessly through the thick forest. This was the third time they had attacked and retreated, like they were testing the two Shepherds, seeing how they reacted and adjusting their plans accordingly.

They were being hunted, and Robin didn’t like it.

This wasn’t a battlefield; this wasn’t a place where his tactics could outsmart an enemy commander, where he could use crafty deployments and guess at the enemy’s reactions and decisions; this was the wild, where his intelligence counted for little and it was survival of the fittest.

“We need to find Panne and get the hell out of this forest,” Robin muttered.

“Seconded,” Gaius agreed with a nod. “But we lost the trail.”

Robin shrugged, starting to walk in a random direction with his sword at the ready, holding his hand with the fire spell above his head.

“Then we walk until we find her or she finds us. Either way, we’re not leaving her behind.”

“Remind me again which one of us is married to her,” Gaius chuckled, following the tactician. “Besides, you’re forgetting one other thing.”

Robin looked back to the thief, quirking his brow in silent question.

“Well, Yarne followed us too, didn’t he?” Gaius added with a grin.

*

A large rabbit-form Taguel hopped gingerly through the twilight forest, raising its twitching nose to the air as it followed a familiar scent. Aside from the creature’s quarry there were many other things in this forest; dark, ancient smells that didn’t matter to the Taguel at present as it followed the one scent.

The forest was at once familiar and alien to the Taguel; memories of its childhood spent racing through similar forests closer to its home with its parents flashed through its mind, causing it to pause and look around, basking in nostalgia for a few moments before pushing the precious memories back down and continuing onwards.

Dry leaves rustled softly as the Taguel pushed through the undergrowth, its danger-sense telling it that something was coming. Ducking down low the creature heard violent rustling from above as more of the dark forms that populated this forest swung from branch to branch, the acrid stench of Risen flesh lingering in their wake once they passed.

Usually the Taguel wouldn’t hesitate to attack and destroy such weak creatures as these, but from what it had seen there were many in the forest, many more than it could handle alone.

The coast clear, the Taguel began silently bounding forward, soft thumps and the light whisper of leaves caressing its dark fur the only sounds in the forest as it passed through the old trees.

The Taguel stopped, coming across a marked tree and sniffing it a few times before heading off in a slightly different direction.

The trees were still and the forest was silent as the Taguel bounded through it; no other animals were making noise, there were no night birds singing in the trees, the wind stopped…

The Taguel dug its heels into the soft, loamy earth suddenly, every instinct screaming, every fibre of its being telling it that if it proceeded, it would be killed. As it skidded to a halt three of the thin, lanky Risen dropped from above, claws and short blades raking the space that the Taguel would have passed through had it kept going. The Risen moaned as they realized their prey had caught on to their trap, but the Taguel reacted much faster, snarling and rearing up, bringing razor-like fore claws down and shredding the first of the creatures to ribbons. The next went down as the Taguel snapped its jaws shut around its neck, the Risen disappearing to ash even as the Taguel hopped back a step from the third Risen. The Taguel leapt forward with all its might, crushing the final opponent beneath its shoulder and rolling back to its feet in its human form, shifting through the roll as its last foe evaporated behind it.

Yarne gasped heavily, the shock of reverting forms always hard to bear after a fight, but his senses were still keen in this form, and he needed to conserve his energy in case more of the Risen found him. Setting his features the young Taguel started off after his father’s scent again, following it past a small creek where it looked like he and Robin had been ambushed. The destruction from Robin’s spells, small craters in the sandy shores and scorch marks everywhere were evidence to this, not to mention the dropped and discarded weapons of the Risen the two men had felled.

Yarne knelt, anxiety uncharacteristically forgotten as he sniffed the hilt of one of the daggers, wrinkling his face in disgust and spitting in distaste as he tossed the dagger aside.

Standing, Yarne let himself fall forwards, shifting back into his Taguel form, and set off at a dead run through the darkening forest. They were still close… he could catch up soon…

Besides, if Yarne came back without Robin he’d never be able to look Morgan in the eye again.

*

Robin poked at the small fire he and Gaius had lit with a stick, resettling the logs before sighing and looking out anxiously at the forest. Night had fallen some time ago, and the persistent feeling that they were being watched just wouldn’t abate. Gaius was sleeping, allowing Robin to take the first watch as he curled up beside the fire in an attempt to remain warm. Neither man was dressed for travel; while Robin had his coat Gaius was still only clad in his sleeveless vest and his cape. It probably wouldn’t snow so far south so early in the season, but it was still bitterly cold at night.

Robin sighed again, settling back against the great tree he was leaning against; it was a giant oak tree, ancient like the rest of the forest. In the darkness Robin let himself become distracted, wondering what the tree had seen in its long life; the wars of men and the sundering of the old continents, the rise of empires and the fall of dynasts, lives of people just like Robin passing in the blink of an eye to the ancient tree.

Robin was no druid; he didn’t feel any affinity for nature magic beyond the spells of his tome, and he couldn’t commune with nature the way that the secular spellcasters supposedly could. But, even if it was just his imagination, the tactician thought he could feel the warmth of life from the bark his back was pressed against and hear the reassuring whisper of the leaves of the great oak that he rested against.

More rustling made Robin perk up, glancing back out to the forest and cursing himself for dozing off as his hand wrapped around Sol’s hilt. He strained his eyes in the glow of the fire, looking beyond the little bubble of light that it cast and starting when his gaze locked with two golden blood-red staring right back at him from the darkness.

“Gaius!” Robin shouted in warning, unsheathing his sword and standing in one fluid movement.

The orbs disappeared as six Risen leapt into the firelight from different angles and directions; some came from above while some came along the ground, but none dropped out of the old oak tree above them.

Robin swung Sol laterally, lashing out to deter the Risen while Gaius clambered to his feet and drew his own weapons; his dagger-like short sword in one hand while his other spat throwing knives into the dark, staggering the Risen pressing in on the two Shepherds. Robin was a blur of motion, striking with his sword and moving on so fast that he didn’t even have time to concentrate on casting a spell. The tactician and thief had already felled the first six of the creatures in a manner of seconds, but more came crashing through the tightly packed trees and into the firelight almost as fast as they could beat them down.

Robin spun and whirled, wincing every time the heavier, as yet unfamiliar sword in his hands took too long to return to a ready position or to execute a manoeuvre; Gaius was there to fill the gaps, though, flowing around Robin like quicksilver as he lashed out with the small dirks he kept strapped to his body or with his favoured sword, striking in small, precise movements with little or no flair.

There was an artistic simplicity to Gaius’ fighting style, Robin thought in a brief respite. The thief never wasted a movement, his attacks short and blunt, rough yet refined to be as fast as possible rather than flowing through forms the way Lon’qu had taught Robin to do. The tactician shifted his grip on Sol as more crashing sounded through the trees, resolving himself to follow Gaius’ example.

“Stay under this tree,” Robin muttered to the thief.

“What? Why?” Gaius asked, looking around.

“I get a good feeling from it,” Robin shrugged.

Any further conversation was cut off when more dark forms burst into their firelight, howling with hatred for anything living beneath leather hoods as they brandished wicked looking black steel and hooked claws.

Robin and Gaius both made to surge forward to meet the encroaching Risen, but hesitated when something even bigger than the thin creatures burst into the clearing, barrelling through the smaller ones with one sweep of it’s thick, sinewy arm and hooting a challenge at Gaius and Robin from beneath what was quickly becoming a familiar style of leather hood.

“I guess that’s the leader,” Robin heard Gaius mutter with a slight waver in his tone.

Robin gulped, finding himself agreeing with the thief’s sentiment as they stepped back from the massive Risen and stared up into its baleful, glowing red eyes visible beneath the leather hood it wore. More of the smaller Risen crowded in behind it, but unlike its smaller counterparts the Risen chieftain stood at least eight meters tall, it’s thin, malformed limbs long and gangly, ending in dangerous looking claws or wrapped around curved and barbed weapons. Robin blinked a few time as the firelight reflected off the slick, dark flesh of an extra set of arms just below the chieftain’s first set, just as long and sickening, bending and waving in the still night as it let out another hooting challenge from beneath its hood.

“It has four arms,” Gaius muttered, his voice beginning to rise in pitch as he started to panic. “It has… four arms…”

“It’ll have none when I’m done with it!” Robin snarled with conviction he didn’t feel, leaping forward and bringing Sol up offensively.

The chieftain answered his roar with one of its own, bringing all four arms down on Robin at once. The tactician caught two curved daggers almost as long as his arms on Sol’s blade, letting the creature’s claws rake down the shoulders of his coat and praying Miriel and Tharja’s spells would still hold. With another shout he shoved the Risen back, lashing out with a harsh kick at one of its lower limbs before dancing back as the smaller Risen surged forward. Before Robin could backpedal very far Gaius was at his side, hacking and slashing like their lives depended on it, and soon the two Shepherds were lost in a vicious melee. Robin lost sight of the thief in the press as he was forced backwards again, dodging a blow from talons that would have torn his throat open and swinging his sword blindly. Although it wasn’t a properly aimed hit he felt the blade strike true and bite flesh, the familiar sound of dying Risen momentarily overpowering the moans and grunts of its compatriots.

His victory was short lived, though, when he saw the chieftain barrelling back through the press, one arm, no doubt the one Robin had kicked, held defensively at its side as it charged at Gaius, heedless of the underlings it was crushing in its hurry to attack the thief. So far he was still standing, but Gaius wasn’t a soldier. He was no stranger to combat, but he wasn’t cut out for front line fighting like this, and every strike wore him down until he fell onto one knee, the chieftain tossing its smaller brethren out of the way in its haste to descend on the thief.

Robin judged the distance between him and his fallen friend, breathing heavily and leaning on his sword as the chieftain drew nearer and raised its own weapons. The tactician’s attacks grew frantic as he struggled to get to Gaius, ignoring the blows sneaking by his guard and landing on his exposed chest as he pushed and shoved. He was going to be too late, though…

The chieftain stopped mid-swing, as did every one of the Risen present as a piercing and mournful howl echoed around them. The smaller ones began chittering in a way that Robin had never heard the creatures do before, milling about as the chieftain rose up, sniffing the air experimentally, the thief beneath him now forgotten.

Without warning creatures the colour of stormclouds burst through the forest around them, tearing into the Risen with claws and fangs the length of daggers, snarling and growling as they worried the Risen in their mouths viciously. The Risen began to keen a high-pitched wail, and as Robin watched the creatures began to panic and scatter, the chieftain the first one back into the safety of the forest and the trees. Those that were too slow were crushed beneath the feet of the creatures that had come to Gaius and Robin’s aid, or were snapped up in jaws that closed with sickening crunches around throats and limbs.

Robin lowered his blade, breathing a sigh of relief as the Risen were routed. He counted nine forms tearing through the Risen with reckless abandon, massive wolves the likes of which he had never seen before. However before he could relax properly he was thrown to his back, a snarling maw of teeth and drool filling his vision as a giant wolf bigger than a horse beared down on him, pinning him with one massive claw and breathing fetid carrion breath directly into his face.

“Robin!” Gaius called in desperation as the jaws filling the tactician’s vision began to descend.

Robin shut his eyes reflexively, preparing for the pain of death to claim him a second time, instead finding himself being rolled along the ground as the weight was violently lifted off of him. He opened his eyes and instantly began to crawl to Gaius as fast as he could, hand wrapping around Sol’s hilt as an afterthought when he passed it.

Coming up on his knees next to the ginger thief, fortunately completely unharmed, Robin beheld something that made even his mind stop.

There, in the shadows cast by the fire, both rearing up on two legs and batting at each other with claws like razors was a giant wolf and a giant rabbit. They separated as two smaller wolves darted in, and the rabbit threw itself forward beneath the jaws of one and barrelled directly into the other, striking upwards with a powerful kick from its hind leg at the first. The larger wolf closed again, snapping its jaws at the rabbit’s neck, but the rabbit struck faster, smashing the wolf’s face to the side before nimbly hopping back out of its reach to defend the fallen Shepherds.

“Panne?” Gaius muttered in amazement, shaking his head as he rose back to his feet.

The wolves in the small clearing growled low in their throats, the largest one that the Taguel had beaten down shaking its head and sending droplets of blood flying in every direction before taking another menacing step forward.

“Enough!” the Taguel roared in a masculine voice.

“Yarne!?” Robin said, his own astonishment clear on Gaius’ face, too.

The wolves hesitated as Yarne reared up, reverting to his human form and cutting a hand through the air before him.

“We haven’t come to fight!” he said in a much stronger, deeper tone than Robin had ever heard from him before.

The smaller wolves looked to what was obviously their leader, still bleeding from the gashes on its face as it reared up, too, transforming into the largest man Robin had ever seen, easily as big as Walhart was. He stood with his massive bare, barrel chest heaving, blood running down dark flesh into his ornately braided beard, long brown hair falling wildly around his shoulders.

“Then why do you invade our forests, half-blood?” the wolf-Taguel snarled, sharp wolf-like fangs still preeminent in his mouth and a large, dark tail swishing agitatedly behind him.

One by one the other wolves all emulated their leader, transforming into human forms. They were all lean and covered in well-defined muscle and not much else. Rough loin cloths made from animal hide hung from hips, but no other clothing was present, even on the three females in the pack.

“Answer!” the bleeding wolf roared, baring his fangs when Yarne didn’t respond immediately.

“We’re looking for someone,” Robin said helpfully, stepping forward.

“Silence, human,” the wolf-man growled, glaring at Robin. “I will treat with this Coney and no other, even if he does reek of man-flesh. Your kind are not welcome in our forest.”

Robin blinked, stunned by the ferocity of his dismissal.

“It is as he says,” Yarne said, stepping forward between Robin and the wolf-man. “We’re looking for another like me. Another Taguel. Have you seen her?”

The wolf-man growled before spitting into the grass at their feet. Before he could answer there was rustling from the trees behind them, and Panne stepped into the firelight.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” she said in a dark tone as she moved to stand beside the wolf-man.

“You shouldn’t have left the road, man-spawn.”

*

Robin resisted the urge to sigh as he followed at the rear of a procession of creatures distinctly inhuman with Gaius along a moon-lit, winding forest trail. They were being taken to the wolves’ Queen, deep in the forest. Apparently none of them had ever seen a Taguel before, and they were bringing Panne for an audience when they had caught the scent of Risen.

Panne had said a few hushed words to the pack leader, Kowrowa, before he had snarled and acquiesced to the ‘man-spawn’ not being killed on the spot. Instead they were being subsequently ignored and led to wherever the pack was staying in this forest. Yarne was travelling up front with his mother and Kowrowa, seemingly being afforded the same level of respect by dint of being her child, although Robin and Gaius were still being eyed by the other wolves travelling around them.

“She beat him,” Gaius muttered to Robin after a time.

“Huh?”

“The big one,” Gaius said, pointing to Kowrowa. “Panne beat him in combat, and they don’t know how to take it.”

“How can you tell?” Robin asked, watching the big wolf push some branches aside, heedless of the way they snapped back into the face of the smaller wolf behind him.

“Because she’s at the front with him,” Gaius explained. “If a member of his own pack had beaten him they would be the new leader, but she’s not a member of the pack, so…”

“Be silent, human,” one of the females snapped from just ahead of them, turning to glare at them. “Your talking is like the screeching of iron on stone to my ears.”

She continued to silently glare for a moment, her scraggly auburn hair being blown about in a breeze across her bare pale flesh as her eyes locked with Robin’s, blazing amber eyes shining in the moonlight. He narrowed his gaze, keenly aware of the inherit challenge in her words as his muscles tensed for another attack. She was one of the ones that Yarne had fought with, and had a great bruise along her chin and jaw where he had kicked her; obviously she was still upset and looking to vent. Robin’s neutral gaze turned into a frowning glare, and the wolf let out a ‘tsk’ of irritation, turning to his challenge.

“Ita,” Kowrowa growled in warning from the head of the pack without even looking back.

The wolf-woman, Ita, growled wordlessly as she turned and picked up her pace, hair waving in the wind and tail swishing irritably.

Gaius shrugged at Robin, and the tactician had to resist the urge to sigh again as he went back to silently observing their ‘hosts’ as they walked, feeling a little childish at rising to Ita’s obvious baiting tactics.

Robin didn’t question where Gaius got his knowledge; as far as Taguel experts went, the thief was probably the closest thing they had to one. He had lived with Panne for quite a long time now and was surprisingly observant, so Robin trusted the man’s judgement on matters such as those.

Stepping over a large root partially hidden in shadow Robin marvelled at the lithe grace of the creatures leading them, particularly the mostly naked women in the pack before feeling almost instant stabs of guilt and staring at the path beneath his feet.

It was late now… the Shepherds would have stopped to make camp and eat dinner… Robin wondered what Lucina and the others were doing right now, what they were eating…

“Pay attention, man-spawn,” Ita growled irritably from before him, causing his gaze to snap back up.

Robin stifled a gasp as he looked up at the fort before them, torchlight leaking out from within it along with bestial sounds of revelry and chaos. Ruined stone walls covered in ivy and lichen stood tall with the moon behind them, numerous eyes looking up from small fires and watching as the pack led the strangers through the over-grown grounds.

“Best stay close,” Ita muttered in Robin’s ear in a low, sultry tone. “I’d hate for you to get eaten by one of the others before I get the chance…”

“Get out of my personal space before I give you a matching bruise on the other side of your face,” Robin growled in a low voice, glaring over his shoulder as the she-wolf stepped away, chuckling as she grinned threateningly at Robin.

They stepped into the fortress through a hole smashed into a wall, entering a world of firelight and body-heat, a lingering musky smell making Robin’s face flush uncomfortably with heat as he followed the Panne and Yarne, ignoring everything else around them. They passed through numerous chambers and hallways, the other wolves, some shifted into animal forms and some not, always stopping whatever they were doing to watch the strangers pass as they were led by, before finally emerging into the central chamber of the fort.

There, resting lazily on a pile of bones and furs above the others in the chamber and picking her teeth with a sliver of bone as she watched the procession enter, was what was undoubtedly the wolves queen.

“What have you brought me this time, Kowrowa?” she drawled, sitting up and flicking the small bone away.

Robin wasn’t ashamed to say she struck him breathless, a feat that so far only Lucina and Cordelia had managed; long white hair fell around her well-toned shoulders and intelligent green eyes stared coldly at the humans and Taguel standing before her from a strikingly beautiful face. Where most of the other wolves went about pretty much naked she was clad in leather wraps, covering much of her flesh; what was exposed was either covered in intricate paint or jagged scars, the worst of which was a rough trio of claw-marks leading from her jawline just below her right ear down past her bare shoulder and disappearing beneath her clothes. She was somewhat of a cross between what Emmeryn had been and the way Panne was in her bearing, calm and obviously in power, regal to behold yet at the same time animalistic and dangerous.

“Strangers, my queen,” Kowrowa said with more deference than Robin had heard so far from the wolf-man. “A Coney, a half-blood and two man-spawn.”

“And why have you brought them to me?” she asked softly, leaning forward and staring at Robin.

“We have never caught Conies before,” Kowrowa said, bowing his head a little. “And the woman is a fierce fighter…”

“She is the one that ruined your pretty face?” the Queen asked in a mocking tone.

Kowrowa growled, looking down. “It was the half-blood, my queen.”

The wolf queen let out a deep, shocking laugh as she slapped at her knees. Kowrowa frowned and grit his teeth as the other wolves already in the chamber followed their queen’s example.

“So, half-breed,” she said, eyes locking on Yarne. “Quite the feat for a Coney, especially a half breed, defeating a wolf in combat. I commend you. You are obviously not at all like the prey you resemble.”

“Er… thanks,” Yarne muttered.

“And you,” the queen said, eyes turning on Panne. “You, too, bested Kowrowa. What is your name?”

Panne sniffed, crossing her arms defiantly. “Is it not polite to offer your own name before asking another’s?”

The atmosphere in the chamber changed instantly, murderous intent flooding it before the queen burst into laughter again.

“Perhaps to humans,” she said grandly, a note of laughter still in her voice. “But you are far from the lands you have come to know. Very well, Coney, I shall grant you my name. I am Nirath, and I have been named queen of my people through my own strength and cunning.”

“I am Panne,” the Taguel answered with a slight nod. “And I am the last of my kind.”

One of the other wolves sitting just beneath Nirath scoffed, rising to his feet and tossing the large bone he had been chewing on aside.

“The last?” he asked condescendingly. “Perhaps if your race is so weak we should end you, here and now and do nature a favour?”

Before anyone else could act something inside Robin snapped and the tactician stepped forward, registering a split second of shock on the young wolf’s face before his fist came down, knocking the wolf flat.

“Don’t threaten my friends,” Robin said, flexing his bruised hand.

The chamber had gone silent, every eye watching to see what the wolf would do in the face of such disrespect under the gaze of his queen.

“Filthy man-spawn!” he growled, launching himself from the floor at Robin and transforming mid leap.

Robin was ready, though, and pulled the broken end of Chrom’s rapier from his belt behind his back, ramming it into the wolf’s shoulder and pushing him down to the ground before pinning him with his boot.

“Nice doggy,” Robin deadpanned, bringing a fire-spell to life at the end of his fingers mere inches from the wolf’s face. “Stay.”

Nirath burst into laughter again, and Robin stepped away from the fallen wolf, extinguishing his spell but keeping the broken sword in his hand. The other creatures around the queen eyed the tactician warily, as if sizing him up.

“I like this human!” Nirath laughed gleefully. “You brought that upon yourself, Una. Be gone from my sight.”

The younger wolf, Una, limped away without even shifting forms, and many of the other wolves in the room now looked at Robin with either new respect or wariness at the least. Robin glanced over his shoulder, noticing the big wolf Kowrowa grinning approvingly, a look of grudging admiration briefly flitting across Ita’s features.

“What? ‘When in doubt, punch it out’,” Robin shrugged at Yarne and Gaius’ shocked expressions. “I learned that from Chrom. And I’m getting sick of being ignored.”

Panne chuckled a little from his opposite side.

Nirath laughed again before rising to her feet and descending to the stone floor to stand just before Robin. The tactician couldn’t help but note that up close she was actually quite short, the top of her head barely reaching his chin.

“Tell me, man-spawn,” she asked as she regarded the human standing before her. “Why did you choose to make camp under that old oak?”

Robin quirked a brow, reminding himself that with her heightened senses it was probably no big deal that she knew where he had been resting.

“I had a good feeling about it,” he answered truthfully, repeating what he had told Gaius.

Nirath nodded, sniffing at him a few times.

“You are strange,” she said, crossing her arms and sinking to a hip. “But I find myself curious about you. I have never smelled man-spawn like you before.”

“Er… thanks?” Robin said confusedly.

“For now, go and take rest in the upper floors of this building,” Nirath commanded. “Take the half-blood and the other man-spawn with you. I would speak to the Coney. Ita will see you there safely and make sure Una doesn’t dishonour himself by attacking you. Kowrowa, get your face looked at; the scent of blood is making me hungry.”

“Of course, my queen,” Kowrowa said with a restrained nod before disappearing into the crowded press that had built up behind them.

Ita’s response, however, was much more visceral.

“Why must I watch over the man-spawn!?” she whined, glaring dangerously at Robin in particular. “Why do we not just throw them to the packs and watch how long they struggle!?”

Nirath glanced over her shoulder as she climbed back up to her resting place, grinning and showing off fangs much longer than the younger wolves’ around her.

“Because you speak their language, and the white-furred one makes me laugh,” she said truthfully, throwing herself back down to her furs and smiling predatorily at Robin.

*

“Through here,” Ita huffed in an unhappy tone as she threw a seemingly random door open.

The she-wolf had been sulking the entire trip upstairs, not speaking a word, even if spoken to. It was plain to see she wasn’t in favour of keeping the humans in her people’s territory alive.

“Thanks,” Robin said as he followed Yarne and Gaius into the small room.

Ita hesitated for a moment, before sniffing as if something foul were being wafted beneath her nose.

“I do not like you, man-spawn,” she growled, slamming the door in Robin’s face.

The tactician waited for a moment, shaking his head and grinning when her presence on the other side didn’t fade. It appeared as if she was going to follow her queen’s orders after all.

“Do all your family outings end up like this?” Robin asked as he undid the heavy belts around his waist and set them aside with the long sword he had slung over his shoulder. “Because, really; this is the most fun I’ve had in years.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Gaius yawned, sitting down with his back to a wall. “Haven’t actually had any family outings yet. ‘M havin’ a sugar crash. Gonna sleep for a bit.”

The thief’s head nodded forward, and within moments Robin could hear the soft snores of his resumed slumber.

“It never ceases to amaze me how he does that,” Robin chuckled, moving to sit near where Yarne was leaning opposite his father.

They were in what would once have been a storage room, although now it was as empty as the rest of the fortress. A single, empty window sat high on one wall, allowing fresh air and ample light from the full moon into the room.

“That was pretty bad-ass back there,” Robin said after a few moments silence. “You really saved my neck. Thanks.”

“D-don’t mention it…” Yarne stammered.

“Can I ask you something?” Robin said after another brief silence. “You seem a little… different around these wolves. Why is that?”

“D-different… how?” Yarne asked, scooting away from Robin a little.

“Oh relax already,” the tactician said, rolling his eyes. “You’re all confident and alpha in front of them. Just like your mom. It’s kinda impressive, actually.”

“Really?” Yarne asked hopefully.

“Like I said, relax,” Robin repeated with a chuckle. “I meant what I said in the mess tent last night. I don’t care anymore, so it’s not me you have to convince. Somehow I don’t think that Say’ri’s going to be as graceful in her acceptance as I was.”

Yarne moaned dejectedly, deflating a little against the wall and no doubt imagining having to run that particular gauntlet in the very near future.

“Stop tormenting my son,” Gaius muttered sleepily, readjusting his position before nodding off again.

Robin burst into a fit of hushed laughter moments before Yarne joined him. In the darkness Robin could have sworn that he saw Gaius grinning a little.

“While I’ve got you awake,” Robin said once his laughter subsided. “Can I ask you something?”

“No; I left my stash on Olivia’s cart,” Gaius muttered with a smirk.

“Not that,” Robin laughed. “I want to ask if you’re… you know, worried about Panne.”

“Should I be?” Gaius asked with a great yawn.

“I just mean… these are other shape-shifters; they’re not Taguel, but aren’t you afraid she’ll want to stay here?”

“The thought never crossed my mind,” Gaius answered honestly. “I know how much she cares about us. She’s not about to abandon us now. We may have to come back on vacation, though.”

Robin nodded, unconvinced but trusting the man that knew his friend best.

After that they settled in to sleep, confident that Panne wouldn’t let any harm befall them, and that in the worst case scenario Yarne’s advanced senses would pick up any danger.

Robin woke a few hours later when Ita kicked him in the ribs.

“Wake up, human,” she sneered, obviously happy to have gotten to kick him.

Robin bolted upright instantly, hands going for his sword as he recalled he was still in what was tentatively hostile territory. His movements slowed, however, when he realised that Yarne and Gaius were watching him react with big smiles on their faces, chuckling to each other.

“So his reflexes aren’t as good as everyone makes them out to be,” Gaius snickered.

“Don’t mock the tactician,” Robin grumbled, stretching one arm above his head as he rubbed at his bruised ribs. “It’s still dark out; what’s going on?”

Robin cast a withering glare at Ita as she snickered at him.

“And I don’t like you,” he added, still massaging his ribs; she had quite the kick on her…

“Apparently Panne’s got us a job,” Gaius drawled, yawning wide and stretching. “It’s important, too, or else we’d just be left to sleep here while she went and did it.”

“Did what?” Robin asked, still glaring at the shape-shifting wolf woman that had kicked him, who was still grinning back at him.

“You are going hunting, man-spawn,” Ita said with relish.

*

Robin grumbled irritatedly to himself as he found himself tromping through the night-time forest again.

“I am beginning to notice a trend,” he muttered. “Why do I always get dragged into these little escapades? Why me? As if I don’t have enough of my own problems to deal with…”

“Oh be silent already, man-spawn,” Ita growled exasperatedly from behind him. “Your constant moaning is getting on my nerves. None of us are happy about this either, least of all me. So be silent.”

Panne, along with Yarne, Gaius, Robin, Kowrowa and the wolf-man’s pack, were walking through the forest in the direction of the old oak tree that Robin and Gaius had attempted to camp under. Apparently, without the men there to stop her, Panne had sworn to hunt the four-armed Risen that was leading the smaller ones in the forest, starting immediately.

Robin was doing his best to remain peppy and chirper, but he’d had maybe four hours of sleep, not to mention he hadn’t eaten since lunch, so he was beginning to get a little irritated. But, he reminded himself, this was a golden opportunity to do something that few other humans had in past; he could talk to other shape-shifters besides Taguel or Manaketes! It was a rare opportunity, and he was wasting it.

“Er… Ita?” Robin asked, making good on his sudden change of heart as they walked through the trees and brush. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

“No,” she answered curtly.

Kowrowa chuckled from the front of the pack, glancing over his shoulder at the sour face that Ita made.

“Oh, come on,” Robin pestered. “I’m just curious.”

“I do not care,” she said, staring straight ahead and continuing to walk. “Bother someone else. I do not like you.”

“And that’s exactly why I’m bothering you,” Robin said with a grin. “You won’t sugar-coat any answers. C’mon.”

“No.”

“C’moooon.”

“No, man-spawn.”

“C’mooooooon, one little question.”

“No, man-spawn,” Ita repeated, growling in irritation now.

“Er, Robin…” Yarne started to warn, being ignored by the tactician.

“C’moo-HURK!”

Robin didn’t get the chance to finish his pestering, as he was tackled and pinned against a tree by a furious looking Ita.

“What!?” she roared, fangs bared inches from his face. “What do you want, human!? Why do you pester me incessantly!?”

“I just wanted to ask why you seem to hate us so much,” Robin managed as the air was pressed from his lungs, unable to stop himself from thinking that she was a lot stronger than she looked.

He grinned in the darkness, staring into the amber orbs full of hate that were glaring up at him.

“Ita,” Kowrowa growled menacingly.

The wolf-woman sighed, stepping back and letting Robin fall to land on his feet from where she’d been pinning him.

“Thank you,” Robin said pleasantly, returning the broken sword in his hand to its position on his back.

Ita blinked a few times before making a ‘tsk’ noise and turning away again.

“I have some theories,” Robin persisted, the scholar in him taking over his common sense. “But I want to hear it from you.”

“Me specifically?” Ita asked over her shoulder, almost begging him to irritate someone else.

“Hey, you started this little fight,” Robin chuckled. “C’mon.”

“Say that again and I will tear out your tongue,” Ita warned before sighing. “If it will shut you up I will tell you. The humans made us slaves and hunted us to the brink of extinction. What you saw in that building was the last of our people. That is why we hate, and that is why I do not trust. Are you happy now?”

It was Robin’s turn to blink this time as he stopped, staring at the wolf-woman’s scarred back as she continued walking.

“What in the world would make you think that would make me happy?”

*

“This is where you were camping,” Panne said, sniffing around the roots of the old tree.

Robin glanced around, finding the remains of the fire pit he and Gaius had set up, cold and burned out now.

“Yeah,” Gaius muttered. “So?”

“This tree is important,” Kowrowa explained. “Throughout the forest there are three more of its kind that we know of. Ancient spirits are said to dwell within that protect the forest and-”

“This has what to do with our current predicament?” Robin asked, cutting straight to the point; he was tired, and the sooner they finished with this, the sooner he could go back to the Shepherds and sleep.

“The monsters are gathering at points like this,” Kowrowa grunted, clearly put-off by Robin interrupting him. “They appear to be drawn to places of great power.”

“Then we know where to start looking,” Panne said with a fire in her eyes.

“But how do we find them?” Gaius asked, looking to Kowrowa. “Do your people know where they are?”

“Not all of them,” Kowrowa answered. “But we will start with the ones we do know of.”

Robin sighed, ignoring the discussion going on and bending to poke at one of the fallen daggers that the Risen had left behind, before a gentle sensation on the back of his head made him glance up. The boughs of the great oak tree were hanging low, but it was as if none of the others could see the phenomena besides Robin. As he stared up at the branches the leaves rustled, sounding like an almost feminine laugh as the caressed the tactician’s head and shoulders. There was no malice from the tree, though, and soon images began to flash before Robin’s eyes, locations of the other great trees accompanied by emotions of calm and friendship, before they were replaced by images of Risen hacking at other trees, draining energy from the forest and feelings of cold anger and wrath…

As he looked up in the silvery moonlight he watched a beautiful face made from bark and leaves look down at him from the branches and smile tenderly, before the tree returned to its previous position, leaving Robin sitting on his rear, blinking up at the tree.

_Well at least_ someone _wants to help me… I’ve heard of dryads, but never thought I’d actually see one. I guess this wasn’t a wasted trip._

“I… I think the tree just spoke to me,” he called to the others.

*

“I think that the man-spawn might be insane,” Ita said for the hundredth time as Robin led them confidently through the forest.

“Did the magic tree talk to you? No? Well then shut it and keep up,” Robin said sarcastically over his shoulder, earning a glare from the she-wolf and a couple of guffaws from the members of the pack that seemed to be warming to the human, Kowrowa included.

However it was true that Robin was leading them in a… strange direction. The tree had shown him the path to take, true, but it hadn’t exactly been specific about the seasonal issues they might encounter; namely a dry river bed that wasn’t quite so dry. The whole party was soaked and shivering as they splashed along behind him, up to their waists in icy water, but Robin kept leading them without hesitation, silently bemoaning the fact that he constantly seemed to get stuck in this position. He was tired, he was cold, and all he wanted to do was curl up next to a fire or something similar; the sooner he finished this weird little quest, the better.

“We’re almost there now anyway,” Robin added over his shoulder.

“You have been saying that for nearly an hour!” Ita growled, shaking out her wet hair like a shaggy dog.

“Well I actually mean it this time,” Robin chuckled, climbing up onto the bank and reaching back down to help the others out of the water.

They were deep in the forest now, and Robin shuddered to think of how long it would take them to reach the road again, but their destination was close at hand. There were no paths in the forest this deep, so Robin merely pushed through the foliage, trusting the others to follow him and hoping he didn’t wind up getting hypothermia. He was navigating solely on instinct now, trusting his feelings to lead him the way the tree had shown him.

Robin scoffed. He’d done a lot of weird things in the last few years; he’d bonded with his time-travelling daughter from the future, spent about as much time with shape-shifters as humans, fought wars, lost his entire memory, he’d fallen in love with his best friend’s time-travelling daughter, but asking a tree for directions was now at the top of that list.

“What’s so funny?” Gaius asked, catching up with him.

“The absurdity of the situation just dawned on me; we’re taking directions from a tree,” Robin chuckled. “This is weird, even for us.”

“So your pack does things like this… often?” Kowrowa asked curiously, towering over both of the smaller men.

“More often than I’d like to admit, yes,” Robin sighed.

“He loves it,” Gaius said, nudging Robin playfully. “He’d get bored without the constant weird stuff that goes on around us.”

“And it always seems to centralize on me,” Robin added, rolling his eyes. “What about you? Your… er… ‘pack’ seems oddly familiar with this kind of thing.”

Kowrowa shrugged. “We are not. We simply do not question the will of our queen.”

“So this kind of thing is all new to you?” Robin asked, holding a particularly large branch up and allowing Gaius, Panne and Yarne to pass beneath it; just to be antagonistic Robin let the branch snap back down in Ita’s face.

“We are familiar with hunting in this forest,” Kowrowa corrected him, trying not to laugh at the murderous glare Ita was shooting the tactician. “However this prey is new to us. We have not faced these dark creatures before, and they have invaded deep into our territory.”

“Like some foolish man-spawn present…” Ita muttered under her breath, just loud enough that Robin had no doubt he was meant to hear it.

“They’re called Risen,” the tactician explained. “They’re servants of the fell dragon Grima. He’s probably using them to steal the magical energy from the great trees in this forest, come to think of it.”

Robin mentally kicked himself. That explanation really did make a lot of sense; why hadn’t he thought of it before?

Kowrowa snorted, thinking for a moment.

“I do not know of this ‘fell dragon’,” he admitted after a time. “The only dragons we know of are the lady Tiki and her kin.”

“Oh, you know Tiki? She’s travelling with my friends as we speak,” Robin said conversationally.

Kowrowa and the other wolves stopped, shocked looks crossing their faces as surprised muttering broke out.

“The… voice of the divine dragon?” Kowrowa asked. “You speak of Naga’s voice? You… are her comrade?”

“Are you kidding?” Robin snorted. “I shared a tent with her! She snores like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Unbelievable,” Ita muttered. “Absolutely unbelievable…”

“The queen tells us tales of the Voice when she walked beneath the trees with our kind,” Kowrowa said as they started to walk again. “She was a friend of our kind when few others would claim that title.”

“Yeah, she is pretty benevolent,” Robin snickered. “Until she gets a brush in her hands. Then it’s ‘run for your life!’”

Kowrowa stopped walking again, as did all of the other wolves present, their faces dropping and many baring their fangs.

“What?” Robin asked, looking up at the big wolf. “Did I say something bad?”

“No, it is-” was as far as Kowrowa’s explanation got.

Dark shapes dropped out of the trees, weapons trained on the wolves and the Shepherds. Robin cursed, dropping Sol with no time to draw it and pulling the broken rapier out again as two Risen descended on him, moaning and growling demonically. A few pained yelps went up as two members of Kowrowa’s pack were too slow to react and were cut down, but the rest transformed and began to fight back. Panne and Yarne, too, transformed, laying into the seemingly endless horde of Risen descending on them.

“How close to the tree did you say we were!?” Gaius grunted, kicking out at a Risen and knocking it directly into the path of Yarne’s charge.

“Apparently a lot closer than I thought,” Robin replied calmly, cutting down the two Risen threatening him before bending to retrieve Sol and placing the rapier back in his belt with the same movement.

The tactician unsheathed the long sword, tossing the sheath to one side and turning the blade over in his hands. He didn’t really have time right now to dwell on the fact that it was an alien weapon in his hands… he’d been using it all evening anyway, so it was time to show off a little in front of the wolves.

Robin spun the blade, flourishing it at three Risen leaping through the underbrush at him and neatly bisected them in a single movement. He spun, bringing the blade up across his shoulder and whirling through four more of the creatures without stopping, using attacks he’d seen Lon’qu favour. Robin stopped, switching his grip as he moved to Chrom’s style and struck downwards on one Risen attempting to defend itself, knocking its guard away and slicing it in half before lashing out with a brutal side-kick at another, launching it into the trees.

He stopped to look at the positions of the others before marshalling his mana and casting a thunder spell above them, golden bolts of light raining down with pin-point accuracy on the Risen pressing the group.

“They know we’re here!” Panne shouted, her voice strangely flanged in her Taguel form. “Keep moving! Fight while we run!”

Kowrowa let out an excited howl, echoed by the other members of his pack as they started racing through the forest in the direction Robin had been leading them.

“There should be a clearing just up ahead!” the tactician called, struggling with Gaius to keep up with the shape-shifters easily outpacing them. “That’s where the target is!”

The charge was halted dead when the four-armed Risen creature dropped out of the trees, directly atop one of Kowrowa’s wolves. With a sickening twist of the chieftain’s lower hands and an audible snap the wolf went still, the Risen chieftain letting out a victorious shout before more of its smaller brethren once again descended on the party.

“Kill it!” Kowrowa roared, tearing through the smaller Risen.

Robin was forced to agree with the wolf-man; without their leader the smaller Risen would be a lot less dangerous. Robin went to cast a spell, flames dancing in circles around his hand before he caught himself, making a fist and extinguishing the flames, reminding himself that he was standing in a forest. A fire spell would most likely be a bad idea.

Before he could complete casting the wind spell he wanted to use instead he was forced to duck beneath the swinging blades of a Risen angling for his throat, throwing himself back into the melee and hoping that Kowrowa was strong enough to take the chieftain alone. The big wolf roared in irritation as the chieftain hopped backwards through the forest, forcing him to follow.

“Is there no end to these things!?” Panne roared in frustration, barrelling through a group of Risen to stand at her husband’s side.

Robin’s witty response was lost in his throat when a high-pitched cry of pain came from behind him. With barely a thought he turned and held out a hand, releasing the half-primed wind spell he’d been preparing and knocking several Risen off of one of the smaller wolves. He charged in, swinging Sol around in long arcs, flowing through the movements the way that Lon’qu had taught him and felling the stunned creatures. Robin wasted no time, lifting the wounded wolf up by the scruff and dragging it to where Gaius, Panne and Yarne were standing back to back, creating a rough triangle around the other wounded.

“Release me, man-spawn,” the wolf half-growled, half whined in a familiar voice. “I do not… need your charity…”

Apparently Robin had just saved Ita.

“Don’t make me regret saving you,” he chuckled by way of answer, throwing her the rest of the way as gently as he could before turning to rejoin the fight.

_I hate this job sometimes_ , Robin thought to himself as he ran back through the forest to where he’d seen Kowrowa going after the chieftain, ignoring the others shouting his name and calling him back.

*

Robin burst into the clearing, taking a moment to blink in surprise when he realized that the sun was already rising and the sky had gone from the inky purple colour of night to a grey and red-streaked pre-dawn.

Robin broke into a run, ignoring the bodies of the fallen wolves that had followed their leader and the encroaching Risen, angling instead for where Kowrowa and the chieftain were wrestling at the base of what Robin assumed was a miniature version of the Mila Tree.

The wounds on the big wolf’s face had opened again, as well as a multitude of new ones from the Risen surrounding him; his dark grey fur was matted with blood, and it looked like one of his eyes had been put out from a distance, but he still whirled and tore at the creatures around him relentlessly, teeth and claws killing everything that came in reach while the Risen chieftain hung back, letting the smaller ones tire the huge wolf out.

Robin hesitated a fraction of a second, wracking his tired brain as the last verse of Elthunder momentarily eluded him, electricity sparking around his arm when he remembered it and muttered the full spell beneath his breath. An arcing, jagged stream of light shot from Robin’s outstretched hand, leaping from Risen to Risen and causing them to erupt into clouds of ash around Kowrowa. The big wolf glanced curiously over his shoulder, nodding once to Robin before renewing his attack. Sword in one hand and spitting nearly continuous spells from his other Robin advanced on the tree where the Risen Chieftain was cowering.

A few more of Kowrowa’s pack leapt out of the trees, struggling to help their wounded leader despite their own wounds, Panne and Gaius doing their best to try and shepherd the nearly berserk shape-shifters and keep them from getting separated and picked off. Robin glanced around, looking for Yarne.

Robin spotted the Taguel racing through the battlefield that the small clearing had become, ripping through the knots of Risen and heading for the chieftain like Robin and Kowrowa were doing.

“Yarne! Box it in!” the tactician shouted, moving so that he, the wolf and the Taguel would catch the chieftain in a three-pronged attack.

The Taguel didn’t respond, but shifted and began to slow, matching his pace with the slower ones of Robin and the wounded Kowrowa. The Risen chieftain let out an almighty below, reaching up to the tree above it with the obvious intention of fleeing, but it fell back to the earth with a surprised honk, looking up at the tree rustling and swaying as if caught in a strong breeze. Robin grinned a little as he advanced; even the forest itself wanted the Risen taint gone.

The chieftain hooted angrily, looking back and forth between the three men assaulting it and trying to back up further, only to run into the trunk of the tree behind it. Robin risked a glance over his shoulder, seeing that Panne and Gaius had marshalled the other wolves and were safely holding the other Risen at bay for now, but that could change as soon as-

“Robin! Look out!” Yarne shouted in warning.

The tactician’s eyes snapped back in time to see a pale-purple blur racing towards him, his vision full of crimson eyes intent on his death. Somehow he managed to get Sol up in time, but his single-handed block was weak, and the creature was twice his size, forcing his sword down and gripping his neck firmly with two hands, the other two holding Robin’s arms pinned. All it would have to do was apply a little pressure and his head would pop right off. Robin struggled vainly, his eyes meeting the Risen Chieftain’s as he kicked and fought against its grip, managing to slap Sol against its side a few times awkwardly.

The chieftain brought its masked face in close to Robin’s, blinking its vile red eyes a few times and tilting its head as if confused. Before the tactician could linger on what the hell it was doing and why it wasn’t killing him Yarne barrelled into it from behind, sending the three forms tumbling to the dirt. Robin took a deep breath, no longer being strangled, and crawled on all fours away from where Yarne and the chieftain were wrestling, no longer caring about how foolish he looked as he climbed hastily back to his feet and took stock of the situation.

Kowrowa was once again struggling against numerous smaller Risen, the wolf’s movements becoming slow and sluggish as his wounds took their toll. Gaius and Panne were still leading the other wolves in a distracting attack, but there were only about six left, and all were wounded. The older Taguel was breathing heavily, and the thief looked like he was about to keel over, but they both still had sharp eyes and strong movements whenever one of the Risen came too close.

Yarne struggled to keep the chieftain from wrapping its massive hands around his form-shifted neck, ears flying back and forth as he fought and kicked at the creature holding him up by the shoulders. The young Taguel winced as he was bodily slammed to the ground, the chieftain finally getting a grip on his neck and starting to squeeze, raining blows with its other set of arms on the Taguel’s midsection and ignoring the razor-like claws digging into its torso. Yarne’s vision started to cloud, his struggles growing weaker and he began to accept the fact he was about to die, when all pressure on his neck ceased and he was coated in a rain of thick purple ashes.

The Taguel looked up, blinking as he stared at Robin standing over him, broken Rapier in hand as he smiled victoriously.

“Oh I am so keeping this,” the tactician muttered, turning the damaged weapon over in his hands a few times.

Without the chieftain to give the smaller Risen its intelligence they scattered, the least wounded members of Kowrowa’s pack taking off after them now that they were no longer a threat.

Robin bent down, retrieving Sol and leaning it against his shoulder, looking back to the trees and wondering where exactly he’d dropped the sheath, wincing as the first rays of the new dawn caught his eyes.

*

Robin resisted the urge to sigh with relief as his feet once again found the hard, compacted dirt of the road that he and Gaius had chased Panne off of the previous day. He momentarily forgot that the convoy was a day ahead of them; he momentarily forgot that he was tired to the bone from the ordeal in the forest; he even managed to block out the wet-dog smell from the six wolf shape-shifters following after the four Shepherds as guides. All he wanted to do for a moment was stand and bask in the glory that was man’s one conquering force over nature, the thing that set them apart from beasts. He just wanted to look at the road.

“It’s so good to be out of that forest!” Gaius exclaimed, stretching his arms above his head and echoing, far less eloquently, Robin’s thoughts before popping a candy of some sort into his mouth.

“I thought you said you were tapped out,” Robin pointed out.

Gaius shrugged. “I don’t share well.”

“This is as far as we go,” Kowrowa said in his deep, gravelly voice. “Follow this road east and you will reach your destination. It will most likely take you three or four days on foot.”

“We’ll get there in half the time,” Robin said with a grin, wrapping his arm around Yarne’s shoulders. “After all, we’ve got Taguel to ride!”

‘Not bloody likely,” Panne snorted, crossing her arms and shooting Gaius a ‘don’t even think about it’ glare.

“I wish you well, my friends,” the wolf leader added, bowing his muzzle low to the ground. “You have done our people a great service that can never be repaid.”

“Sure it can be,” Robin said with a smirk. “When we call for help, all you have to do is be there.”

“I will pass your request on to our queen,” Kowrowa snorted. “But even if she does not agree, when the time comes to fight your ‘Dark Dragon’ know that I and my pack will stand with you.”

“Sweet,” Gaius muttered, waving farewell and starting to walk down the road with Panne and Yarne.

“Goodbye Kowrowa,” Robin said with a respectful nod. “I wish you all the best with your… er… forest.”

The wolf chuckled as he and his pack disappeared back into the shadows of the forest, leaving Robin to jog to catch up to the other three. One set of golden eyes lingered in the shadows, watching Robin a second longer before vanishing as well.

“Argh! I can’t believe we have to walk all the way to Chon’sin!” Yarne moaned, hanging his head.

“Well not all of us have to walk,” Robin pointed out glibly.

“Indeed,” Panne deadpanned, grabbing the tactician’s arm and twisting, forcing him to lean forward and yelp with pain. “Now hold still while I bridle you.”

“Gaius! Calm your crazy wife!” Robin shrieked as the Taguel’s grip tightened.

“No way, man,” the thief laughed. “Better you than me, right?”

“Traitor!” Robin shouted, struggling to get free of his friend’s iron grip. “Mutiny! Mutiny!”

They all laughed as Panne finally released him, cuffing him over the head for good measure as she moved to walk beside her husband. Robin discretely rolled his shoulder as he laughed, wincing and marvelling at the strength that Taguel possessed.

“Hey!” Someone called from the distance. “Need a ride!?”

Robin looked up, shielding his eyes from the morning sun and feeling his spirits rise when he spotted a familiar looking young man waving his sword in the air from the back of a wagon just around a bend.

“Inigo you glorious bastard!” Robin cried as they ran to meet the wagon, suddenly reinvigorated. “I could kiss you right now!”

“Please,” Inigo said, holding out his hands defensively as he hopped down from the wagon to stand beside Libra, patiently waiting to treat their wounds. “Please don’t. Or I will see to it we leave you here.”

“’Sup, Padre?” Gaius said, raising his hand in greeting before walking right by the priest and climbing into the back of the wagon. “Not wounded. Just tired. Gonna sleep in the wagon. Wake me up when we get where we’re goin.”

“That is a three day journey from here,” Libra pointed out, his tone as soft as ever as he inspected a small gash to the back of one of Panne’s arms.

“So don’t wake me for three days!” Gaius called, making the others chuckle again.

“You all look like you’ve been pulled through the eye of a needle,” Inigo chuckled as Yarne sat back against the wagon, waiting for Lira to finish with his mother.

“It was brutal,” the half-Taguel complained.

“It was awesome,” Robin chuckled, leaning back himself but remaining standing. “But I’m so grateful you and your parents thought enough to hang back for us.”

Inigo tilted his head quizzically as he passed Yarne a waterskin.

“Parents?” the younger man asked. “It’s just me and dad, here. Mom’s with the convoy.”

Robin felt a familiar unsettling sensation form in the pit of his stomach, dreading the answer to the question he was about to ask.

“So if this isn’t your mom’s wagon…” the tactician began, stopping when a single white hair drifted down in front of his nose to fall on the ground.

“Look at what I found in the back of my horribly vandalised wagon,” a voice like a combination of the most sickly sweet honey and the harshest growling said from behind Robin in the wagon’s bed, making his blood freeze.

“I almost missed it, too; I almost blamed it on scavengers or saboteurs. I mean those things do happen in wars, right?”

Robin gulped as he felt something cold press against his neck and Anna leaned close to whisper into his ear.

“But I did finally find the culprit.”

“Anna, please,” Robin begged, to terrified to move. “I… I can explain! There’s a good explanation, I swear!”

“Good,” the red-headed merchant smiled, like a promise of imminent death as she drew her knife away from Robin’s throat and sheathed it. “Because it’s a looooong ride to Chon’sin after all, hrm?”

Robin chuckled unconvincingly as she moved to ready the horses, jumping to the dirt and brushing past him. His hand inadvertently reached up to rub at his neck where she’d held the knife.

“I’m so dead,” he muttered, watching her stroke her horse’s neck affectionately. “So, so dead.”

Inigo and Libra both looked up sharply as a long howl echoed around them from the forest, repeated a number of times. Anna reacted instantly, already up and on the driver’s seat of the wagon.

“We should probably get the hell out of here,” Inigo said, a rare quiver in his voice.

Robin shook his head, leaning against the wagon and crossing his arms, smiling into the forest.

“Don’t worry,” he said over his shoulder. “They’re just saying goodbye.”


	46. Chapter 46

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“Are we there yet?”

“Yes.”

“What? Really?” Robin asked, jumping up and looking over the rear of Anna’s horse at further and endless-seeming expanse of mountain trail they were on.

“No!” Anna shouted, driving her fist down into the top of Robin’s head. “Now shut up before I throw you off this mountain!”

“Sheesh,” Robin muttered as he rubbed the top of his head and sunk back into the tray of the wagon with a snickering Gaius and Inigo. “Somebody’s crabby this morning.”

“I swear to Naga if you weren’t so important to the Ylissean League I’d…” Anna muttered under her breath, her fists tight around the reins of her sturdy draft horse.

“I should probably stop harassing her so much,” Robin muttered, Inigo shaking his head as he scooted to make room for the tactician, shaking his head and chuckling as he did so.

“What is it with you and poking the bear lately?” Gaius asked, popping another of his seemingly endless supply of candies into his mouth.

“I think dying might have made me braver,” Robin said nonchalantly, putting on overt false bravado so that they knew he was joking.

They had been travelling for nearly a day now, but had passed into Chon’sin’s borders the previous evening and were due to arrive at the capital that afternoon. Once they had crossed the border Panne had insisted she and Yarne run back on their own, intent on pushing her future son even harder in his ‘Taguel training’ now. As well as giving Robin another good smack for bringing up the topic of riding them again. However, by racing back first they would be the ones to give Chrom the debriefing, meaning Robin would be free to collapse wherever he decided was a good spot to sleep.

The forests had eventually given way to grasslands and farms, before giving way again to the rockier terrain as they climbed into the mountains. The majority of the Chon’sin farmlands were to the south, the north being mostly dependant on the lumber trade and fishing. Robin had considered utilizing these docks at first so that they wouldn’t have to follow the coastline all the way back to Valm Harbour, but had given up on the idea when he’d read that they were barely worthy of being called ‘docks’ they were so small.

He sighed happily, leafing through the papers that Morgan had lovingly prepared for him and left with Inigo as Anna’s wagon trundled onwards. He’d picked up on the coded message she’d put in them almost instantly as well, but it was nice that he had a little background geographical and cultural information now. Even if his daughter’s handwriting was just as bad as his own.

_“Mom’s mad. Need reinforcements. Not life-threatening yet, but rabbit-stew might make it back onto the menu really soon if things go bad. M.”_

That had been her message; apparently Say’ri had found out about Yarne. Fortunately for the half-Taguel Robin’s opinion of him had vastly improved over the last twenty-four hours, and it didn’t hurt that Morgan was outright asking for his help now.

The tactician stretched his arms above his head, wincing a little as his hands brushed some hanging pots, making a soft clattering sound.

He leapt to the side as Anna’s knife buried itself next to where he’d been sitting.

“Not again!” she roared at him. “Straighten them up! Now! Or the next one won’t miss!”

_I was wrong!_ Robin thought as he moved as fast as he could to put the pots exactly back the way they had been. _I’m still scared of death! Holy crap!_

*

Morgan anxiously wrung her hands as she stood between Yarne and her new second shadow, Seiko as they waited at the entrance of the castle the Shepherds were being housed in. Anna’s wagon had been spotted on the mountain road not that long ago, and they should be rolling into view any second now.

“Relax,” Yarne soothed. “They were better than fine when we left them. Er… well, actually, Anna had her dagger at your father’s throat, but that’s… I mean… she, uh…”

“It’s alright,” Morgan giggled, resisting the urge to lean back against the taller boy as they waited, reminding herself that they were in public and she had an image to maintain as Princess. “It’s not Anna I’m worried about.”

It irked her, to be honest, that the Chon’sin culture was so reserved. She had been deceived by Seiko’s easy demeanour and dry wit into thinking that Chon’sin wouldn’t be all that different to Ylisse, but she had found herself rudely awakened very fast by the quiet soldiers and submissive serving class. Even General Keiji had become something of a different person to the brash commander that had shouted orders back and forth over the battlefield and argued tactics with Lord Liung. It was a subdued culture of quiet subtleties and aesthetic form; a beautiful world Morgan was happy to be seeing and becoming a part of, but sadly not something she saw herself adopting permanently, even if it was her birthright.

The thought of disappointing her mother now that they were finally getting along and creating common ground was weighing heavily on her, and she still hadn’t fully recovered after the last few battles with the Imperials, physically or emotionally. Just last night she’d woken in a cold sweat, biting her tongue so she didn’t cry out as nightmares assailed her sleeping mind.

She just wanted to see her father for a little while; that was all. He always knew exactly how to cheer her up, no matter the problem. She would talk to him for a little while, recharge her batteries and then she’d go back to being the princess again.

What she would do when the time came to go back to Ylisse, though…

Morgan sighed, tugging at the flowing kimono she was expected to be wearing around the capital while she was out and about. She missed her coat. She had almost put it on over the kimono, but Seiko had pointed out that it wouldn’t be able to hide her identity; it would just make her stand out more.

Yarne nudged her out of her reverie, indicating into the distance with a nod of his head. Morgan looked, shielding her eyes from the sun and a wide smile instantly broke out on her face. There in the distance was the small plume of dust that signified Anna’s wagon.

“See?” Yarne said with a smaller grin of his own. “Right on time.”

Morgan nodded, stepping towards the road from the small gatehouse they had been occupying to meet the wagon. Anna brought the sturdily built horse to a stop just next to where the trio was standing before reaching behind her and dragging out a sack-full of rags and dumping them at their feet.

“He’s your problem now,” she called as she lashed the horse into movement again.

Yarne shook his head and chuckled, kissing Morgan on the cheek before leaping up into the back compartment of the wagon to meet his own father. The younger tactician smiled for a moment before looking down at where the rags were sitting up of their own accord.

“That woman is dangerous,” Robin muttered, rubbing his shoulder where he’d fallen and eying the disappearing wagon with distaste. “Dangerous with a capital ‘crazy’. Yeesh. I think I broke my-HURK!”

“Dad!” Morgan cried, composure shattering as she practically threw herself on top of him, image be damned. “Welcome to Chon’sin! It’s so good to see you again!”

“Morgan… can’t… breathe… hugging… too tight…”

*

Morgan let out another sniffle as Seiko poured them both cups of local tea, the fragrant scent of garden weeds wafting up to Robin’s nose being ignored in favour of his daughter. The usually talkative woman retreated after that, no doubt lingering just outside the door where she could hear whatever they were saying; she was a spy, after all.

“I’m sorry I lost it there,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her sleeve. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“It’s just culture shock,” Robin said reassuringly.

“You sound awfully confident about that,” Morgan sniffled, taking a sip from her cup. “How can you be so sure it’s that and I’m not just caving under the stress?”

“Because I’m the father and it’s my job to sound confident?” Robin said, phrasing it as a question in a joking manner.

A rough laugh escaped from Morgan’s throat before she clamped down on it, sniffling again and shifting a little.

“How’d you get so good at cheering people up?” Morgan asked, sounding a little more at ease now.

“Comes from being cheered up a lot,” Robin shrugged. “Besides, you’re my daughter, which means you’re a lot stronger than you think. Now drink your tea and tell me what’s been happening.”

Morgan nodded, draining her cup before launching into a long and detailed explanation that basically boiled down to her being nervous about suddenly being thrust into the spotlight as a member of the Chon’sin Royalty and her mother’s negative reaction to the news about her and Yarne.

“She really didn’t take it well,” Morgan muttered afterward, looking downcast. “She just went all ice-queen on me and refused to talk about it until she’d had time to ‘think’.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure she didn’t run around camp for half an hour screaming about bunny-eared grand-children,” Robin muttered into his cup.

“What?” Morgan asked curiously.

“Er… nothing,” Robin said hastily. “Do you like Yarne?”

“What?” Morgan repeated, looking confused.

“Simple yes or no question,” the older tactician said. “Do. You. Like. The Bunny?”

“Yes, of course I do,” Morgan said without hesitation. “But…”

“No buts!” Robin interrupted her. “I’ll go straighten this whole mess out. You just… go back to doing whatever it was you were doing before I got here. Nice shoes, by the way. Hardly combat rated, but I guess they’ll be okay for around the Capital.”

Morgan blushed a little, taken by surprise at the sudden change of topic as she glanced over at the sandals she had left at the door of the small room they were in next to her father’s boots.

“You’ll really talk to mom?” Morgan asked quietly. “Because she seemed pretty upset.”

“Urgh. Don’t tell me that,” Robin groaned, flopping backwards to lie on the floor. “She scares the bajeepers out of me at the best of times… Yes, I’ll talk to her, just not right now. Things are going to be crazy enough around here without me making them worse by marching up to the castle and beating up her guards until she comes out to see me.”

Robin heard a very unladylike snort of laughter from Seiko on the other side of the door.

“I heard that!” he shouted, jumping to his feet. “You don’t think I could do it!? I’ll go and do it right now, just to prove the point!”

“Dad, sit down and drink your tea before you hurt yourself,” Morgan laughed.

*

Robin sighed, running a hand thorough his hair, getting ready to moan about its ever-increasing length and sighing instead, giving up on the idea of ever getting a haircut any time soon.

Morgan was stressed; that’s all there was to it. They all were, to be honest. It was a stressful lifestyle, trying to win a future of peace and prosperity and make sure it endured. But Morgan was so young. She hadn’t been emotionally prepared for the reality of leadership, and he’d known that.

_And yet I thrust it on her anyway._

He knew it was cruel to leave the entire League in her hands, but it couldn’t have been helped. She was the only one with the knowledge and skill to adapt his strategies in the field; Virion might have been able to cope if things had been a little more level, but the war had been going badly and the intelligent archer lacked that spark that seemed to exist in Robin and his daughter, the uncanny ability to make leaps of logic to fill in the gaps and come up with a perfect strategy.

_She’s overworked,_ Robin thought, rifling through the things that had been left in his small room. _She needs a break. We all do. A vacation, a rest, even just a couple days of R and R would do us all a world of good._

Robin grinned a little.

_Plus a few days of R and R would give me a chance to get a little closer to Lucina, too._

The tactician let out a tired sigh as he tumbled down over his shoulder to his futon, the common bedding that had been provided for the Shepherds staying in this castle, cursing the fact that he and the Princess both had so many duties that kept them apart.

He had intended to go looking for Lucina almost immediately upon his return, but Morgan’s welfare came first, and he’d spent the entire afternoon sitting and talking with his daughter about everything and nothing, just spending time with her. By the time Seiko had stuck her head back in and told her it was time for them to head back to the palace Morgan had almost been back to her usual chirpy self, much to Robin’s relief.

But after that, and the bath that he so desperately needed, he’d even wound up missing dinner. Fortunately it seemed that Tharja was still up to her old tricks, and a plate of fried something on top of some form of noodles had been waiting for him after his bath.

“She’ll never change,” Robin muttered to himself with a small grin. “I wonder when she’ll finally settle down with Henry?”

Robin rolled onto his side, exhaling through his nose and glancing up at the sword leaning against the desk. Morgan had stared at it for a little while, and when he’d asked her about it she’d said it had seemed somehow familiar, but she wasn’t sure how. She was supposed to ask Say’ri about it tomorrow; Robin prayed to Naga that she didn’t want it back. It was obviously an old heirloom of some kind, but Robin had grown attached.

“She can have it over my dead body,” he muttered, closing his eyes and trusting the candle illuminating the room to burn out without catching anything else on fire.

He was tired, and tomorrow was a big day.

*

Robin resisted the urge to shudder, overcome with the lingering sense of unease that had only grown since he’d set foot in Chon’sin’s borders. He poked listlessly at his breakfast, a large hearty tray of Naga-only-knew-what that the locals had prepared for the Shepherds; it wasn’t like it was bad, just unidentifiable.

_Is that fish?_ Robin wondered, gently nudging what looked like fried something on a small plate, trying in vain to distract himself from his anxiety.

Everything was going well. The wounded were accounted for and the grim task of identification of the dead was progressing at a steady pace; the Ylissean League proper, minus its local allies, were on their way to Valm Harbour to await Seth and Raimi’s arrival under the watchful eyes of Duke Roark; the Imperial forces had been all but silent, submissively following any orders that the League gave them; the Shepherds were settling in nicely to their temporary lodgings, even if Vaike and Inigo were already starting to cause trouble for the staff and locals. So there was only one reason that he would be feeling this anxiety.

“Don’t the peace talks start today?” Cordelia asked conversationally as she inspected a similar tray of food to Robin’s.

The tactician groaned, letting his face fall forward and hit the table next to his tray with an audible thump.

“Oh do not over-exaggerate,” Virion said, rolling his eyes and sipping a cup of local tea before making a sour face.

“How they can call this brew made out of garden weeds ‘tea’…”

“Where’s Cherche this morning?” Robin asked into the table, desperately trying to change the subject.

“She is off trying to coax the most ornery of sons out of his shell,” Virion said with a sigh. “She seems to make further progress when I am not present, much to my great dismay. I believe it has something to do with subconsciously being put at ease by the scent of wyvern. But I have not lost heart! I shall reach my son from the future, even if it costs me my life to do so, for-”

“Alright, alright, sheesh,” Robin groaned. “Sorry I asked. Moving on, where’s your other half this morning, Cordelia?”

The Wing-Commander went as red as her hair, smiling to herself as she answered.

“He needed to prepare the duty rosters for the Shepherds guarding the assembly,” she said, swooning. “His sense of duty is amazing, isn’t it?”

“And once again, I’m sorry I asked,” the tactician muttered, resisting the urge to retch.

Robin was, as usual, sharing breakfast with Virion, Tharja, Cordelia and Noire, the group playfully trying to guess what their breakfast was as they talked about the planned days ahead for the peace conference; every member of the Shepherds had a part to play, even if it was simply security. Virion would be attending with Cherche as a representative of the smaller nations that had been swept up in the Imperial conquest, while Cordelia would be attending as a member of Chrom’s Honour Guard with Frederick and the other Knights. Noire and Tharja, along with Severa and Owain (if he could keep his trap shut for more than a few minutes) would be joining Robin as his ‘Official Staff’ in his capacity as Chief Tactician of Ylisse. They were really just going to be there to make sure he stayed awake and maybe take some notes, but it would be nice to have some other people there as bored as he was; Robin really didn’t even need to go, it was just for appearances.

Noire seemed to wilt under the added pressure of Robin’s request, but had dutifully been following him around with a clipboard exactly like the one Laurent usually carried, the hyper-intelligent mage having been snatched up for Chrom’s entourage already, and making notes about everything Robin told her to.

_At least her handwriting is nicer than Laurent’s_ … Robin thought dismally, rolling his head to the side and reluctantly sitting back up.

Tharja would be there because… well, she went just about everywhere with him, so she would no doubt have spent the day sitting outside of the hall the meeting was being held in if he hadn’t invited her. He was also allowed two soldiers to act as an Honour Guard, and the only two not patrolling or on guard duty for the day had been Severa and Owain. Robin had added them to his list without even thinking, sleep deprivation getting the better of him at the time; at the very least trying to keep Severa from throttling Owain should prove to be mildly amusing and distracting. Besides, the two had to learn how to cooperate as part of a squad; they were both complimented each other’s strengths too well to leave in separate units.

Morgan was out, too, seeing as her heritage, or at least part of it, was being made common knowledge and the new princess of Chon’sin was welcomed by the masses as Say’ri and Yen’fay’s long lost baby sister. He felt like he’d barely gotten the chance to talk to her the previous evening before Seiko had appeared to whisk her away for something or other. It was nice to see her spending time with her mother and her culture, but it made Robin feel a little alienated if he were honest with himself.

_First a boyfriend and now this_ , he thought dejectedly. _Next she’s going to want her own posting instead of being my assistant… There’s a depressing thought. Ah, they grow up so fast._

Robin had desperately wanted Lucina to be in his little group, too, but she had been ear-marked for the main Ylissean party with her parents and the military leaders, so that plan had been shot all to hell before it had even coalesced.

He let out a sigh, wondering when they’d get to actually spend some time together again before lingering on the fact that he _wasn’t_ part of the main Ylissean party.

“I hate politics,” he grumbled, popping something resembling a plant into his mouth and trying not to register the taste.

“So we’ve heard,” Virion drolled with a grin. “Truly you wound up in the wrong profession, my friend.”

“Not for lack of trying!” Robin exclaimed. “I even tried dying to get out of this job, but I just keep getting sucked back in!”

The table chuckled a little at Robin’s theatrics, Henry making an unexpected entrance and setting a tray in front of Tharja before sitting down next to her.

“Thank you,” she said, far less coldly than she usually treated the other Dark Mage.

Robin quirked a brow at this strange behaviour; he smelled an opportunity to make mischief, and his mood did a one-eighty turn almost instantly as he focused on something distracting and, hopefully, fun.

“Wow, Tharja, your personal skills have really improved from hexing everyone that so much as looked at you,” Robin said with a sly grin. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were making new friends.”

The dark mage blushed heavily, angling her head down to hide her face with her fringe the way she usually did as Henry laughed.

“Nya ha ha! I should hope so!” the white-haired mage chuckled.

Robin looked back and forth between the two a few times, his mind working overtime until the situation clicked and a big grin spread across his face.

“Oh my gods!” he exclaimed, jumping up and pointing at the two. “You two are a couple now! When did that happen!?”

Tharja’s blush simply intensified, as did Henry’s laughter as some Shepherds from the other tables turned to look at the ruckus.

“So? Give me the juicy details!” Robin demanded, leaning across the table. “Have you tried to make a baby-Noire yet?”

The atmosphere at the table dropped along with the ambient temperature as everyone froze in place, eyes wide at Robin’s inappropriate candour. Noire looked like she was about to have a panic attack. Cordelia and Virion both stared at him with mouths hanging open and wide eyes, while Henry looked like he was holding in a fit of giggles so serious he might laugh himself to death.

Tharja was the only one seemingly unaffected by the atmosphere, her hand a blur as she waved her fingers intricately in front of her, still looking down as a spark of dark magic accompanied her hex, dancing along her slender fingers before winking out.

That was the last thing Robin saw before his own hand, seemingly compelled by a mind of its own, snapped up and punched him in the face, knocking him clear off his chair and onto the stone floor.

“I deserved that,” he managed to mutter before he passed out.

*

When Robin came to it was to a familiar set of faces looking down at him, Lissa leaning over him with a healing staff while Chrom looked on, shaking his head and trying not to laugh.

_This isn’t even funny anymore…_ Robin thought, suppressing a smile.

“Hi guys,” Robin said groggily as his mind struggled to regain consciousness. “We really need to stop meeting like this.”

“Yes, well, at least we’re not outside in a field this time,” Chrom laughed, Lissa giggling a little as she finished her healing spell.

“That was either the bravest or stupidest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do,” Lissa said, finishing her spell and patting Robin once. “How’d she get you so easily?”

“I don’t think she’s ever hexed me before,” Robin theorized, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head where a magnificent lump had formed. “I don’t have the resistance that, well, everyone else in the camp has built up to it, so I think she got a little carried away.”

“Really now,” the Exalt chuckled, extending a hand to help Robin up. “What were you thinking, harassing her like that? You had to know that would happen.”

“I’m just grateful I’m still alive, honestly,” the tactician said, gratefully allowing himself to be pulled to his feet; he was still feeling a little unsteady, to be honest.

The dining hall of the castle the Shepherds had been put up in was almost empty now, save the three Shepherds still standing and talking. Robin spotted another blue-haired Ylissean royal standing just behind Chrom, bumping the count up to four as Lucina cast Robin a gaze equal parts glare and worry.

“Now behave,” Chrom said, clapping him on the shoulder before leaving, and adding over his own shoulder, “I can’t have my chief tactician show up with a broken nose, can I? Lucina, make sure he gets cleaned up and doesn’t piss anyone else off before the first meeting today.”

“Of course father,” she answered as he left, Lissa following after giving Robin a big smile and a playful wink and leaving the tactician and Lucina alone.

They looked at each other a moment before a huge grin broke out on Robin’s face, making Lucina roll her eyes.

“You are an idiot,” the Princess sighed, forcing him back down onto a chair.

“Did I really break my nose?” Robin asked, experimentally reaching up and prodding at the centre of his face.

“You did,” Lucina replied. “It was quite the mess. Now hold still while I clean you up.”

“You know I could probably do it myself,” Robin said as he glanced at his fingers, eyes widening when they came away from his nose wet with blood.

“Damn, how hard did I hit myself?”

“Hard enough for you to be unconscious for the remainder of the meal,” Lucina chuckled as she moved to stand directly in front of him, a small cloth in her hand as she leaned in close. “Now hold still.”

Robin couldn’t help but grin as she gingerly wiped his face clean, a slight blush creeping to her cheeks as she focused intently on her task. He was perhaps overly aware of how close their faces were at present, not to mention how gentle she was being, making his face heat up a little, too; but Robin wasn’t embarrassed. Robin was excited by the prospect of being alone with Lucina.

“You know, I did want to spend more time with you, but this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“Yes, apparently you did not have a lot in your mind this morning,” Lucina quipped, her blush intensifying a little. “However there was something I wished to speak to you about, anyway.”

“Hey, I got some laughs,” Robin said defensively, not noticing the second part of Lucina’s statement.

“They were laughing at the fact that you knocked yourself out cold,” she said.

“Well… you’re still smiling,” Robin said, his face breaking into another sly grin.

Lucina sighed again, no longer attempting to hide her smile as she finished cleaning Robin.

“I am not smiling at your foolishness. You truly are insufferable sometimes.”

“Yeah, but that’s…”

“Part of your charm, I know,” Lucina cut him off, playfully nudging his face to one side. “There. Try not to make anyone else hit you.”

“If it bothered you that much I could have cleaned myself off,” Robin teased, standing and stepping in closer to the woman.

“It was… not a bother,” Lucina replied, looking up a little at him in surprise at first before her smile set back in, an almost expectant set to her features now. “After all, I was told to make sure you cleaned yourself up.”

“I’m sure that’s what it was,” Robin muttered, his hands reaching out automatically to Lucina’s waist, pulling her closer to him.

She offered no resistance, and Robin leaned his head down, pulling their bodies flush against each other and reaching out to-

“Ahem. I can come back later if I’m interrupting something.”

Robin and Lucina separated as if someone had lit a fire between them, faces both instantly vermilion with embarrassment.

“Virion!” the tactician shouted in surprise. “What… uh… I… we were… she was…”

“His nose was broken and I was… ensuring it was… properly set and healed!” Lucina supplied, just as flustered as Robin was. “Yes! Yes, he is all healed and now… now I… I must prepare for the summit! Farewell sir Virion, sir Robin!”

And with that the princess bolted from the room, leaving Robin to turn a glare that could melt steel on his friend.

“You _dog_ you,” Virion commented slyly. “I had felt guilty about leaving you for dead at breakfast, but now… well I had no idea… the princess? Ho ho! This is truly delicious! And answers so many of my questions, yet raises so many, many-many-many more! You and I shall have to have a deep heart-to-heart, my friend! That you thought you could keep this a secret from me, who was formerly the loveliest of lovers, is ludic-”

“Virion, I love you like a brother, but I have never been so close to repeatedly lighting you on fire in my life.”

*

Robin pulled off his shirt, the small amulet Tharja had given him swinging wildly with the movement before settling as the tactician sighed and poked his fingers through the holes he’d earned in the forest the previous night. This had been his nicest shirt once… Now he was out of clothes, hence why he was subjecting himself to Virion’s constant barrage of questions as the archer dug a spare set of clothes up for him.

“So?” Virion pestered. “How long has this been going on, my good man? And am I the only one fortunate enough to know of this most secretive of loves?”

“You talk a lot, and yet say so little,” Robin grumbled.

“Come, you must tell me!” Virion insisted, holding out a frilled monstrosity to Robin and blinking at the golden amulet around his neck and bulky ring on his hand. “And at what point did you start wearing jewellery?”

“No. Frills,” the tactician repeated sternly, making Virion sigh and return to digging through a surprisingly large collection of clothing that he apparently lugged around everywhere with him.

“I guess… since Steiger,” Robin muttered, finally relenting and answering both questions at once.

“Oh-ho!” the archer practically shouted, shooting to a standing position. “But of course! The lovely princess, captured and held against her will, waiting for her gallant hero to rescue her; then he arrives, with naught but a rag-tag band of vagabonds at his back, sacrificing himself to ensure her survival… It is beautiful!”

_I can’t decide if I’m upset because I’m embarrassed, or because he hit the nail on the head,_ Robin thought, desperately wishing he was elsewhere.

“But…” Virion pondered, growing sombre. “What of young Morgan and the Lady Say’ri?”

Robin sighed.

“I will not press the issue if you do not wish to talk about it,” Virion added hastily.

“Look, Say’ri and I already talked about it. Kinda. And, well…” Robin’s face dropped, becoming pale as he pulled Virion’s least-ruffled shirt over his head. “Oh gods I haven’t told Morgan yet.”

Virion chuckled and shook his head, giving his friend a good-natured slap in the back of his own head.

“You truly do lack all sensibilities unless battlefield tactics are involved.”

“Er… I should probably do that, huh?” Robin muttered, scratching the back of his head.

The tactician made a face as the tight, form-hugging shirt restricted his movement.

“How do you wear these every day?” he grumbled, pulling his coat back on and attempting to hide the lace ruffles up his sleeves.

“They are custom fitted,” Virion drolled, returning to dig around in his clothes-chest. “You do not look it, but you really are becoming quite broad in your chest. But I digress; were I you, I would hold off on having that particular… conversation with Morgan for now.”

“I’m sure you’d tell me anyway, but please enlighten me, oh ‘loveliest of lovers’,” Robin snickered to his friend’s back.

“Do not mock me,” Virion warned. “I have killed for less. But on the subject of your daughter, is she not in the Lady Say’ri’s entourage for this summit? You will distract her, and this is a once-in-a-lifetime event that shan’t be repeated! She would do well to witness it with eyes unclouded by familial drama, no?”

“Your perpetual infinite logic continues to astound and infuriate me,” Robin deadpanned, running a hand through his hair.

“Do not fret,” the archer said, crossing to stand before Robin and laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. “The war is finished now. There will be plenty of time to stumble your way through that particular conversation later. Now hold still; I finally found a cravat that will match that forsaken coat you insist on wearing everywhere.”

“Not in a million years, Ruffles,” the tactician laughed, batting his friend’s hand away.

*

Robin grumbled wordlessly, tugging at a dark grey cravat as he lead a small group of formally dressed Shepherds through the grounds of the Chon’sin Royal Palace that would be playing host to the peace summit.

“Curse that man and his infinite logic,” Robin muttered under his breath, stopping to let the guards do a sweep of the group.

Somehow Virion had talked him into the cravat; even Tharja had snickered at him when he’d shown up at the meeting point. Owain and Severa had flat out laughed at him, while Noire giggled quietly for a little bit before she noticed the vein standing out on the tactician’s forehead. Fortunately for Robin it seemed like everyone else had used their common sense and had dressed appropriately; the three time-travellers had cleaned their clothes and armour to a presentable standard, Severa’s shoulder-plate was practically a mirror she had shined it so well, and Owain was complaining, in his usual theatrical fashion, that his mother hadn’t let him leave the compound the Ylisseans were housed in until she was ‘satisfied with his appearance’. Tharja was also wearing her best robes, and Noire looked like she was trying to emulate her mother’s surprisingly noble bearing every time the other woman wasn’t looking.

_That is so hopelessly cute I think I’m going to puke_ , Robin thought, supressing a smile as Noire tried to copy Tharja’s stance while her mother’s back was turned.

“Okay, we know why we’re here,” Robin said to the small group once the security guards in full regalia waved them in. “Noire, Severa, keep eyes on everything. If something goes wrong, Owain your first priority is to get the girls out. Tharja you… I don’t know, just do what you normally do.”

“Of course, master! You were right to place your trust in me!” Owain saluted, very loudly, hand resting on the sword he had chosen to wear that day; one of Lon’qu’s old swords, or what would become one of Lon’qu’s old swords, or…

_Freaking time-travel_ , Robin thought, rubbing his head and attempting to avoid the familiar time-travel related head spin he usual wound up getting by looking at the surroundings as they walked to the castle.

The grounds were sparse and the gardens not particularly impressive, but there was a strange harmony with the natural and man-made elements to the space. No space seemed wasted, and everywhere Robin looked he saw hints of careful culturing and caring on the gardeners parts. His opinion of Chon’sin’s horticulturalists jumped up a little.

In a strange decision on the host’s part all the diplomatic parties were being allowed to retain their weapons, ceremonial or not; Robin just assumed that Say’ri was thinking that with so many enemies in the room none of the Imperials would cause a ruckus, even if they kept their weapons. But it still seemed a little strange to him.

Noire had swapped her old and beaten up bow for a loaner from Virion, a finely detailed and beautifully finished longbow slung over her shoulder with her quiver, but also had Henry’s dagger strapped to her hip ‘because she would get more use out of it than him on the politicians, nya-ha-ha!’, while Severa had her usual sword strapped to her hip as well. Deciding it would be a better idea to try to avoid a diplomatic incident, Robin had opted to leave Sol in his room, doing like Tharja and bringing only his spellbook. Just in case the sword really was an important heirloom. Plus he was beginning to get attached to it, even if he would have to do a lot of training before he was as comfortable with it as he had been with the rapier Chrom had given him, now safely sitting on top of the pile of things that poor Jake had to mend, reforge or simply repair.

Huginn the Raven, otherwise known as Tharja’s familiar and carrier pigeon fluttered down to land on his master’s shoulder. A moment passed between the two, Tharja no doubt communicating however it was she did with the bird before whispering a small set of instructions to him and urging him to take flight, all within the space of less than a minute.

“How come he never listened to me?” Robin wondered aloud as he watched the bird disappear into the distance.

Tharja shrugged. “How come I never listened to you?”

“You still don’t listen to me,” Robin deadpanned.

“I feel naked without my sword,” he added, grumbling as they crossed the carefully manicured grounds on a winding stone pathway.

“You should have said so earlier, master!” Owain said cheerily from behind him. “You could have borrowed one of mine! I know that Foe-Hammer has been aching to feel the grip of a valiant hero once again!”

“Didn’t I tell you to stop giving your weapons stupid names?” Severa groaned. “It’s so childish!”

“But it gives the blade a true soul!” Owain insisted.

“Here they go,” Robin groaned under his breath to Noire, who giggled a little along with his sigh.

“You two behave, or I’ll have the guards throw you in whatever Naga-forsaken pit these people have for prisons, am I clear?” Robin said, stopping and rounding on the two Shepherds. “I chose you two to come here with me for two reasons; one, because you constantly bicker and we’re meant to be a team. Owain, simmer down; Severa, get over yourself. The second reason is, well… everyone else was busy.”

“And apparently misery loves company,” Tharja muttered just loud enough for Robin to hear.

_She’s probably still mad about this morning_ , Robin thought, cringing a little as their eyes met and Tharja’s narrowed at him. _Yup. Still mad._

“Of course master!” Owain exclaimed, a look of deep regret crossing his features for irritating his ‘master’. “Owain shall restrain his mighty sword hand in the presence of his fated companions, if you so decree.”

“Urgh… just shut up already…” Severa moaned, rubbing her temples and apparently ignoring Robin.

“Please,” she added, rolling her eyes when she saw the glare he levelled at her.

The tactician let out a tired sigh, beginning to question his own sanity at the brilliant plan ‘bring Severa and Owain to an important diplomatic function’.

“Let’s just… go in already. Before you two tear each other apart and I get stuck telling your parents how I killed you both in a fit of frustrated rage.”

*

Chrom tugged at the tight collar of his formal suit with one finger, the constricting clothes driving him mad as he finally popped the collar open and managed to take a breath. He hated wearing his formal clothes; it had taken long enough just to get used to wearing full armour almost everywhere, rather than his preferred training gear, but this was something he would just never get used to.

“Stop playing with your collar,” Sumia admonished, suddenly at his side and re-fixing the high collar that was vexing him so.

“You’re the Exalt now; if you’re not going to act the part you may as well look it,” she added when he moaned.

Sully and Stahl snickered from the honour guard waiting behind them, being silenced by a glare from Frederick even as Chrom cast his own over his shoulder. The two Knights were lined up beside two of Cordelia’s Pegasus Knights and Cynthia posing as a third, all five resplendent in their polished armour and parade uniforms. The two commanders, Frederick and Cordelia, were also wearing the finery that came with their positions; in fact this was the first time since his promotion ceremony Chrom had seen Frederick wear the Knight Commander’s mantle, the long red cape attached to it falling to the floor. Along with the Knights were Lissa and Lon’qu, both wearing formal attire, and Lucina in a dress uniform of similar cut to Chrom’s.

_Wait… why are there odd numbers of…_ Chrom wondered before he noticed Kellam, resplendent in shining and perfectly presented armour standing behind the other two Knights.

_Right. Kellam. I can’t believe I forgot about him. Again._

Chrom’s eyes kept wandering, settling on his sister and her husband. At least Lon’qu looked as uncomfortable as Chrom in the stuffy formal clothes, clutching at his sword’s hilt and kneading it restlessly. Lissa didn’t even seem fazed by the large yellow dress she was wearing, probably because it was so similar to the one she usually wore. Chrom always thought she would make the better day-to-day ruler of their people than he would, but being Exalt was his duty, and he wouldn’t shirk it.

Lon’qu wasn’t the only one that seemed distracted, though; a few times Chrom had noticed his daughter, usually so focused and driven, staring off into space as though there were something else on her mind, and he couldn’t blame her. He’d give anything to be literally anywhere else right now.

“I hate politics,” the Exalt muttered, smoothing the front of his suit down again, wishing he could be wearing armour like his youngest daughter currently chatting happily with the other two Pegasus Knights.

The dark blue and white jacket covered in gold gilt had a tendency to ride up since he’d bulked up during the war; he’d have to have another made when they returned to Ylisse. Sumia was wearing a matching dress, one that Chrom always thought she looked amazing in. As he admired his wife he felt his concentration slipping again…

“Dear, focus,” Sumia reminded him.

“Er… sorry,” Chrom muttered, reigning in his wandering eyes before sighing. “How long are they going to make us wait?”

“It’s a pretty big summit,” Sumia soothed. “I’m sure it’ll start soon.”

_I am beginning to regret not having Robin as part of this group,_ Chrom thought. _At least he would have been entertaining. But if I want him to watch my back, he needs to be in a position to do it…_

*

“Really?” Robin grumbled as he and his party shuffled into one of the galleries overlooking the main floor. “I get roped into running this army again and I still get stuck in the nose-bleed section?”

“To be fair Morgan did do all the work,” Severa pointed out.

“No, she stole the spotlight,” Robin huffed, flopping into his seat and crossing his arms. “I laid all the groundwork. I did all the planning. I should be down there with the important people.”

“Perhaps you aren’t quite as important as you thought,” Tharja said as she settled into the seat next to Robin, the noticeable lack of ice in her tone suggesting that she was joking... or at least half-joking.

At least they had been given a private balcony to watch the summit from; in fact, it had been Robin’s idea to split the Ylissean contingent and have himself, another mage and one of the best snipers in the Shepherds watch from above. They weren’t expecting any trouble, but Chrom had agreed with him when he’d suggested they not take any chances.

“Eyes on everything,” Robin instructed the two younger girls in the small space, while Owain leaned against the back wall, watching the hallway behind them and muttering to himself about something no doubt ‘heroic’ in his mind.

Noire nodded, watching every subtle movement below them, while Severa sighed, rolling her eyes as she lazily leaned against the balcony’s railing, eyes on the floor below.

Robin caught Virion’s gaze from below, and the archer gave him a wink and a lazy salute before leading Cherche and Gerome, trademark mask still in place, to their seats on the opposite side of the room. Another part of Robin’s plan; they had the room in a cross-fire from their positions.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid?” Tharja muttered from next to him as she spotted Virion as well.

“No such thing,” Robin muttered back with a grin before pointing to various spots around the room. “Besides, look there, there and there; you think we’re the only ones with this plan? This is just par for the course at this stage. And, remind me again how many times has my paranoia has saved our lives?”

Tharja didn’t respond, leaning forward instead to watch as the first diplomatic parties started arriving.

*

Morgan resisted the urge to groan, tugging at the tight neckline on the dark and intricately patterned formal kimono-y… thingy her mother had prepared for her to wear to the summit, irritatedly wishing she had argued harder for the sake of her coat. She couldn’t even wear a sword with this stupid thing, so not only did she feel uncomfortable, she also felt naked and exposed, and it was starting to grate on her.

“Do not play with it,” Say’ri said over her shoulder as they walked down the halls of the Royal Palace in Chon’sin.

“It’s soooooo uncomfortable though,” Morgan moaned, skipping a little to keep pace. “Why couldn’t I just wear my coat?”

“Because it is filthy and ratty and hardly fitting of a member of the Royal family attending an important peace summit,” Say’ri repeated tonelessly for the tenth time.

“I still like it,” Morgan pouted, earning another sigh from her mother.

The older woman simply sighed, waiting patiently for the servants around them to open the grand doors to the reception area for them, because apparently royals didn’t even open their own doors.

_This is going to take a lot more getting used to than I thought,_ Morgan moaned internally, straightening her back and copying her mother’s posture as the doors were opened and they stepped into a crowded room full of soldiers and diplomats and their respective parties for the summit.

Morgan recognized a few faces from the various planning meetings she had run with Exalt Chrom, although there were far more unfamiliar ones that gave off the insufferable haughty air of life-time politicians.

“The main parties will be arriving soon, my queen,” Seiko said softly from Say’ri’s other side. “They insisted that the hosts would arrive first.”

The other, smaller parties began to disperse, taking their seats in the galleries around the main floor where a number of large tables were set up facing each other, one for each of the main participants of the summit.

Say’ri took her place at the head of the largest table, Morgan sitting at her left hand as she had been instructed. Seiko remained standing behind her master, and General Keiji joined them, taking his own seat opposite Morgan while other politicians and local nobles filled the rest of the chairs.

One by one the other parties arrived, Exalt Chrom, Khan Flavia and Lord Liung all giving her discreet greetings, or rather overt ones in Flavia’s case. The Imperial contingent filed in, all red armour and dark uniforms, shined and perfectly presented, yet obviously nervous or still reeling from their defeat; Morgan doubted that any of these men had been higher ranked than a Lieutenant before the war had ended. The ten men from the resistance were the exact opposite of the Imperials; they had obviously made some attempt at cleaning themselves up, yet still exuded an air of scruffiness completely at odds with the ordered and proper surroundings of Chon’sin. They carried themselves with a calm assurance, though, bowing to Say’ri with respect before taking their seats and silently waiting for the summit to begin.

Say’ri cleared her throat and stood, graceful and dignified as she prepared to address the leaders.

“Fellow rulers and esteemed visiting diplomats,” she began in her best ‘I’m a queen’ voice. “I and all of Chon’sin welcome you. Over the course of the coming days and weeks I hope that we can…”

That was about the point Morgan drifted off, wondering absently what Yarne was doing right now.

*

Robin stifled a yawn, struggling to keep his eyes open as the Imperial ambassador gave his opening speech, his chin propped up on his palm as the older man in red armour droned on, some crap about wanting to mend bridges and foster long relationships and yadda-yadda-yadda. He’d drifted off almost as soon as Say’ri had begun to talk, if he were being honest.

Noire’s hands moved like lightning, constantly scratching notes and taking in everything going on down on the main floor, never missing a thing. Robin had wanted to tell her not to bother taking notes during the opening speeches, but it didn’t hurt for her to get used to taking notes while she could afford to miss some things. Tharja was calmly sitting perfectly still like a statue next to where Severa was nodding off sitting with her arms crossed, her head drooping forwards and her chin bumping onto her chest, signalling her to lift her head, blink a few times and repeat the motions. Owain was still taking his role as ‘security’ way too seriously, and had almost drawn his sword on some poor servant that had only been looking to ask if they’d wanted any refreshments. Robin had been about to order a bottle of wine before the blonde boy had declared they needed nothing that could potentially have been poisoned, and sending the startled looking woman away in a hurry.

_A pity, too,_ Robin thought, eyes scanning the crowd. _This would be so much more interesting after a few cups of wine. Or a couple a bottles…_

Robin chuckled when he spotted one of Flavia’s lieutenants discreetly nudge her awake, the Khan’s own head beginning to droop a little as the speeches wore on. So far Say’ri had given her speech welcoming the others and offering Chon’sin’s hospitality, which had taken about half an hour; Wallace, the shorter, bearded man that very closely resembled a bear filling in for Priam had given a quick ten minute speech about what the Resistance wanted to see out of a united Valm; Liung had surprisingly eloquently stated his own goals for the summit over the course of half an hour; and now the Imperial Ambassador, obviously a bureaucrat that had never addressed more than three people at a time had spent nearly an hour apologizing for Walhart’s brutality and kissing-arse to the other leaders. Flavia’s speech would probably be short and sweet, something along the lines of “I just came here to fight, you lot figure this out yourselves”, but it was Chrom’s speech Robin was really looking forward to. He hadn’t actually heard the Exalt speak in public before, so this was going to be interesting.

“Tharja,” Robin whispered, leaning over a little. “Remember that ban I put on ‘instant death’ curses? I’m officially lifting it. Please kill me.”

“No,” the dark mage muttered, not even looking at him.

Severa snickered at the reply, and Robin made a dissatisfied face before sighing and leaning on the railing again.

_I would give anything right now to be anywhere else. Anywhere. Hell, I’d even take being dead again._

Robin perked up as something began to happen down on the main floor; well, something had been happening the entire time, but now something actually worth paying attention to was happening. The guards began milling around, and the Imperial ambassador looked at a loss as to whether he should continue talking or not. Robin stood at the same time as Tharja, a few seconds before Noire stood, unslinging her borrowed bow and placing the clipboard she was writing on down in one fluid movement. Across the hall Virion was doing the same, discretely keeping his bow held low and an arrow close at hand.

The crowd had begun muttering, but was silenced when the doors at one end of the hall burst open, a terrified messenger coming up short when he realized that countless arrows and other weapons were being pointed in his direction.

The man, wearing a local uniform, took a deep breath and strode directly to a very upset looking Say’ri, bowing respectfully before bending to whisper something urgently in her ear and handing her a roll of parchment.

“These reports are verified?” she asked without preamble, already scanning the papers.

“Good Queen, I would ask you allow us the respect to at least finish our opening statements,” the Imperial Ambassador blustered, upset now for being interrupted.

“The security of my kingdom comes before all else,” Say’ri responded icily as the messenger practically ran from the room. “It appears that one of the villages close to the capital has been attacked.”

“Cravens!” Liung roared at the Imperial contingent. “You trick us by extending the olive branch with one hand and stabbing us in the back with the other! I should tear you apart with my bare-”

“I assure you our forces have not moved from the capital!” one of the Imperial officers shouted back, rising to his own feet. “Not that we have any men left for such an attack!”

“And whose fault is that?” Flavia asked with a cruel grin. “Last I checked we’re all here because you lost.”

“Enough,” Chrom said, placing his hands flat on the table in front of him. “Queen Say’ri, are there any reports about what the attacking force was?”

“The villagers reported creatures of darkness and ashes,” she said, shaking her head. “Obviously they were scared and-”

“Risen,” Morgan gasped, cutting her mother off and leaning to look at the reports.

“I beg your pardon?” the Imperial Ambassador said huffily. “If the Princess has some knowledge on these creatures I think it only fair it get shared. What are ‘Risen’?”

“Dark monsters summoned from another time,” Chrom explained without preamble.

The Imperials began to laugh disbelievingly, falling silent when they saw Chrom’s unamused look.

“I assure you all they are real,” Chrom said in a stern tone. “They have ravaged my own lands in past, and we have encountered them in Valm in the past. It would not surprise me to find a pack roaming the mountains.”

“And who is to say they aren’t just a mere guerrilla force?” Liung asked, his barbed tone obviously directed towards the bristling Imperials.

“It’s Risen,” Morgan confirmed to Chrom across the room.

The Exalt sighed and nodded before standing.

“Queen Say’ri, these creatures are not unknown to us,” he said. “I suggest we take a brief recess and resume the talks tomorrow. For now, we need to look at securing the region.”

“Absurd,” the one of the Imperials scoffed. “For one little town? Hardly worth interrupting the summit for. Send some outriders and-”

“Have you fought Risen before?” Chrom asked, cutting the man off with a sharp glare. “They don’t move in small packs, and they rarely move without purpose. We will need to formulate some sort of retaliation.”

“Are… are we in danger?” a reedy Imperial asked in a quiet voice.

Say’ri shook her head. “I have sworn an oath to the safety of all members of this summit, and I will stand by it. I agree with the Exalt of Ylisse on the matter of a recess. I suggest we reconvene tomorrow morning. Is this acceptable?”

The different parties all answered in the affirmative, some sounding a little more reluctant than others. Flavia looked excited at the prospect of a good fight; the Imperials, terrified of another threat; Liung just looked grateful that the Imperial Ambassador had stopped talking. Chrom and Lucina had already moved to converse with Say’ri and Morgan, beginning to hammer out details.

Robin took this all in at a glance before he spun and jogged out of the small balcony and down the hallway, shouting orders to hold position to Owain and the others as he made for the stairs, brushing past the crowd of dignitaries that had been occupying the outer tier of seats leaving now that the summit had been adjourned for the day.

“-up in the mountains,” Say’ri was saying as Robin came out onto the main floor, walking purposefully towards the small group of people leaning over the parchment the messenger had delivered. “It is not a tactically important area. It is… a tourist attraction.”

“Tourists?” Robin asked curiously, nodding a greeting to the others as he walked up. “What do you mean?”

“It appears the Risen have attacked a town famous for its hot springs,” Say’ri muttered, stroking her chin in thought.

Robin’s eyes widened before he whirled on Chrom, gripping the man by his shoulders and bringing them face to face.

He needed to take the opportunity to strike while the iron was hot.

“Chrom we have to take care of this threat. Now. We have to leave today. Right now.”

“What?” the Exalt asked, shocked. “Robin, why…?”

“Just trust me,” Robin said quickly, cutting off his friend’s question. “The Shepherds can handle this; if it gets out of hand, we’ll hold them and send for reinforcements. This is important.”

“Er… I don’t have a problem with it…” Chrom said hesitantly, making Robin step back with a nod and look expectantly at Say’ri.

“Fine,” she sighed after a moment. “But do not think you are fooling anybody.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Robin said, taking a moment to wink conspiratorially at Morgan. “All I want to do is repay our kind hosts for their generosity and good-will thus far.”

“I’m coming too!” Flavia declared, suddenly at Robin’s side and draping an arm over his shoulders. “I’m already bored of all this talking, and I’m itching for a fight!”

Robin grinned victoriously as they began to discuss rosters and which paths they would need to take.

_Vacation time!_ he sang in his head, struggling not to laugh out loud.


	47. Chapter 47

Robin had a spring in his step as he walked alongside Anna’s wagon, Chon’sin’s capital at his back and the further expanse of the northern mountain trail ahead of him. A grin broke out on his face as he thought of what was waiting for him; a vacation. An honest to Naga, bona fide vacation, even if it was only for a few days. Alone in the mountains, only the road and a few pesky Risen between him and relaxation with his daughter, his friends and the woman he loved.

“This isn’t a vacation,” Lucina reminded him when she saw the face he was making, dampening his spirits a little.

“Not with that attitude it’s not,” Robin winked, the spring returning to his step.

He was at the head of a small column of Shepherds, leading it with Lucina in Chrom’s absence while the Exalt kept going with the peace talks. In fact, the only other non-time travelling Shepherds besides himself were Tharja and Anna. Anna for the use of her wagon and connections (apparently she had a cousin operating in the area), and Tharja, currently riding next to the plucky merchant, because trying to get her to stop following Robin was like trying to tell a bird not to fly. Tiki had joined them, too, at Say’ri’s request; apparently the Voice of Naga was constantly being pestered and had been shut up in the shrine in Chon’sin since they’d gotten back. It had been a mission in itself, sneaking her out, but the way she was relaxing with the others made all the effort worth it.

“Robin, this is a serious mission,” Lucina said. “It’s not a va-”

“Is it safe yet? Are we out of the capital?” Flavia asked, poking her head out of the back of Anna’s wagon and cutting Lucina off mid-rant.

“Khan… Flavia?” the Ylissean Princess asked, her query clear in her voice as the older woman hopped down from the wagon and fell in with the rest of the Shepherds. “What… you’re supposed to be at the peace talks!”

“Food poisoning,” Flavia answered with a shrug and a serious face. “I’m afraid I’m just not used to the strange food they serve over here, and I’m completely bedridden. I’d say it’ll probably last… oh, the whole week.”

“And you thought I was the bad one?” Robin asked before he and Flavia burst into laughter, the Khan supporting herself on Robin’s shoulder as they both doubled over.

“What’s so funny… Khan Flavia!” Morgan exclaimed, coming around from the other side of the wagon with Owain and Yarne in tow. “I thought you had to stay for the summit?”

“Food poisoning,” Robin said with a wink, still chuckling.

“That’s genius!” Morgan shouted, before catching a glimpse of Lucina’s disapproving glare.

“I, uh, I mean that’s terrible, Khan Flavia!” Morgan corrected herself hastily.

“Oh don’t be such prudes,” Flavia said with a lazy wave. “I’ve left specific instructions that until I’m ‘better’ Chrom speaks for both of our nations. Besides, I always have more fun when I follow this crazy sod around anyway!”

She said the last part leaning on Robin again, the tactician sagging under the weight of her and her armour.

“Alright, watch the coat,” he chuckled, flicking her arm off his shoulders.

“This has the makings of an epic tale of heroism and… and…” Owain started, overcome with his excitement. “I can’t believe that not one, but two heroes are joining our quest! I must stay my sword hand! Come Morgan, we must convene the Justice Cabal immediately!”

Morgan laughed as Owain pulled on her coat, offering her father a wave as she was led away to where Cynthia was leading her pegasus by the reins.

“You’re not going to follow them?” Robin asked Yarne, who watched their progress.

“I can hear every word Owain and Cynthia are shouting at each other from here just fine,” the half-Taguel muttered, absently stroking his ears.

Robin grinned, walking backwards as he watched the Shepherds spread out across the road behind them. Owain, Morgan and Cynthia, the infamous ‘Justice Cabal’ were coming up with some outlandish narrative for their current’ quest’; Robin’s smile widened when he saw Morgan burst out laughing again, simply the carefree young girl she was meant to be, with no world to save and only a hot spring town to visit with her friends. Noire and Severa chatted quietly, while Inigo and Brady pestered Gerome, who was leading Minerva by the reins as well, and Nah and Laurent took the rare opportunity and pestered Tiki with questions about Manakete lore. They looked for all the world like a group of tourists; spirits were high, and everyone save Gerome wore a smile on their face, even the usually dour Brady. The only person that wouldn’t leave the Capital with them was Kjelle, who insisted her training with her mother was more important, even after Sully had practically ordered her to go.

It had been Robin’s idea, taking the time travellers on this mission; by all accounts they had never had a vacation before. That thought was so sad it had kept Robin up the previous night as he made plans to entertain the time-travellers given his sparse knowledge on the area, and he’d vowed to let them relax a little before they all returned to Ylisse.

He felt a little bad about ditching the other Shepherds, but once he’d subtly and quietly explained his reasoning for wanting to give all the future children top priority for this trip they had marvelled at his genius. Well, they’d gone along with his hair-brained scheme at the very least, which was close enough in his mind.

However, Lucina wasn’t wrong when she had said that it wasn’t a vacation. It was a mission to eradicate the Risen, and one that Robin would take seriously; he would even ensure that the Risen were properly destroyed by observing the area for the next few days, just to be sure. Just because he was so dedicated to his work.

“Lighten up a little, Princess,” Flavia said loudly. “Live a little! We’re going to a Hot Spring town! This is a vacation, or about as close as we’re going to get! You should be excited! Look, all your friends sure as hell are!”

Lucina cast a glance over her shoulder, looking at the way the other future children were all relaxed and carrying on, and let out a sigh.

“Perhaps once the Risen are defeated…” she muttered in defeat.

Robin grinned, sharing a wink with Flavia. That was one less enemy they would have to fight for their vacation now.

*

“Holy jeez it is freezing!” Robin complained as he jogged through the tents of the small camp they had set up that evening towards the fire burning a small way away.

“It is getting closer to winter, and we are in the mountains,” Inigo pointed out, sipping from a steaming mug.

“I don’t like it,” Robin grumbled, wrapping his blanket around his shoulders like the rest of the Shepherds sitting around the fire and joining them. “I’ll be happy when we’re back in Ylisse; at this rate at least we’ll be at sea for most of the winter where-”

“All we’ll have to deal with are biting winds and horrible chill without any ground underneath us,” Severa cut Robin off from across the fire, similarly wrapped up in her own blanket.

“She’s got you there dad,” Morgan grinned cheekily as the other Shepherds began to laugh.

To Robin’s dismay even Tharja chuckled a little.

“You kids are getting a little mouthy,” Robin grunted indignantly. “Someone oughta smack you around a little; remind you all whose boss.”

“I’d like to see you try, old man,” Severa huffed, turning her nose up to him with a derisive sniff.

“If it weren’t so cold out…” the tactician muttered, backing down and glaring at the redhead as he bundled himself up tighter. “And I’m not that old in this timeline…”

“Hold on, I’ll go get Brady,” Inigo offered, moving to stand.

“Why?” Robin asked, having a good idea of what the pretty-boy was about to say.

“To heal that awful burn,” he said with a wicked grin, making the rest of the campsite erupt into laughter.

“Nice one!” Anna laughed, giving Inigo a hi-five as he returned to his seat looking a little too pleased with himself.

Robin glared at Morgan, teetering dangerously as she laughed herself hoarse next to Yarne.

“S-sorry… dad!” she managed to gasp between bouts of laughter, wiping tears from her eyes. “But you have to admit, that was a good one.”

“Alright, alright,” Robin shouted above the raucous sounds of the younger Shepherds carrying on. “My ego can only take so much of a beating in one day. I’m going to bed. Owain, take first watch. Everyone else, we move out at dawn.”

“Of course, master!” Owain shouted, sitting up straight and attempting valiantly to stifle his laughter.

_Someone remind me why I thought putting all these kids in one place was a good idea?_ Robin grumbled internally as he shuffled towards his tent.

Apparently he had conveniently forgotten that the future children had all grown up together; Robin, being the loudest of the four outside their group of time-travellers, would of course have been ganged up on, even if only in jest. And of course Anna and Tharja were still pretty peeved at him, so they’d get in on it…

“Thank Naga Lucina went to bed early,” Robin muttered, ducking into his small tent.

They had forgone the usual tents that the Shepherds used, instead bringing seven smaller two-person tents that would usually be used by a scouting regiment or something similar. They were rough, ugly patches of canvas, but so far the only person to turn up their nose was Tharja; perhaps this was still a level above what the kids had been forced to endure in the future? Tiki had simply been ecstatic about the novelty of camping out again after so many millennia, and Flavia was no doubt used to roughing it with far less. It also didn’t help the sour Dark Mage’s mood that the tents did nothing to muffle the noises and speech from inside them; Robin could hear just about everything going on around him, and wondered how he’d get to sleep at all in this position.

_Shoulda set up further away…_ he thought, cringing as Severa began berating her tent-mate for taking up so much space in hushed whispers.

Anna was sleeping in her wagon, while Tharja was bunking up with her daughter and that damnable bird that followed her around everywhere. Robin had no idea who he’d get stuck with; the others all automatically paired up with barely a thought. Cynthia had gone straight for Lucina, Brady and Gerome had inexplicably begun setting up a tent together, Inigo had gone through what almost looked like a ritual of being rejected by every girl in the group… It looked rehearsed almost, the way the kids had acted.

Robin sighed, expecting Owain to burst through the tents canvas at any second, proclaiming that they would be sharing. He’d much rather be sharing with Lucina, but that seemed to be something that wouldn’t be happening any time soon. He’d caught her eye as Cynthia had led her away, tent slung over one shoulder, and liked to think he saw a similar feeling in her gaze, but…

The tactician perked up when small, light footfalls completely at odds with Owain’s heavy and sure pace stopped just outside his tent, making his heart jump into his throat as his imagination went wild.

_There are only two people in this camp that walk around like that, and…_

“Dad? Are you decent?” Morgan asked brightly, dashing Robin’s hopes instantly.

“Yeah,” he groaned, flopping face-down onto his bedroll.

Morgan stepped hesitantly into the tent, blanket wrapped around her shoulders and hugging her bedroll to her chest.

“Wanna be tent-buddies?” she asked with a huge smile on her face.

Robin rolled over and blinked a few times.

“Uh… sure?” he managed after a moment.

“You don’t sound very sure,” Morgan pointed out, her expression dropping a little.

“No, no, don’t get me wrong,” Robin said quickly, wary of hurting his daughter’s feelings. “It’s just that… well… I thought you’d be spending time with your friends rather than me, or trying to discretely share a tent with Yarn… Oh gods, forget I said anything. Sit. Sleep here. Be my tent-buddy.”

Morgan burst out laughing as she spread out her own bedroll.

“That’s not a bad idea,” she chuckled, flopping down and bundling up with the roll and her extra blanket. “But we haven’t spent a lot of time together lately, and I can spend all the time I want with Yarne because he doesn’t have any time-consuming duties like we do. So I’m making it my mission to remedy that on this trip! We’re going to do everything together! Besides, we are friends, aren’t we? I’m putting this vacation to good use! I’ve even made plans!”

“It’s a mission, not a vacation,” Inigo called out as he passed by the tent, making both Robin and Morgan burst into renewed laughter.

“Urgh, damn these paper-thin tents,” Robin sighed as he lay back, holding his stomach with one hand as he wiped a tear out of his eye with the other.

“We’ll just have to stay at the inn when we get to the springs,” Morgan theorized. “We will need a secure base of operations, anyway…”

“Kid, I like the way you think,” Robin said with a grin.

*

“Morning, Robin. The morning air is bracing, isn’t it?” Lucina commented brightly as they set out the next morning, trailing Anna’s wagon in much the same way they had the previous day.

Robin grumbled an affirmative, pulling his coat tighter around his shoulders and marvelling at the fact that there weren’t any puffs of vapour coming out of his face. It was still early, and it was cold, but as much as he wanted to deny it there was definitely still a ‘mission’ aspect to this trip, so they could hardly take their time. Plus the sooner they got to the little town the sooner they could rout the enemy and the sooner Robin could relax. 

“So how’d you sleep last night?” he asked conversationally as he strolled along the road in the wake of Anna’s cart with Lucina.

“Well,” she answered. “Although there was some strange commotion a few tents away that kept me awake.”

“Er… yeah,” Robin mumbled.

Of course Owain actually _had_ shown up to his tent the previous evening expecting to find Robin in need of a tent-partner, only to come face to face with Morgan’s smiling countenance. This sent him into a spiral of depressing monologues he’d delivered right outside Robin’s tent about how cruel fate was to separate them so until Severa had emerged from her own tent and beaned the boy on the head, effectively silencing him and potentially knocking him out cold.

Not that Robin had particularly cared; he had been trying to sleep, after all.

“Your family is weird,” Robin sighed, rubbing the back of his head and wondering what he had done to earn a ‘sidekick’ like Owain.

“Says the pot to the kettle,” Lucina laughed, pointing behind them where Morgan was making stupid faces to Cynthia’s pegasus, while the younger Princess watched and giggled.

“What in Naga’s…?” Robin muttered, his brow creasing in confusion at his daughter’s behaviour before he waved a hand through the air. “Whatever. I don’t care. You win, we’re all weird. Normal is overrated anyway.”

Lucina smiled wistfully as they walked, as if recalling an old memory. For his part, Robin rested his hands behind his head and looked at the road around them. It didn’t look like it would have been pretty like the roads around Ylisstol were at any point, but the winter chill had caused all the plats to die or begin hibernating. Higher up on the mountains Robin could see sparse evergreens, clinging doggedly to the rocky terrain, but apart from that everything was coated in different shades of brown, and being so used to the vividness of life on the eastern continent that was prevalent even in the dead of winter it made Robin a little depressed, making him sigh.

“This place is so desolate and boring,” he complained as they continued walking. “Everything’s one colour. At least in winter in Ylisse and Regna Ferox there were all kinds of different colours! Greens, blues, and the beautiful white powder peppering everything, making every other colour so alive and vibrant!”

Lucina shook her head, her smile dropping a little.

“This land is still alive, it is merely sleeping; holding its breath for spring to come. You can feel it in the air and in the ground beneath your boots. There’s life here, even if it is monochromatic. Not even the land was spared in the future. Everything was… dust. Sand and desolation.”

Robin winced, desperately trying to think of some way to change the topic.

“But even against brown the other colours stand out, I guess,” the tactician sighed theatrically.

Lucina glanced up at Robin, cocking her head to one side the way her mother often did.

“I’m just thinking it makes certain shades of blue exceedingly alluring,” Robin said with a grin and a wink.

The princess blinked a few times, glancing down at her newly mended familiar blue outfit.

“That seems like it was an awfully long way to go for a compliment,” she stated.

“Hey, I’m meant to be a master tactician,” Robin chuckled. “It would reflect badly on my intelligence if I simply out and said ‘my, Lucina, you look ravishing today’.”

Her eyes widened momentarily, and Robin spotted a slight blush creeping to her cheeks as she glanced away.

“Such idle flattery does seem to be beneath you,” Lucina muttered.

“Idle? I think not, fair maiden,” Robin declared, adopting his best Virion impersonation-voice. “Why the very sun itself pales beside your beauty, and hides its shame behind the clouds! I myself am awed by your utter radiance, and though I wish to shield my eyes I cannot bring myself to look away…”

“Now you’ve just been spending too much time around Sir Virion,” Lucina muttered, seeing right through him.

“True,” Robin laughed, stepping a little closer to her. “But your face is the same colour as Severa’s hair, so I think that means it worked.”

“Yes… well…” Lucina muttered, before shouting tore Robin’s attention away.

“Robin!” Flavia was calling, her arm wrapped around Morgan’s shoulders and holding the girl in a tight hug as she approached. “I no longer need your services as Tactician! I’m taking this one instead! She’s much cuter, although lacks your foul mouth and crude sense of humour! But I can fix those faults with a little time and a lot of ale!”

“Dad… save… me…!” Morgan managed to groan as Flavia let out another loud laugh.

“Isn’t it cute that she thinks she can get away from me?” the older woman practically roared, releasing Morgan and giving her a hard slap on the back, making Robin wince; he knew pretty well the dangers of Feroxi ‘camaraderie’.

“Pretty sure if the kid’s going anywhere Say’ri already has her ear-marked,” Robin chuckled, cursing the lack of privacy at present as Lucina laughed along with him.

*

“Dad, look! Snow!” Morgan cried, racing ahead with her arms held out, laughing innocently as she reached out for the falling flakes.

“Pfft, that ain’t snow,” Flavia snorted. “Come to Regna Ferox, then you’ll see snow.”

“I’ve been to Regna Ferox in winter, and all I saw was white,” Tharja muttered as she passed, moving to sit with Noire while carrying two steaming mugs in a surprisingly maternal picture.

Robin grinned as he watched a few of the other more spirited Shepherds join in Morgan’s fun, trying to catch the first snowflakes in the twilight while the others made camp. Flavia smiled a little as she watched them with Robin, shaking her head as the younger Shepherds played.

They had broken for dinner again early at Flavia’s warning about the potential of snow; they were starting to get pretty high into the mountains, and Robin didn’t want to run the risk of someone slipping and falling on ice or snow in the dark. Much to Robin’s chagrin the tents had been set up even closer than the previous night, meaning that he wouldn’t get any sleep listening to Inigo’s snoring. Again. Or sleeping anywhere even remotely near Lucina. Again.

“Well, I’m going to go and see if that scary merchant lady has any wine hidden away anywhere,” Flavia said, grunting as she slapped her thighs and rose.

“Oh? Wine now?” Robin asked. “What happened to ale?”

“I’m lowering my standards,” the Khan answered with a sad sigh. “Chances are better for me finding wine than ale.”

“Sure, whatever, ditch me,” Robin moaned. “I’m happier alone anyway.”

“I’ll come back once I find booze, don’t worry,” Flavia laughed, giving Robin one of her patented death-back-slaps before bouncing off.

Robin watched her go and frowned; all of the Shepherds were wearing warmer clothes and using their blankets like cloaks at camp, and Flavia was still wandering around in her usual sleeveless armour and shorts.

_I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, but the people of Regna Ferox can’t possibly be human. Which… would really explain a lot about Owain, come to think about it,_ Robin thought to himself as he looked over the Shepherds sitting around the large fire Laurent had set with Brady and Nah’s help.

Everyone was relaxing and having a good time, something that Robin was content to simply watch and enjoy at the moment. His eyes lingered on Lucina as she talked happily with Tiki about little things, both women occasionally laughing at something one or the other said, and unbidden he felt his face break into a smile.

“You two sicken me, you know that?” Sever huffed, sinking down into the seat that Flavia had just vacated.

“I beg your pardon?” Robin asked, head snapping around.

“You and Lucina,” Severa explained, rolling her eyes. “You two are so lovey-dovey while we travel… it’s so gross.”

“Be nice, or I’ll see to it you bunk with Owain for the rest of the trip,” Robin warned in a low tone, crossing his arms and looking away. “All we’ve been doing is talking. That’s hardly ‘lovey-dovey’. You want lovey-dovey, go watch your parents for half an hour.”

Severa let out a sigh.

“You know it’s been a long, long time since I’ve seen her this happy,” the redheaded girl said after a moment’s hesitation. “So even if it makes me want to puke… I’m… happy for you two. We all are. Or something… whatever!”

“That would explain why it’s so cold…” Robin said absently without missing a beat. “Hell’s finally frozen over.”

“Bite me, I’m not trying to be serious right now or anything,” Severa practically snarled.

As she tried to rise Robin chuckled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders in a quick side hug.

“I know,” he said. “Beneath your prickly, sarcastic exterior you’re a real softie. Thanks, Severa. It’s nice to know that you approve of the incredibly weird circumstances of my relationship.”

“Alright then,” the redhead mumbled. “You’re welcome. Now stop hugging me.”

Robin released the girl, snickering as he watched her straighten her clothes with an embarrassed and uncomfortable look on her face.

“Mother never said anything about you being a hugger…” she muttered, flipping a strand of red hair over her shoulder before huffing a final time and making some excuse before disappearing into the crowd of tents.

_That girl is so easy to fluster_ , Robin thought, watching her go as his thoughts finally caught up with him. _Wait… ‘we all are’? What the hell did she mean by that!? Oh gods, who else knows!? Does Chrom know!? Oh gods, I’m going to die!_

“Flavia!” Robin called out in a panic, rising to run after the red-clad Khan and making a few of the others look in his direction curiously. “Hurry up with that wine! Robin needs a drink! Right bloody now!”

*

The next morning Robin leaned against the back of Anna’s cart while Flavia snored loudly within it, the tactician moaning and rubbing the heels of his hands into his temples to assuage his pounding hangover. Because, of course, Flavia had found the wine, and of course, they had drank the whole bottle and the three subsequent ones between the two of them.

_Flavia must have opened a credit account with Anna to get us that much booze_ , Robin thought, attempting to calm his woozy stomach as he noticed his daughter approaching.

“Rough night?” Morgan asked chirpily as she jumped up beside him, sitting on the ledge of the cart and swinging her legs lazily.

“You shared a tent with me, you should know,” the older tactician muttered, making Morgan laugh.

“You’re lucky I’m not at an impressionable age, Dad,” she chided with a huge grin on her face, handing him a waterskin.

Robin groaned, feeling his stomach revolt as he tried to put something in it, even just plain old water. It had been a long time since he’d had a full-body hangover, and once again he found himself silently swearing never to drink again.

“Looks like the others are taking their time getting ready,” Morgan observed as the other younger Shepherds laughed and carried on while they packed up the camp in their cold weather gear, doing their best not to stray too far from the fire. “We might end up being here for a while.”

Robin’s head snapped up as fast as he could make it go in his current state, sluggishly taking in the positions of the others as his daughter continued to swing her legs.

He spotted Lucina, struggling to frown and not laugh as Cynthia slipped in the snow while they were trying to dismantle their tent, dropping her end and unravelling the whole thing. Robin couldn’t help but smile again as he watched them, hangover suddenly briefly forgotten, but it made him think of something he’d been putting off for far too long instead.

_No time like the present,_ he thought, wishing he’d had the foresight not to drink himself into a coma the previous night. _I have to do this sooner or later. May as well be now, while the mood’s good. Oh gods… please take it well…_

“So…” he started, drawing out the word and getting Morgan’s attention.

Her head perked up from where she was watching the others, no doubt looking for Yarne.

“I’m going to tell you something important, but I need you to keep it quiet,” he managed to say, nerves getting the better of him as he trailed off.

“If it’s about you and Lucina, I already figured it out,” Morgan said brightly, bringing Robin’s mind to a screeching halt.

“What… how… I… we…” he managed to stammer, mouth hanging open and making Morgan laugh again. “Who told you? Was it Severa? Cynthia? Or did Yarne over-hear something? That bunny-eared little… I’ll really kill him this time!”

Across the camp Yarne’s instinctive danger-sense kicked into overdrive, his head perking up and his nose twitching as he tried to locate the source of the threat.

“Dad,” Morgan giggled, pointing to herself. “Tactician, remember? I’m just as smart as you are. It was pretty obvious, actually. When you told me that you and mom wouldn’t be… well, the pieces all just kinda fell into place.”

“Did I raise you to be so smug? Because you’re coming across as really smug.” Robin asked, crossing his arms before growing serious again. “Well? What do you think then?”

Morgan shrugged, her perpetually swinging legs stopping for a moment before starting back up again.

“Honestly, at first I was kinda weirded out,” she admitted. “I mean, she’s technically, what, twenty-five-ish years younger than you? Not to mention one of my best friends, and the daughter of your best friend…”

“Sure, if you look at a calendar,” Robin grumbled. “And she and I are both aware of how weird it is, so you can stop harping on that point…”

“I know, I know; we’re all about the same age because of the time-travel,” Morgan placated. “But… I dunno. You know how I can kinda tell who was important to me before I lost my memories? Well she ranks right up there with you, mom and Yarne. So I’m glad you’re both happy is the point I’m trying to make. I’m not about to start calling her ‘mom’, because that would put the weirdness up on a whole new level, but I am happy for the two of you. I’ve had time to think about it, after all.”

“Go ahead, keep rubbing that one in,” Robin said, rolling his eyes.

“Well you two haven’t exactly been subtle,” Morgan laughed. “I’m just saying, the way she acted after you ‘died’ makes a whole lot more sense now. Besides, you two are soooooo cute together! And now I’ll be kinda related to Owain and Cynthia, too!”

“Whoa, slow down there,” Robin said.

“I know, I know, I’m getting ahead of myself,” Morgan sighed. “It’s just so exciting! I woke up with absolutely no memories and now I have this great big family!”

“Yes, and now I just have to figure out how to break it to my best friend that I’m dating his daughter,” Robin groaned, making Morgan burst out laughing again.

“Well I can’t help you there,” she managed after a few seconds of hysterical giggling. “You’re on your own with him and that big, scary sword of his.”

“You’re right,” Robin said, nodding and being grateful that this particular talk had gone so smoothly; once again, he had severely underestimated his daughter’s maturity.

“I need time to come up with a plan. Therefore,” he added, climbing up into the wagon past his daughter to join the snoring Khan. “You’re in charge now. The mission’s yours, keep everyone alive, and get us all home safe, yadda-yadda-yadda. Wake me when we get where we’re going.”

“Oh no!” Morgan shouted, her voice still tinged with laughter as she grabbed the hem of her father’s coat and tried to pull him out of the cart. “You’re just trying to shirk your duties ‘cause you’re hung-over! Get back out here! Daaaaaaaaaaaad! I’ll sic Auntie Tharja on you! Don’t think I won’t!”

*

Morgan knelt down, brushing her fingers over the loose dirt and snow that made up the mountain road with a serious look on her face.

“It’s hard to tell with all the snow and wind, but I’d say they passed through here,” she said, standing. “Recently, too. In the last few days, at least.”

“I agree,” Robin nodded, holding his chin in his hand while Huginn perched happily on his shoulder, the bird’s beady black eyes studiously watching everything. “What’s our next course of action?”

Morgan blinked at her father a few times uncomprehendingly.

“Aren’t… you were serious about me leading the team?” she asked after a second. “I thought you were just joking.”

The older tactician chuckled before walking away and speaking over his shoulder. “I’m on vacation, so it’s your problem now, Tactician Morgan. I’ll be waiting with the others once you’ve come up with a plan. Or… you know, in the cart. Sleeping. Just… yeah.”

The girl sighed, running a hand through her hair. It was pretty obvious what he was doing; she’d been rattled by the war with Valm and had told him as much, and now he was using this mission as an excuse to build her confidence again. It was pretty plain to see, and on one hand she was grateful for his worry, but on the other she was disappointed that she had to work. She’d been expecting a vacation, too, even after all of the talk of this being an actual mission. Although if this turned into another catastrophe she doubted she’d ever be able to lead a mission again, let alone an army…

She sighed, crouching down to inspect the tracks again. They had come across a patch of softer dirt and loose shale on the mountain path on the leeward side of a small peak mostly hidden from the wind and elements, and clear as day for those that knew what they were looking for were the tracks of at least a couple of dozen Risen.

It should be an easy fight, considering the numbers the footprints hinted too. All she’d have to do is set up a line, have the support units in the back and Gerome and Cynthia flying cover and the Risen would be easy pickings. Of course there was always the off-chance more had shown up from some other direction, so she should also plan for that contingency, perhaps utilizing Khan Flavia’s experience and ferocious fighting skills to lead a smaller flanking group…

While Morgan wrestled with the options circling around in her head she was startled by the sound of soft, hesitant footfalls from behind her.

“Morgan?” Yarne asked hesitantly. “Everything… okay?”

“Just planning,” she muttered, running her fingertips gingerly across the edge of the footprints in the frozen dirt. “Trying to come up with a foolproof strategy. Not that one exists…”

“So there are Risen in the mountains?” the half-Taguel asked after a brief awkward pause.

“Looks like,” Morgan nodded, rising to her feet. “And my father’s decided to go into vacation mode and make me come up with the strategy.”

As if to punctuate her statement the duo looked over to Anna’s wagon where Robin and Tiki were laughing heartily and making a ruckus, much to Huginn’s irritation. The raven cawed loudly in Robin’s ear, earning more laughter from Tiki while he struggled to get a hand on the retreating bird.

“Well, I’m right behind you, whatever you choose to do,” Yarne said confidently, placing a comforting hand on Morgan’s shoulder and bringing her attention back to the task at hand.

“Thanks, Bunny,” she muttered, stepping into his chest and wrapping her arms around him quickly.

Before Yarne could react they both jumped as someone shouted “Ew, public-display-of-affection! Gross!” behind them to the laughter of the rest of the Shepherds.

Morgan spun, poking her tongue at her father as his hands dropped from where they had been cupped around his mouth to shout, and giving Yarne a pat on the chest.

“C’mon, that was just the distraction I needed to get my head in the right place,” she said as she began walking back to the others. “I’ve got a plan. Or I’m starting to get one, anyway…”

“I get chills when you say that,” Yarne said as he followed her.

“Good chills or bad chills?” Morgan asked playfully.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

Morgan chuckled and shook her head as they jogged back to where the others were waiting, arriving just in time to watch as Robin flopped down in the back of Anna’s wagon, disturbing Flavia and earning him a lethal kick to his ribs, much to the combined delight of Anna and Tharja.

“Er… okay everyone, listen up,” Morgan called, getting the group’s attention. “We’ve found tracks that are most likely from the Risen, so here’s the new marching order; Gerome, Cynthia, I want you two flying recon about twenty meters around us; Yarne will take Owain and Severa and-”

“Hold, my fateful companion!” Owain called, striding forward and striking his favourite pose hiding half his face with his hand. “I was led to believe that I would be taking orders from none but my master for this journey! A mystic quest such as this must be presided over by-”

“Severa, slap Owain in the back of the head!” Robin called out, his voice muffled by the thick canvas of Anna’s wagon.

The redhead did so, almost gleefully, cutting Owain off mid-rant and making the others chuckle a little.

“Everyone follows Morgan’s orders!” Robin called out. “I’m too hungo… I mean, I’m evaluating your strengths and teamwork. From here. Face-down. Just… do what she says. Or I’ll sic the bird on you!”

Huginn cawed for emphasis from where he was perched atop Anna’s wagon.

“Lazy as ever,” Severa muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Nay, my lady!” Owain objected. “A hero must maintain his strength!”

“Trust me, he’s just hungover,” Tiki sighed, shaking her head and smiling; she’d partaken a little with the other two the previous night, too, but nowhere near the extent Robin and Flavia had.

Most of the others began to chat amongst themselves, too, and Morgan was brought up short; they never acted like this with the rest of the army, so she didn’t know how to react. Her confidence began to wane as she watched the crowd begin to relax further, before Lucina stepped forward.

“Alright people, we have marching orders, so let’s move out!” Lucina called, rallying the others as Morgan watched on, slightly put out that they would be so easily distracted. “Scouts, form up and get a head start! You know who you are; Morgan said your name not five minutes ago! The rest of you, prepare for combat!”

The younger Shepherds all hastened to obey their former leader, Cynthia and Gerome taking to the air while Severa and Owain joined Yarne as foot-scouts, the redhead grumbling about being teamed up with Owain under her breath the whole time.

“Thanks, Luce,” the younger tactician said softly as the Princess passed her.

“No problem,” the blue haired woman said with a slight smile. “You just need to let them know who’s boss.”

Morgan nodded, feeling a little better as she fell in with the others.

*

“That is one of the most beautiful towns I’ve ever seen. Ever. Like… painting picturesque right there. It’s the perfect place for an epic showdown! We have to hurry, destiny’s waiting for us down there!”

“And all at once you’ve lost me,” Morgan chuckled as Cynthia went off on another ‘Owain-tangent’ as they were becoming known.

However she did agree with the bubbly younger princess’ opinion on the town they were looking at from the mountain path; it was a beautiful and delicate looking village, looking almost as if it had grown there with the trees and other natural surrounds. Steam hung over the village in great sheets from the springs surrounding it, making Morgan wonder how anyone managed to dry laundry. It would be perfect if there were actually signs of people moving around, rather than the shambling figures of Risen.

Noire let out a soft whimper as she tried to hide behind her bow, surveying the town.

“It’s overrun,” Brady muttered, eying what was to have been their vacation spot full of Risen. “The people’re all gone!”

“The people are probably just hiding,” Anna said helpfully from the driver’s seat of her cart. “My cousin’s still down there, though, I guarantee that! She’d never leave her store, not without one hell of a fight!”

Morgan nodded, hoping the merchant was right.

“Forward; maintain tight formation and use the steam for cover! Someone please wake my father and Flavia,” Morgan called over her shoulder as the small convoy began to descend towards the town.

Tharja didn’t say anything, simply gesturing over her shoulder and sending a few weak lightning spells into the bed of the wagon, causing surprised yelps and a loud thud when Robin fell face-first out of the back of the wagon.

“Graceful as ever, master!” Owain practically cheered as Robin climbed to his feet and dusted himself off.

“Weren’t you in the advance party?” Robin grumbled, checking to make sure his nose wasn’t bleeding.

“Nay! The lady Morgan hath decreed we all march together henceforth!”

“Lovely…” Robin muttered.

“Come!” Owain cried, brandishing his sword and racing ahead. “Forward!”

“Owain!” Morgan called after the boy exasperatedly as he raced by. “Dammit, Owain, what happened to ‘tight formation’!? Get your skinny butt back in line!”

*

Down in the town, shrouded in the perpetual mist from the springs and surrounded by shambling Risen stood a lone figure, watching everything still as a statue. The figure, female in appearance, glanced up as something caught its senses, glowing red eyes in a slate-grey face blinking a few times as a thin, harsh line of a mouth curved upwards in a vicious smile.

“Sim…ia…” one of the shambling Risen muttered from behind it’s mask, hefting an axe and looking around expectantly as the rest of the Risen began to coalesce, forming around the lone figure.

The creature known only as Simia, the ninth of the twelve Deadlords, creatures ranked first among all of the Fell Dragon’s many servants, and first among the swordsmen of the Risen, smiled again as she silently nodded.

“Kill…” the Risen around her started to chant. “Kill…”

Simia raised her own sword, long weapon in the fashion of Chon’sin made from steel so dark it was almost black, pointing it up to the mountain path where their prey were descending.

“Kill the tactician,” she rasped, his quiet voice like dry leaves on a stone path moved by wind as her head lolled back a little, her feral smile exposing horrid, distended fangs stained by human blood.

“Kill… kill…” the Risen chanted, moving to their positions as Simia strode confidently towards the back of the hot-springs, moving with a grace and poise that the other Risen never showed.

It had been a long time since she had been summoned… Millennia, if not longer…

Finally she would taste the flesh of man again. She had waited long enough, and her patience had paid off; her prey had come to her.

“Kill… kill Robin… kill…”

The inhabitants of this pathetic town had done nothing to quench her appetite, and in the end she’d simply begun ignoring them. As long as they didn’t interfere, they weren’t even worth killing. She would turn the others loose on the village once the tactician was dead, but until then the villagers were providing perfect bait.

“Kill… kill… kill…”

Simia resisted the urge to join in with the chanting. She was… excited. She hadn’t felt this sensation in a long, long time. She was excited about killing the tactician.

She wanted to kill Robin… she needed to kill the man, to tear his flesh and drink his blood…

Simia threw her head back, roaring loud enough to shake the panels of the buildings around her, the shout being echoed by the others around her.

“Kill Robin!” she roared, giving in to her temptation. “Kill the tactician!”

The chanting went on as Simia took up her position waiting at the back of the springs, kneading the grip of her sword expectantly. The plan that the master’s servants had given her was foolproof…

“Kill… kill Robin… kill…”

“Soon…” Simia hissed, running a black tongue over her dry lips in anticipation.

*

_Oh, this is going to end badly,_ Robin thought as he took his first steps into the town, side by side with Tiki, Owain and Flavia.

His hangover was getting worse from all the physical activity, and now his head was pounding in time with the beating of his heart, making him wish he’d held off on vacationing until the actual vacation had started. He held a hand to his head, telling himself that this was just a hangover and ignoring the familiar sensation flooding the back of his mind. Giving his head a shake the sensation faded, leaving Robin wondering if it was just his imagination that Tharja’s little charm felt a little warm against his chest.

The Risen had vanished as soon as they had started moving down towards the town, showing cohesion and intelligence that obviously meant there was a Chieftain close by coordinating their efforts. Fortunately Morgan knew that she would need to kill it fast, and Cynthia and Gerome were already scouting for the creature.

“Head towards Anna’s cousin’s Inn,” Morgan ordered, her voice low in the eerie silence. “We’ll secure that point first and start clearing the town building by building if we have to.”

Now that they had made contact, if only visual, with the enemy the young Shepherds had fallen back on a lifetime of habits and become the hardened soldiers they, in fact, were once again.

Even Owain was being miraculously silent, which was starting to worry Robin a little if he were honest.

They reached the inn with no further encounters, the silence starting to put Robin on edge.

“Stay here,” Morgan ordered to the majority of Shepherds as she, Robin and Anna moved to investigate the inn with their weapons in hand, a large two-story building made in the local style that would have easily housed all of the Shepherds, present and future.

“Hello?” Morgan called out tentatively as they stepped into the lobby.

“Oh, welcome!” A perfect copy of Anna, but with dark purple hair rather than Anna’s red hair and wearing a yukata like the locals most likely did, shouted cheerfully as she appeared suddenly from behind the counter, making the trio jump. “You must be the Ylisseans. I have your reservation right here. Has your whole party arrived, or are you still waiting on a few?”

“Hello, cousin!” Anna practically shouted, rushing forward to embrace her clone.

“Anna! It’s so good to see you! I was hoping you’d come after I got your message!”

The two women laughed happily as Morgan and Robin stood dumbfounded. Robin cleared his throat as the two started talking profit and loss for the Anna-clone’s inn, knowing that if he didn’t intervene now he’d never get them to shut up.

“Er… hi,” he said lamely. “I noticed you have a slight… Risen problem?”

“What, those weird masked things that are hogging my springs?” the Anna-clone said angrily. “You bet they’re a problem! They didn’t even pay the cover charge!”

“Are the villagers safe?” Robin sighed, getting the distinct impression the two women were not just similar in appearance.

“Yeah, and are you okay, Anna?” Anna asked, rounding on her cousin again.

“Oh, I’m fine!” she said, waving a hand dismissively before flexing a bicep. “I can still swing a lance around, just like in the old travelling days!”

“Okay, that’s all fine and dandy,” Robin said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But did she just call you ‘Anna’?”

“Of course,” both Annas said in perfect sync.

“Forget it,” Robin muttered, shaking his head and taking a few steps away. “I don’t care. I just… I’m still so hung-over I just don’t care…”

“Er… how are the villagers?” Morgan asked, taking up the slack where her father left off.

“Oh, they’re all holed up in the bigger houses,” Anna of the hot spring town explained. “For some weird reason the Risen-thingies are only attacking us if we provoke them, but I’ve got an inn-full of tourists that’ve come just to see these springs, and now they’re shut up inside! Hey, those creatures are bad for business. If you lot can clear them out, I’ll put you all up for three nights, free of charge; VIP treatment, yukata rental and all!”

“Deal,” Robin said quickly, suddenly across the room and pumping her hand up and down vigorously.

Morgan and Anna rolled their eyes; at last, Robin had shown his true colours.

*

Robin ran a hand through his hair as he watched Morgan organizing the Shepherds into squads for the battle, hesitating and wincing when he found a particularly large knot towards the back. A few Shepherds, such as himself, Owain, Severa and Lucina would be hanging back as a rearguard, but the rest would all be moving ahead without restraint and pushing in on the Risen hiding in the springs. The rest were getting ready to lead a two-pronged attack, Morgan personally leading one group while Flavia led the other. Apparently the Khan couldn’t decide what she was more excited about, relaxing on her vacation or killing Risen on her vacation; she had even said as much as she’d passed Robin, a huge grin on her face as she’d stretched out her arms.

A few of the braver villagers and tourists had snuck out of their hiding places to speak to the Shepherds or see what was going on, and Lucina was currently talking with a couple not a lot older than he and she were. Most of Anna-two’s, as Robin had started to think of her, clients seemed to be elderly, though; apparently the springs were a hit with them because of their restorative qualities.

Lucina finished up with the villagers and tourists, urging them all to go back inside and hide until the danger had passed before coming to stand with Robin while they waited for the main parties to prepare.

“Beautiful place,” he said idly, trying to kill time with small-talk while Owain pestered Severa a small way off.

“It really is,” Lucina agreed. “Though I fear the view is marred by the Risen. We must see them slain and peace restored to this land at once.”

“Oh?” Robin asked with a wry grin on his face, giving Lucina a sideways glance. “Aren’t we sounding especially passionate all of a sudden? That eager to enjoy the springs, are you?”

“I won’t deny that’s a part of it,” Lucina admitted guiltily. “But that couple I was just speaking to…”

“Who, the newly-weds?” Robin asked, taking a stab in the dark and internally celebrating as Lucina nodded agreement.

“This was to be their first trip together,” she explained. “It was to be their honeymoon. I cannot abide letting their happy memories be sullied by these monsters. I... I know how I would feel in their position.”

“Hey, first we get married, then we go on a honeymoon,” Robin said, perking up a little. “But I see your point. We'd better get to work. Then it'll be our turn to make some happy memories.”

“Right!” Lucina agreed, smiling and making Robin’s heart melt.

_Good gods I must be the luckiest man in the world…_ Robin thought as Lucina curiously looked off towards the springs.

“Oh, speaking of that couple...” she added after a moment. “I spoke to the husband briefly. He pointed to that building and mentioned a promise to go there with his wife later. What do you suppose it is?”

Robin followed her pointing finger back towards a fenced off building and sign behind the inn, squinting and trying to make out the unfamiliar local letters.

“I’m not a hundred percent; if you want an exact translation you’d have to ask Morgan.” Robin admitted. “But… I think the sign says it’s a mixed bath.”

“Oh?” Lucina asked innocently. “What do they mix it with?”

“Er, no...” Robin clarified, doing his best not to laugh. “It's not the water that's mixed, it's the clientele. A mixed bath is one that men and women can enter together.”

_Oh gods what I would do to go into that bath with you_ , Robin said internally, turning to glance longingly at the mixed bath and letting his imagination momentarily run free.

“What?!” Lucina cried, her face going crimson. “Th-they have such a thing here?! I'm terribly sorry, Robin. I had no idea what I was asking!”

_Shot down before I could even drop a hint_.

“It’s alright,” Robin laughed instead, enjoying seeing the usually composed Princess so flustered. “You had no way of knowing.”

Lucina looked down embarrassedly, shuffling her feet a little as they waited for the rest of the Shepherds to prepare for their attack.

“Though,” she said in a low voice after a moment. “Now that the initial shock is past...do you have any interest in trying one?”

Until that point in his life if someone had asked Robin if he thought it possible to choke on his own tongue, he would have laughed them off; however now he found himself coughing and spluttering as, in his surprise, he did just that.

“E-excuse me!?” he gasped once the coughing fit subsided.

“I would not force you, of course,” Lucina added quickly. “I just thought we ought to do something here, you know? Seeing as you practically took us all hostage to make this ‘mission’ work. I'd like to have some happy memories of this place. Let's think on it after the combat's done, all right?”

“Of course,” Robin agreed, straightening and adjusting his coat and spinning on his heel.

“Morgan!” he shouted across the small compound they were preparing in. “Get your butts in gear! Twenty minutes to rout the Risen, do you understand me!? Go-go-go!”

“Yes, father!” she said quickly, whipping the others into a frenzy of last-minute armour checks and weapons tests.

“That’s my master,” Owain said, practically swooning while he and Severa crossed to stand with Robin and Lucina as the Princess chuckled and shook her head. “He’s always thinking of nothing but justice and righteousness! He is right! Saving the villagers here is our top priority and cannot be accomplished fast enough!”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly what he’s thinking about,” Severa muttered, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes while Robin did calf stretches waiting for the others to start, suddenly invigorated.

“Less talk, more prep!” the tactician ordered, moving on to stretching his arms out.

_I’ll win this single-handedly if I have to,_ Robin thought, turning to glance at the mixed bath again. _Please wait for me, my dear. I’ll be there soon enough… Maybe I should see Anna-two about making a reservation?_

“Alright, everyone prepare to move up!” Morgan called out.

_Gah! No time! Forget the reservation! Time to roll over these Risen and get on with my vacation!_

Robin drew Sol from over his shoulder, the long blade glinting dangerously in the afternoon sun.

“Forward to our vacation!” Robin shouted in way of a battle-cry.


	48. Chapter 48

“Yes! Onwards, operation Code Bloodleaf!” Owain shouted, charging headlong into a knot of Risen.

“Dammit, Owain, we talked about this!” Robin called, following the excitable boy and leaving Lucina and Severa standing rearguard alone. “Wait, dammit! If you get killed your father’ll kill me! Then your mother will revive me and kill me again! Wait!”

The redhead girl huffed, crossing her arms.

“Idiots,” she muttered, watching as Robin flailed around like a fool trying to avoid Owain’s excessively theatrical fighting style.

The Risen were proving to be a little more of a challenge than they had first suspected, and it didn’t help that no one could maintain focus for more than a few minutes at a time. Gerome and Yarne were busily chasing a monkey that had stolen the wyvern rider’s mask all over the springs, felling whatever got in their way; Laurent was pestering Inigo, the usually flamboyant boy wilting under the scientist’s continual questions; Tiki was attempting to fight and talk to Nah at the same time, and surprisingly doing both admirably well; Brady and Noire were watching the battle, dumbfounded at how their allies could be so easily distracted; Flavia was carrying the battle almost single-handedly, tearing through the Risen like a woman possessed; Tharja and Anna were nowhere to be seen; and Morgan and Cynthia looked like they were in the middle of some great strategy meeting.

It looked like whatever plans Morgan had come up with were falling apart, but every few seconds the tactician would glance up, study everyone’s positions and nod with satisfaction before going back to talking to Cynthia. No doubt the girl had taken everyone’s behaviour and personalities into the equation when she’d been planning…

She cast a longing glance over the closest hot springs, watching the way the steam rose from their surfaces and wafted to the sky, the patterns that it made… she imagined herself soaking in one, a whole spring all to herself for as many hours as she wanted it…

All at once her fantasy was shattered when Owain cried out something foolish about ‘missing links’ at the top of his lungs, distracting her and bringing her crashing back to reality. She let out a sigh, closing her eyes for a moment to stave off the inevitable migraine she got whenever Owain was around.

“Was that a good sigh or a bad sigh, Severa?” Lucina asked, apparently in a particularly good mood.

“I was just caught up in watching the steam rise off of the pools. It's mesmerizing,” Severa admitted, crossing her arms and glaring at Owain. “Until someone distracted me…”

“It really is beautiful,” Lucina agreed, taking a moment to glance at the pools before going back to watching the battle.

“Brings up all sorts of memories...” Severa admitted, watching the way that Robin and Owain were battling the Risen. “I don't need to tell you of all people that most of them from the future aren't happy ones.”

“Yes,” Lucina agreed sombrely.

Severa stopped to think for a moment, scratching absently at the cord around her neck that held her mother’s ring; her precious keepsake.

“When we arrived in this time, my first thought was wow, our parents had it easy,” she admitted after a moment. “I mean, just look at all they have. We grew up on the tales of their struggles, but old war stories are always embellished.”

Lucina remained silent, waiting for the other girl to continue.

“But then I took a closer look and saw them working harder than we ever did. They're even more amazing than the stories make them out to be.”

“I agree completely,” Lucina said with a slight slouch to her shoulders, watching the way Robin balanced his sword-fighting and magecraft without a thought in battle; and he was only one example of the extraordinary skills of their parent’s generation. “We still have so far to go before we can call ourselves their equals. Each day, I'm reminded that we're still just children.”

Severa snorted derisively. “Excuse me? What are you babbling about? You don't count; you're an exception to the rule.”

“Sorry?”

Severa rolled her eyes, before listing off Lucina’s good points on her fingers. “You're freakishly strong, smart, and charismatic, not to mention strikingly beautiful. But I guess that's just good breeding for you.”

Lucina’s face went red as the Princess waved her hands. “Oh, I-I’m hardly… uh…”

“And modest, too,” Severa groaned. “No wonder Robin can barely keep his hands off you. Just stop already.”

Lucina looked down in embarrassment, and the conversation between the two girls stopped for a few moments.

“Just between us,” Lucina said eventually, “there are times when I really struggle.”

Severa blinked a few times before answering, letting the Princess’ confession sink in.

“What? Really?”

“Of course,” Lucina sighed. “Any boons aside, the Exalt's bloodline brings with it a crushing weight. Not a day goes by that I do not flinch under the weight of others' expectations. Or still worse, my own.”

Severa sniffed, crossing her arms again. “Huh. Even the mighty Lucina has her moments of doubt.”

“I'm only human,” the blue-haired princess chuckled. “Still, I try my best to see my lineage as an opportunity. To do good; to make change. Heh, that's something I inherited from my father, as much as the blood we share.”

“The resemblance is apparent,” Severa snickered. “I wonder if that optimism isn't the real legacy of the exalted line, though.”

“Perhaps,” Lucina shrugged, smiling. “I would be proud if it were so.”

Their brief moment was interrupted when Morgan shouted out for Lucina to move up with Owain, who had once again raced ahead, leaving Severa and Robin to stand rearguard. The redhead sighed again as she moved up, looking left and right at the springs, and hesitating when she spotted a sign with writing she could actually read on it.

_Therapeutic skin treatment bath? I have to try this one!_

She wafted some of the steam towards her, letting out a happy sigh as the scents of minerals and salts reached her nose.

“Mmm, this steam feels incredible!” she muttered blissfully. “And it's good for the complexion? This place is too good to be true.”

“Severa, what are you doing?” Robin panted, suddenly behind her. “We’re… supposed to be moving… up…”

“Ooh, perfect timing, Robin!” she said, spinning as a thought struck her. “Check out this spring. Its waters are supposed to work miracles for your skin!”

“Oh really?” Robin deadpanned, still breathing heavily.

Severa took a better look at him; he was soaked, not to mention dirty and sweaty, panting and red in the face. Obviously he was just another name on the list of people that couldn’t keep up with Owain like she could.

“Yup!” the redhead chirped, smiling broadly. “Just one soak, and you'll be smooth as a baby's butt! You should give it a try, Robin; you look like you could use it. Here, I'll waft some of this steam at you.”

“Er, thanks, Severa, but this isn't really the time,” Robin coughed, trying to wave the steam out of his face. “We're sort of, you know, busy right now, aren’t we?”

“Oh, a few minutes won't hurt anyone,” Severa said distractedly, spinning back to the spring and crossing the few steps to the water. “Besides, I don't see any Risen around.”

“Uh-huh,” Robin muttered, following her. “That does usually mean they’re hiding. You can spend as long as you like in the baths after this. Try to focus for now.”

Severa winced involuntarily, suddenly glad her back was to Robin; that was the exact same tone he’d always taken in the future with her when she’d been being selfish. But the water was right there, and it was calling to her!

“Gawds! All right, all right. Fine,” she sighed, glancing over her shoulder with the same pleading look he’d always fallen for in the future. “Can I at least dip my hand in for a minute? It's colder than you'd think out here, and my grip is starting to suffer...”

The tactician rolled his eyes, turning away. “Fine. Whatever. Just don’t fall in.”

“Woo! Hot spring, here I come!” Severa cheered, tossing her sword to Robin, who managed to catch it haphazardly as she dipped her hand in the spring. “Wooow, it's sooo waaarm! Aaah, I can't get over how good it feels! Oh, my achy knuckles! My poor joints have never felt better! I feel alive again!”

“Uh-huh… sure,” Robin deadpanned, obviously not caring. “You sound like an old man.”

“Who cares?” Severa sighed, soaking her sword hand. “It's not like there's anyone around but you to hear me.”

“And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?” Robin grumbled, frowning. “C’mon, we’ve got Risen to slay! Let’s get a move-on!”

Severa reluctantly pulled her hand out of the water, vowing to revisit this particular spring later. Her eyes fell on her hand, and she let out a surprised shriek.

“What's wrong?!” Robin asked, suddenly between her and the spring and wielding a sword in each hand. “Risen lurking in the water?! I told you they were hiding!”

“My hand is so smooth!” Severa practically squealed.

“What?” Robin asked, his stance dropping as he spun to stare at the young woman.

“So smooth!” Sever repeated, stroking the light pink skin with her fingertips. “My hand! Look! I just soaked the right one, and my left hasn't touched the water. Look how rosy my weapon hand is! How perfectly soft and supple it's become!”

“Brilliant,” Robin groaned, rolling his eyes and holding Severa’s sword out for her. “Not worth the heart attack you just gave me, but great. Though it's hardly a miracle for hot water to improve circulation and rinse away dirt.”

Severa ignored the tactician, her gaze switching between the springs and her hand. “If a quick dip of the fingers does this much, just imagine a full-body soak...”

“Severa, no,” Robin said firmly, moving between her and the springs again. “Please don't jump in. Please, please don't jump in. Don't. Do. It.”

She remained silent, staring longingly at the spring over the tactician’s shoulder.

“Severa!” Robin called out, waving her sword’s hilt beneath her nose to get her attention.

“Hwuh?!” she exclaimed, jumping a little as once again her fantasy was brought crashing down. “O-oh... Robin. D-don't be silly. I would never dream of jumping in fully clothed! Sure, I want my skin looking beautiful, but not at the expense of my clothes! Anyway, we'd better get back to the fight. Don't make me leave you behind!”

The redhead made to leave, moving to snatch her sword out of Robin’s hand but stopping when he didn’t release the weapon.

“Robin, what…”

She stopped; the idiotic grin on his face couldn’t possibly mean anything good.

“Hold on, Severa; care to explain that engraving?” he asked, indicating to the name carved on her sword’s hilt with a nod of his head.

Her face instantly changed to the colour of her hair before she glowered at Robin, taking the sword and advancing on him blade-first.

“If you say a word to anyone they’ll find you floating face-down in one of these springs, understand?” she threatened.

Robin nodded, clearly doing his best not to burst into laughter as he held his hands up in surrender.

“Of… of course… Severa…” he snickered. “Not a soul. And I certainly won’t tell Ow-AIII!”

His mocking was cut off when Severa lashed out with her foot, kicking him backwards into the spring.

“I deserved that,” he spluttered as he broke the surface, shaking the hair from his face and sending drops flying everywhere as Severa marched away.

*

Lucina jogged carefully through the slick pathways between springs, trying to figure out where Owain disappeared to and skidding to a halt when she heard his voice cry out.

“Why am I even telling you this!?”

She crept forward a little, peering around the corner of one of the many small buildings dotting the bath-grounds and spotting Laurent and Owain talking over a small book in the mage’s hands.

“Yet another of the many disturbing questions this document raises…” Laurent was saying.

Lucina withdrew; as long as Owain was out of trouble and not flinging himself at Risen on his own, she would allow him a brief reprieve. The sound of familiar maniacal laughter drew the Princess’ attention, and she found herself climbing to the top of a small pile of boulders that Noire was perched on, cackling like her mother usually did as she fired arrows into the largest knots of the Risen.

“Writhe before me!” the timid archer shouted at the Risen retreating from her ferocious barrage. “Though death may overlook you, I shall not! The toll for despoiling these springs shall be paid in blood and pain! Now, come! Crash against me and be dashed like waves against the rocky shore!”

Lucina found herself agreeing with the archer’s sentiments. “You're absolutely right, Noire. The people here won't be safe until the Risen are gone. Let’s finish them off quickly!”

“Aye, justice is ever swift as it is implacable, and these maggots have been judged!” Noire cried, loosing another barrage and driving the Risen back into the mist before Lucina could act. “Let them now face their rightful sentence at my hand! Blood and thunder! Also, I have a question!”

“Sure,” Lucina said, hesitating before leaping off the pile of rocks. “What is it?”

“Why does it never seem to faze you when I snap?” Noire asked, back to her usual timid self as she anxiously wrung her hands around her bow.

“Snap? I'm sorry, I didn't realize,” Lucina said apologetically, cocking her head curiously. “I must not have been paying attention.”

“No, I mean...” Noire insisted, struggling for the right words. “You didn't notice anything, I don't know, different about me? When I get mad, I'm...a little scary. I speak differently. I'm basically a different person.”

Lucina blinked a few times uncomprehendingly. Sure, Noire was eccentric at times, but no more so than Owain or Gerome or Kjelle or anyone else. She wasn’t scary in the least.

“I’m sorry, Noire, I’m not following you,” she admitted after a moment.

“You don't...” Noire stammered, going a little pale and making Lucina worry she was about to have another anaemic attack. “Wait, you really don't know what I'm talking about?!”

“You're you, Noire,” Lucina said soothingly, still being a little confused by the girl’s behaviour. “Who else would you be? I'm afraid I have absolutely no idea what you mean.”

The raven-tressed girl let out a little squeak, backing away. “It’s not natural!”

With that perplexing statement she spun and leapt gracefully down to the ground, before taking off in the direction of the next vantage point she could use.

“Wha— Noire?!” Lucina called after her. “Where are you going? And be careful running! The ground is slick; you could fall!”

Lucina’s attention was suddenly stolen when she heard the sounds of high-pitched squealing and laughing, gaze falling on Cynthia and Morgan up to their knees in a shallow spring and splashing each other.

“Oh for the love of…” Lucina muttered, hopping off the rocks and making for the duo. “They should know better than to be playing at a time like now.”

Across the buildings, Robin had seen the same scene, and was heading at the same speed to remind the two girls exactly what they were supposed to be doing here.

*

Cynthia sighed dejectedly as she sat atop her pegasus next to Morgan, the tactician surveying the battlefield.

“I still don’t know why they had to yell at us like that,” she moaned.

“Well, I suppose we might have gotten just a teensy bit out of hand...” Morgan said distractedly, sending out a small fire spell to distract the Risen closing in on Flavia’s back. “Not that we can really be blamed, this being our first time at a hot spring and all. But I guess I can kinda, sort, maaaybe see where they were coming from.”

“Oh, don't be ridiculous,” Cynthia argued. “That was just a bit of innocent fun! All we did is barely touch the water and make a few little ripples.”

“At first, maybe…” Morgan chuckled.

“All right, granted, then we started splashing each other a little,” Cynthia admitted. “And then kind of a lot, and then we were both completely soaked.”

“Along with everyone near us,” Morgan laughed. “In retrospect, that was probably where we crossed the line. Laurent and Nah didn’t really look impressed.”

“Oh, they were having fun too. You could see it in their faces!” Cynthia insisted.

“Well, yes...” Morgan agreed. “But I don't think the fact that we dragged them into our fun was the issue. It was probably more of a ‘let's take care of the murderous undead first’ sort of thing.”

“Hmm. Okay, that one's a fair point,” Cynthia agreed. “But still, that's no reason to gang up on us! There's only one thing for it, Morgan. As soon as the fighting is done, we'll play the mother of all pranks on them!”

“Oh, I like where this is going,” Morgan grinned, her eyes never leaving the battlefield.

“Oh yes,” Cynthia said, rubbing her hands together expectantly. “And with my heroic charisma and your brain for strategy, it'll be a cinch! I call it Project Prankmaster Extreme!”

Morgan snorted. “How exactly does your charisma figure in to coming up with a plan?”

“It just does!” Cynthia said with a wink. “It’s the most important part! C’mon, everything’s going okay, stop tacticianing for a few minutes and help me come up with something!”

“I would…” Morgan said, a slight feeling of unease nagging at the back of her mind as she surveyed the battlefield. “But I can’t help but think this is going too easily.”

“Oh! Oh! That’s such an epic line!” Cynthia cried. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to say it!? I could have come up with something too!”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “Sorry; next time I get a bad feeling I’ll be sure to let you know in advance. C’mon, I have a plan and I need you and your valiant steed for it.”

“I get chills when you say that,” Cynthia said, shuddering over-exaggeratedly.

“Why does everyone keep saying that to me?” Morgan laughed, climbing up into the saddle behind her friend.

*

“I swear…” Robin muttered, shaking his head as he and Lucina went to scout the western side of the springs. “First Severa kicks me into the springs, now this. These kids will be the death of me. How were things faring over on the eastern side?”

“Mostly done,” Lucina said with a soft smile. “At this rate, we'll be finished before supper. Plenty of time for these newlyweds to enjoy their evening.”

“Excellent,” Robin sighed, pushing the hair back from his face. “I'm sure they'll appreciate it. As will all the old couples who evacuated with them, I'm sure.”

“Heh, yes, it did seem as though the average visitor here was... more mature,” Lucina chuckled, relaxing a little. “I think it's sweet, seeing couples who have shared so many years together.”

Robin sighed, resting the flat edge of his long sword over his shoulder as they walked.

“I hope we're still sneaking off on little trips like that when we're old and grey,” he admitted.

Lucina deflated a little, looking away from Robin. “Yes…”

The tactician perked up, glancing back at Lucina as her pace slowed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you suppose we'll really be able to stay together that long?” Lucina asked, giving vent to the doubts that still clung to her heart.

“Uh… yeah, I fully intended to,” Robin said, scratching his head. “If this is about me not proposing I was going to put it off until after-”

“No, it’s not that,” Lucina cut him off, steeling herself for what she had to say. “Once peace is won, I'll have to try to return to my own time… Even if that turns out to be impossible, though, I can't remain by my father's side. But you're his tactician. His chief advisor. I don't see how our paths won't part...”

“Oh, come on, Lucina, not this again,” Robin groaned. “I thought we were past this song and dance.”

“I've been charged with saving the world above all else,” she pressed on. “If, Naga forbid, I should ever have to choose between you and that mission... I couldn't allow my heart to turn me from what must be done. What right do I have to be with you when I cannot put you first?”

“You have every right,” Robin said, stepping closer. “I knew I was signing on for all of that without you telling me. Has this honestly still been bugging you?”

Lucina nodded.

“What did I say?” Robin said, his voice and tone dropping to a gentle, soothing tone. “Back in Valm I swore I’d follow you back to the future if I had to, and I meant it. And I know for a fact Chrom won’t just let you disappear. I always swore I would support you with everything I had so you could fulfil your duty, and I know your father is the same.”

“But…” she tried to protest, cutting off when Robin’s hand reached out and stroked her cheek.

“It's all right, Lucina,” he said soothingly. “No matter what you choose, or where you go, I'll be right there by your side. I promise you again, here and now. I'll stay with you and support you for all my life. And even then! If I'm killed, I'll find a way to come back. Just like last time! I’m sure I can pull that trick off again! Er… maybe.”

“Don’t promise such things,” Lucina muttered, her own hand reaching up to rest on Robin’s and hold it closer to her.

“Hey, it's the job of a crack tactician to work miracles, isn't it? To do the impossible?” Robin said brightly. “I’d be a sorry tactician if I stopped doing so now.”

“But…” Lucina managed, taking one look at the innocent smile on Robin’s face and bursting into laughter.

“Hey, I was being serious,” Robin said with a frown, dropping his hand as Lucina clenched her sides, doubling over with laughter.

“No, it's just...” she managed, stopping to take a deep breath and compose herself. “You're just so desperate to cheer me up. It's sweet. I fear I have a tendency to dwell on the negative and imagine the worst. I'm fortunate to have been blessed with such a legendarily optimistic partner.”

“Heh… er, you’re welcome?” Robin said, rubbing the back of his head.

“Thank you, Robin,” the Princess said, straightening and beginning to walk again. “I feel a weight has been lifted from me.”

“Lucina,” Robin called out, stopping her by taking her hand.

“Yes?” she asked, a quizzical look on her face. “What is it?”

“I meant what I said,” Robin said with a serious look on his face, his hand tightening reassuringly around her own. “I'll do anything it takes to see that your future is a happy one. I just... need you to know that.”

“I know, Robin. I-” was as far as she got before she found herself being pulled backwards into Robin’s embrace, eyes widening momentarily in surprise before she briefly let herself melt into him when he pressed his lips to hers.

“Robin, this is hardly the time,” she said breathlessly, pulling back from him after a few moments.

“I know,” Robin sighed, arms still wrapped around her waist. “I'm sorry, I couldn’t help it. No... You know what? No, I'm not sorry. I needed to share how I felt, and that was the only way I could adequately convey my feelings. It may not be very befitting a tactician to lose control like that, but I'm a man first. I honestly think tactician ranks about fourth or fifth on the list, to be honest.”

“Just don't let the others see you,” she said playfully, reaching up and planting another lighter kiss on his lips as he went pale.

“Oh gods,” he moaned, stepping back and looking around them. “I didn't even think... Do you think they might have?! Severa’d never live it down, and Morgan-”

“I'm kidding, dear,” Lucina laughed. “It was only for a moment. No one saw… And I'm glad you did it. I am a woman first, after all. And your way of sharing your feelings was very... effective. Though I may require a repeat performance once the battle's over.”

“In the mixed bath, right?” Robin asked hopefully.

“Yes, Robin,” Lucina half-laughed, half-sighed. “In the mixed bath.”

“Yes!” he cried, pumping his fist excitedly in the air before racing off. “Run and hide while you can, Risen scum! I’m motivated now!”

Lucina let out an involuntary laugh as Robin raced off, joining up with Flavia and Owain as they charged ahead.

“Yes!” Owain cried in the distance. “Operation Bloodleaf Shadowstalker is nigh!”

Lucina allowed herself another moment of peace before growing sombre again.

“Forgive me, Robin,” she muttered sadly, watching him leave with the others. “Until this war is won, I cannot put you above all else. But I hope you understand how precious you are to me. I don't say it nearly enough... But I love you with all my heart. I would consider myself the luckiest woman alive were I able to grow old with you. You're the dearest thing to me in this world, and my greatest reason to save it... My one and only love...”

*

Robin skidded around a corner, still full of the insane energy that came from looking forward to something so much, and almost collided with Severa, having to drop to the wet ground and slide on his hip to avoid taking her out.

“Er, hi Robin,” she muttered quietly as Robin rose to his feet, waving Flavia and Owain onwards while he spoke to Severa. “Do you… have anything I can use to dry off with?”

“Karma,” Robin said, crossing his arms and grinning. “Did you actually-”

“No I did not!” Severa shouted, stomping her foot for emphasis. “Show me the girl who wants to leap into a pool fully clothed! ...I slipped. A pack of Risen flanked me out of nowhere, I got startled, and I slipped...”

“Well, I'm glad you're only soaked, then,” Robin said, still grinning as he began rummaging around his seemingly bottomless pouch. “Hold on, I still have a spare towel from when _somebody_ kicked me into the springs.”

“That'd be great, thanks,” Severa grudgingly muttered.

And please,” she added menacingly. “I left the lot of them floating face-down in the water. Trust me, I made sure they got what they deserved.”

“Well, better them than me,” Robin laughed, handing her the fluffy cream-coloured towel he’d been carrying around, just in case.

“Amazing, aren't I?” Severa asked, beginning to dry off her hair and letting out a sigh. “But if I'm going to fall into a spring, it could at least be one good for my skin... Instead, I wound up dunked in a pool meant to help backaches and stiff shoulders! Between that and my pruned fingers, I feel like an old lady...”

Robin snorted. “Weren’t you complaining about stiff knuckle-joints before? Ah, this is all so ridiculous.”

“It is, isn't it?” Severa giggled.

“Totally...completely...” she sniffled, suddenly doing an emotional about-face. “R-ridicu... lous... Oh, gods...”

The redhead let out another sniffle before bursting into tears right in front of a very perplexed tactician.

“Uh… Severa?” Robin asked. “What’s the matter? Are you wounded!?”

“No!” she bawled. “I’m… I’m just so… so happy!”

Robin almost fell over with the ridiculousness of her statement. “Huh?”

“I mean, think about it,” Severa said with a final sniffle, drying her eyes on the towel. “We're fighting off hordes of monsters, yet we're cracking up over a silly spring? There was never any laughing like this in the future. Ever. I like to think I haven't gone totally soft since coming to this era, but still... Back then, you always had to wonder if you wouldn't be better off dead. Every time a battle ended, you knew there was nothing but more bleakness ahead. There was never any talk about ‘after this battle’ or ‘after the war’.”

“Hence why I organised this little mission,” Robin muttered.

“But here, we're all abuzz about what fun plans we have waiting for us, you know?” she went on heedless. “Soaking in the springs... Taking in the sights... Going shopping for souvenirs... It seems so unreal. We didn't dare to dream about that sort of thing back in our time. But it's waiting for us. Actual free time. No one to bury. No new battle to prepare for. It's ours to do whatever we want with, even if just for a few days. And that idea just... It made me so happy, I...”

Robin sighed as the girl began to sniffle again, being reminded of a similar scene with her mother after they’d first met. Following a paternal instinct Robin didn’t know he’d had until recently he stepped forward, giving the girl a light hug.

“Life has thrown so much at you, Severa, but look at you,” he said into the top of her head as, for once, she accepted the physical contact. “You're still standing strong. After all that hard work and perseverance, I'd say you've earned one heck of a day off.”

“I... I should hope so...” she sniffled, stepping back after a moment and trying to regain her composure. “All right, it's settled, then. After this, I'm headed straight to that bath, and I'm not leaving till I'm positively aglow!”

“There’s the Severa we all know and tolerate,” Robin laughed. “Though I'd say you're already glowing pretty bright as it is.”

“Wha—?!” she exclaimed, blushing. “C-cut that out... You don't need to make stuff up...”

“You’re the one that took a dunk in the springs,” Robin laughed. “I just call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

“W-well, flattery will get you nowhere!” Severa huffed, doing her best to hide her embarrassment as she flung the towel back at Robin. “Anyway, here's your cloth back. No more time for chatter. I want as much time in those springs as possible!”

“Alright, alright,” Robin laughed, folding the towel and tucking it back in his pouch. “Just be careful, okay? Lucina’s back that way, why don’t you go and keep her safe?”

“Alright, I will,” Severa said standoffishly.

“And… thank you… for before…” she added, her voice little more than a whisper.

“What was that?” Robin asked, clearly just baiting her.

“I said thank you f-for the stupid towel, of course!” Severa shouted, waving a finger in Robin’s face. “Don't think for a minute it's because you called me radiant or let me cry at you. This and that are completely separate!”

With that she spun, stomping off in the direction Robin had said Lucina was in, leaving Robin standing and grinning to himself as he marvelled once again at how easy it was to fluster her.

*

Lucina walked through the winding paths between the springs, on the lookout for any of the Risen that the advance parties may have missed. Familiar laughter sang out, making the Princess stop and look upwards. There, perched on the roof of one of the bath-houses, was Noire, still firing relentlessly at the Risen. Making up her mind to do something about their earlier conversation in the current lull, Lucina sheathed Falchion and set about climbing up to the other girl.

“Noire, can we talk?” Lucina asked, climbing up onto the low roof of one of the bath houses with the girl, who let out a squeak and almost dropped her bow in surprise.

“Wh-what about?” she stammered. “And why do you look so contrite?”

“I’m sorry about before,” Lucina said seriously. “I only realised after you left that you'd been upset.”

“Oh,” the archer said, blinking a few times. “Er, yes, well... It's certainly nothing you need to apologize for. It's no fault of yours that I went berserk... It's kind of a habit. Or... defining trait. I'm the one who should apologize.”

“Not at all,” Lucina assured her. “I should have been more observant. I just assumed you were your usual happy self and everything was fine... I'm afraid I'm terrible at picking up on it when people around me are perturbed. Apparently I get it from my father.”

“Er, I...I don't know whether ‘perturbed’ really covers it in my case...” Noire stammered. “But you've always been that way. You only see the good in people. Even when they get angry, or make mistakes, you're the first to forgive them...”

Lucina stopped to blink a few times, thinking about what her friend had just said.

“Am I really?” she asked after a moment. “I… I’ve never really thought of myself in that way.”

“Of course not,” Noire giggled, a rare smile brightening her face. “That's part of what makes it so wonderful. You forgive people unconsciously, without the thought even crossing your mind.”

“Well, I can't say I've ever noticed...” Lucina admitted before shrugging. “But if I'm doing something that helps you, I'm not about to complain.”

“You are,” Noire said with an empathetic nod. “Thank you, Lucina. And don't ever change.”

“My pleasure,” she said with a smile. “And I wouldn't worry about changing. If I'm not even aware of what I'm doing, I'm not likely to stop anytime soon!”

“Lucina? What in Naga’s name are you doing up there?” Severa called from the ground. “C’mon! Morgan wants us to head up the middle!”

“Go ahead,” Noire said when Lucina gave her a questioning glance. “I can do more damage from up here with my bow.”

The Princess nodded, slipping back down to the ground as Noire began to laugh and shout again, just like she normally did.

“It never ceases to astound me how she does that,” Severa muttered as they began to walk, weapons in hand, up the path Morgan had chosen for them.

“Yes,” Lucina agreed, watching the arrows flying overhead. “But that’s just Noire for you.”

They walked on in silence for a few more minutes, warily scanning everything going on around them, before Severa broke the silence with a large sigh.

“Again, Severa?” Lucina asked over her shoulder.

“More like still,” the other girl admitted. “Mostly I've decided to stop bothering to hide it around you.”

“Hide what?” Lucina asked, turning to face her.

“You're not the only one with insecurities,” Severa said bitterly, looking away. “Or a full-blown inferiority complex...”

“What?” Lucina asked, shocked at this turn of events. “Why should you feel inferior? You're Cordelia's daughter. She's hailed as a genius, and those doing the hailing are impressive enough as it is. No daughter of hers has any cause to feel inadequate.”

“Yes, I'm quite familiar with my mother's talents, thanks,” Severa snapped, before taking a deep breath. “That's just the problem. I failed to inherit any of them. I try and I try, and still I feel I'm just barely keeping up. But I can't even get anyone to acknowledge my effort, either. Whatever I do, it's because I'm the great Cordelia's daughter. That's how it's always been. Oh, sure, swans are all beauty and grace above the water's surface. Nobody bothers to notice they're flailing their legs like mad just to keep afloat...”

“In the old story, it's the little swan that has the most trouble seeing how beautiful it is,” Lucina pointed out.

“Yup, that's me!” Severa exclaimed, throwing her hand in the air for emphasis. “An ugly duckling! Except that I'm not going to magically grow up to be like my mother...”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean... That was thoughtless of me,” Lucina quickly back-peddled.

“No, it's fine,” Severa went on. “You're right. Anyway, now you know. That's all I needed, was for one person to-”

“No. If I'm the only one who knows, let me be the first to say this,” Lucina said, cutting her friend off and spinning her by the shoulder so they were face to face. “Severa, your strength is a product of your own hard work and dedication. Cordelia is an amazing woman, but you have a light in you wholly distinct from hers. I've seen it with my own eyes time and again in battles we've fought, past and future. I'm sure the others have as well. And I hope they can see where the credit for that lies.”

“Lucina...” Severa muttered, blinking a few times with a shocked look on her face, before she relaxed and smiled. “Thank you. It feels good to hear that, especially from you. I feel... vindicated. Would you maybe want to do this again sometime? Talk, I mean. Just us two? We can unload all of our pent-up complaints about our perfect parents!”

“What?!” Lucina exclaimed, suddenly at a loss again. “I...I don't have any complaints about mine...”

“Then you’re doing it wrong,” Severa sighed, rolling her eyes and back to her usual self. “Well, whatever. You can sit there and listen to me, then. I've got enough for the both of us!”

Lucina smiled. “Oh, I don’t doubt it.”

“All right, let's hurry up and get through this battle!” Severa declared, hefting her sword and starting off down the path again. “Then it's into the bath for some girl talk!”

“Indeed,” Lucina agreed, blushing a little behind her friend’s back as she thought of what waited after the battle. “Off to the baths…”

*

“This whole day has just been one touching scene after another for you, hasn’t it?” Flavia asked playfully as she, Robin and Owain stepped forward carefully.

“Yeah? So?” Robin asked defensively. “You want a hug too?”

Flavia snorted, bouncing her sword on her shoulder guard a few times before speaking; apparently she’d seen him comforting Severa before, and was now more interested in mocking him than killing Risen, which was a big deal for her.

“Robin, we don’t hug in Regna Ferox,” she said, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. “What we do up in the north is much dirtier, and much, much more fun.”

“There are children present!” Robin cried, clamping his hands over a heavily blushing Owain’s ears for emphasis as the Khan burst into laughter.

“I did not need to hear that,” Owain muttered, a blank look on his scarlet face.

“You’ve gotta grow up sometime, kid!” Flavia chuckled. “Why one time I… Robin? Why are we stopping?”

The tactician had stopped; staring at a small shrine nestled against a blank stone wall carved from the edge of the mountain, signifying the very back of the springs.

“This is it,” Robin muttered, looking around. “This is the very back corner… but where are the… Risen?”

He looked around, eyes narrowing as he scanned the surroundings. He didn’t have any trouble picking out where the others were, even between the buildings in the compound and through the steam, but everywhere he looked he couldn’t spot any Risen. Which could only mean…

“Ambush!” Robin cried, raising his weapon as Owain dropped, hands grabbing him around the ankles as a hellish masked visage raised out of the water, dragging him towards the spring it was hiding in.

All around them the Risen were rising up from the springs, dripping and growling, snorting and chanting ‘kill’ over and over as they methodically climbed out of the springs.

“Kill them!” Robin shrieked, a scene from Northern Regna Ferox replaying in his mind as he danced away from the edge of the spring he’d been standing next to and the grasping hands coming out of it. “Kill them with fire!”

“You’re the mage! You do it!” Flavia grunted, gripping Owain by the arm with one hand and swinging her sword with the other, arresting his slide and fighting off the Risen at the same time.

Robin was about to snap back with a witty rejoinder before he had to duck, spinning away from the black bladed sword that was trying to kill him. When he rose he felt his heart freeze in his chest; standing before him, water running off her leather armour and roughly hewn clothes reminiscent of the clothes the Chon’sin soldiers wore, was the first maskless Risen Robin had ever seen.

“Robin…” she hissed, her hate-filled voice whispering past needle-like teeth, a black tongue licking at her lips as she readied her sword.

“Hi there,” he said, waggling his fingers in a lazy wave. “Have we met? I’m sorry but I’m in the middle of some-WHOAH!”

Robin found himself being pushed back again as the Risen woman slashed again and again, showing much more skill and coordination than her mindless counterparts, or even the other Chieftains he had fought so far. He noted that she looked mostly human, too; her limbs weren’t distended like the other Risen’s all were, and her form seemed to be pretty well whole.

“What in Naga’s name are you?” he asked, her blade bouncing off of Sol as he finally dug his heels in.

“Grima’s name,” she corrected him with a cruel smirk. “And… Deadlord. Your death.”

Robin grunted, putting all his weight into throwing her off his sword and back a few steps, giving him space to rally and adopt a proper stance.

“So you can talk, huh? Well I’m sorry, but death and I have an… understanding,” he shrugged, readying Sol in a two-handed grip. “I’ll be happy to send you to her, though. Give her my regards when you get to the afterlife. Come on. Let’s dance.”

Robin winced, feeling the back of his head flare with a headache he’d forgotten at the same time the amulet around his chest burned with heat.

The Risen growled, launching herself at Robin and forcing him back with relentless blows that took all of his effort just to parry. He couldn’t even keep his sword up long enough to counter-attack; she was like quicksilver, her weapon everywhere at once. A few times Robin felt the blade bounce off his coat, but even then she just redoubled her efforts, forcing Robin back to the shrine and away from where the other Shepherds were fighting.

“Master!” Owain called out, trying to reach Robin as he hacked his way through a horde of Risen still coming out of the water.

“Robin!” Flavia called, doing her best to do the same at the younger man’s side.

Robin grunted with effort, pushing back as their blades locked; she would have been two-thirds the size of him, and yet struck with the same strength as Chrom did! He swung high, and she ducked beneath the blade, spinning and landing a heavy kick with the top of her foot to Robin’s midsection, driving the air out of his lungs. He struck back by driving the butt of his sword’s hilt into her shoulder, but the creature shrugged the blow off as if he’d merely tickled her, going back to her dance-like sweeping blows. Robin groaned, back on the defensive again. Just as he saw Simia’s sword finally bypass his defences and flash towards his face a blast of dark energy hit her in the side, taking her by surprise and throwing her to the side away from Robin. Her flailing sword caught the bridge of Robin’s nose, though, carving a furrow across the front of his face and the bridge of his nose.

“Ow, dammit!” he cursed, backing away from the reeling Risen.

Simia rose bonelessly to her feet, her head twisting at odd angles and eying the new threat behind Robin.

“Thanks, Tharja,” he muttered over his shoulder.

“Nope, wrong! But thanks for playing!” Morgan said cheerfully, stepping forward with her spellbook open and dark magic still crackling around her outstretched hand.

Robin’s face dropped as he registered his daughter effortlessly using dark magic as Cynthia kicked her pegasus back into the sky before his attention was brought back to the snarling Risen charging towards him and his daughter. The tactician brought up his weapon, readying himself for another round with the demonic creature when she skidded to a stop, a confused look crossing her face.

He watched as she reached down to her sword’s blade, where some of Robin’s blood was still on it, and dabbed at the red liquid with the tips of pointed, taloned fingers, bringing them close to her face.

“Okay, if she eats that I’m going to puke,” Morgan gagged, her spell momentarily fizzling out.

The Risen leader sniffed, a look of doubt crossing her features.

“I think this has gone on just about long enough,” Robin grunted, throwing himself forward sword-first.

The Risen creature had completely dropped her guard, but managed to get her sword up in time to manage avoiding being skewered; Robin forced the blades down one-handed and struck with all his weight in a vicious king-hit to the side of the Risen’s head, dropping her like a sack of stones.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow,” he moaned, shaking out his bruised hand.

“Dad!” Morgan exclaimed, rushing to his side. “You’re bleeding! What the hell is that thing? Are you-”

“No, what the hell is that?” Robin asked, cutting Morgan off and pointing at the open page of her spellbook.

“It’s… it’s Flux,” she explained confusedly. “It’s a simple spell Auntie Tharja taught me. Why is that important? Your face is-”

“You are not to use Dark Magic again,” Robin said, cutting her off again as he stepped in close, trying to get his point across. “It’s not… not safe right now. Just… trust me.”

Morgan swallowed and nodded, clapping her spellbook closed without asking any further questions.

“Yes, dad,” she muttered as he turned away. “Sorry.”

“I’ll explain later,” Robin sighed, turning back to the Risen lying unconscious on the ground. “Thanks for the assist, by the way. That was good thinking, striking from above.”

“Apparently I’m not the first person to come up with it,” Morgan chuckled.

“Yeah, I’m sure Cynthia’d love to tell you all about it,” Robin chuckled, squatting down next to the fallen Risen. “Don’t you have a battle to finish? I’ve got this one.”

Morgan nodded, spinning on her heel and leaving Robin alone with the creature as she rushed to finish giving last minute orders now that the Risen leader was dealt with.

Robin glanced around for a moment before wincing and gripping the searing talisman beneath his shirt with his fist. Shaking his head he reached out and grabbed the Risen by the hair, pulling her head up and slapping her hard across the face.

“Wake up,” he grunted, dropping her head.

She started, moving to get up before she noticed Robin’s sword across her throat.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he tutted. “Not so fast. I’m not going to kill you, but in return you’re going to go back to your master and deliver a message for me: it doesn’t matter what he sends out after me, be it more like you, or four-armed tree-freaks, or conquering Emperors or whatever; I’ll beat them all. And I’m coming for him next. You go and tell him that. If you understand, nod.”

The creature stared up at him for a moment, the seconds stretching out as it stared at him, making the tactician’s stomach do back-flips just from looking at the thing, before she nodded understanding.

“Good,” he said, standing and stepping back. “The next time I see you, I’ll kill you. Get lost.”

The Risen woman rose slowly, staring at Robin the whole time with undisguised curiosity.

“Simia,” it said at last. “Name is… Simia.”

“I don’t care,” Robin growled. “Go before I change my mind.”

“I look forward… to killing you…” Simia hissed, smiling before she turned and ran from the springs, stooping to pick up her sword as she passed it.

Robin spat, wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand and wondering just what in the hell he was thinking letting her go.

He turned, striding back towards where the other Shepherds were still fighting. He spotted Brady’s black cloth robes and angled for the priest, thinking he’d get the wound across his face taken care of before it left a scar.

*

“It… It ain’t healin’,” Brady said after a moment, his voice shocked. “I… nothin’ I do’s doin’ nothin’!”

“What do you mean?” Lucina asked, suddenly above Robin with the crass priest. “It is just a scratch! It should be child’s play to-”

“It’s a curse,” Tharja said, entering the room.

The three looked up, eying the Dark Mage with Noire and Morgan in tow.

“And just where the hell have you been all afternoon?” Robin asked, quirking a brow and regretting it when his face stung with the movement.

They were in one of the private rooms that Anna-two had said the Shepherds could use as they saw fit, Robin lying on a futon while Brady and Lucina hovered above him, trying to heal the wound on his face. The others had all fared pretty well, but Robin had insisted they receive treatment first for the small wounds that peppered the group.

“Following orders,” Tharja said, shrugging off her robes and passing them to Noire as she crossed the room. “Your daughter ordered me to defend the inn, so I did. Now hold still.”

Robin squeaked as Tharja knelt down, leaning almost uncomfortably close to him as she held the sides of his face and inspected the wound. If he hadn’t been able to sense the subtle channelling of magic she was working at the same time Robin would have thrown her off without a second thought, but she was inspecting his wound, so he grit his teeth and bared it. Without looking her hand snaked down Robin’s jaw and drew the talisman out of his shirt, flexing her fingers around it a few times before dropping it and drawing back.

“Yup,” she said, rising as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Just as I thought. You were cut by a cursed blade.”

“A… a what?” Robin managed, tucking the amulet back beneath his shirt and trying to hide his embarrassment.

“A cursed weapon. I almost didn’t need the ritual to tell,” Tharja explained, putting her heavy robes back on. “It won’t heal with magic. In fact it’s amazing the bleeding’s even stopped at all, really. You must have amazing magic resistance.”

“Or your little trinket’s working,” Robin muttered, gingerly rubbing the wound on his face.

“At least it will heal,” Tharja said. “It will still leave a scar, though. Be grateful. Usually it would just keep bleeding until you dropped dead.”

“Joy, another scar to add to the collection,” Robin grumbled. “Well, thank you for that. If everyone could please exit my room so I can change…”

“Of course,” Tharja said with her usual evil grin, leaving in a wave of black fabric.

“Morgan,” Tharja added, nodding at Robin. “I need to speak to you. About the dangers of using Dark Magic.”

Robin glanced up, nodding encouragingly to his daughter.

“I’m fine, Morgan,” he said. “It’s just a scratch. And thanks, Tharja; I owe you one!”

Morgan nodded again, crossing the space and giving Robin a quick hug before following Tharja and Noire.

“Well, at least I know me skills ain’t the issue,” Brady sighed as he stood. “Just don’t pick at it an ya should be right.”

“Thanks,” Robin groaned, standing and stretching. “Get some rest and enjoy the springs; I’d say you’ve earned it.”

“Ain’t we all,” the priest said over his shoulder as he left.

Robin let out a breath, glancing up as he realised he still wasn’t alone.

“Er… everything okay, Lucina?” he asked cautiously as she glared at him.

“Yes,” she said, crossing her arms. “Far be it from me to question how two old friends act together, even while inspecting magically inflicted wounds.”

“What? Tharja?” Robin asked, looking back towards the door. “That was still unusual, even for her. I think it has something to do with this stupid amulet she’s making me wear… waiiiit a minute.”

Lucina’s gaze narrowed as Robin broke out into a grin.

“Are you jealous, by any chance?”

Lucina snorted, looking away. “Not at all.”

“Aw, that’s so cute!” Robin laughed crossing the room. “You’re totally jealous!”

“And if I was?” Lucina asked, doing her best not to look at Robin.

“Then I’d take you by the hands…” he said, uncrossing her arms gently and taking both of her hands. “And I would lean in close, and whisper in your ear that no other woman even registers to me anymore. You’re the only one I think about. Period.”

Lucina let out an involuntary shudder as she stepped up to Robin, pressing herself against him.

“I think that might work,” she sighed into his shoulder.

“We had quite a rough day today,” Robin said, wrapping his arms around her back and speaking into the top of her head. “Why don’t we both get cleaned up and have that bath?”

“That sounds… perfect.”

“Okay; I’ll meet you there in about twenty minutes.”

*

“Hey, Morgan!” Yarne called out, rushing through the tight hallways of the inn to catch up with the trio of women walking down towards the room Tharja had claimed. “I had a great idea! Are you busy right now?”

The younger tactician spun on her heel, her face lighting up when she spotted her boyfriend.

“Yarne!” she exclaimed happily before sobering. “Uh… yeah, I kinda…”

“Just go,” Tharja sighed. “We can have this talk later.”

Morgan nodded, giving Noire a wink as the two women walked away.

“So?” she asked, turning on the half-Taguel. “What’s this brilliant plan, and isn’t that usually my bit?”

“Do you know they have mixed baths here?” Yarne said excitedly.

“Mixed?” Morgan asked curiously. “What… what do they mix them with?”

“Not like that!” Yarne chuckled. “I mean we can totally have a bath together!”

Morgan burst out laughing. “You just want someone to clean your fur.”

“No, I wanted to spend time with my girlfriend before we get back to Chon’sin and she has to go all ‘super-tactician’ on me again,” Yarne grumbled, crossing his arms. “I thought it was a good idea, anyway.”

“Oh, it’s a good idea,” Morgan whispered, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek. “And it’s very daring of you to suggest it. But you do realise my father’s room is riiiiiiiight there?”

Yarne actually jumped, backing away instinctively. “Do you… t-think he heard me?”

“Well, you’re still standing there, so I’d say no. Why don’t we both get changed and meet at this bath? Which one is it?”

Yarne nodded, all of his earlier confidence utterly gone.

“The… uh… third one on the end…”

“Is… is it worth risking my life for?” he muttered as he watched Morgan disappear to her own room.

He started, slapping himself in the face to gather up his resolve.

“Of course it is!”

*

“What’s going… on?” Robin asked a few minutes later, coming down the stairs into the lobby of the inn where a commotion was taking place.

“Dad!” Morgan squealed, jumping up and down in a new yukata. “Look, look! Aren’t they gorgeous!? Anna said we can wear them the entire time we’re here!”

Robin looked around; half of the Shepherds were wearing the traditional clothes, while the others were obviously lined up and waiting to try their own on. All of the robes seemed to be of high quality, but what Robin really wanted to ask about was…

“Why is your hair purple?” he asked, moving to pinch the bridge of his nose and thinking better of it.

“Isn’t it pretty?” Morgan asked, doing a spin and making her newly coloured hair sway out with the yukata. “Anna has an elixir that temporarily changes hair colour to match out yukatas!”

Robin had to admit the effect was striking on Morgan and the others that had taken the extra step; most of them were still their natural hair colour, including Cynthia and Nah while they laughed together about how beautiful their new clothes were and Laurent, studying the way the belts held the robes closed; Owain was already shouting about how his hair was now ‘Twilight Gloaming’ in colour while some of the others inspected it.

“Ooh, it looks great on you, Severa! Come on, let's get back outside!” Anna-two called out, stepping back and allowing an embarrassed-looking Severa to step out of the small changing room.

“H-hey, take it easy, would you? What's with all the pushing?!” she huffed, trying not to smile excitedly as she stepped out before the others. “Fine, we're outside. Are you happy? ...So what's the verdict? Yay? Nay?”

Robin had to blink a few times to recognize her; her usual fiery hair colour had been replaced by the same deep colouring Owain and Morgan currently sported, matching her yukata in a way that made Robin almost forget he was meant to be meeting Lucina.

“Yay, for sure,” he said, supressing a snicker as her face went even redder.

“Ohmygods, you look amazing!” Cynthia practically screamed, latching on to Severa and turning to Anna-two. “Me next! Me next!”

“Actually, why don’t we see Robin’s transformation?” Severa growled, glaring at the tactician.

Morgan’s face lit up as she latched on to her father’s arm.

“Oh! Oh! Let me choose his yukata! I saw one on there that would look amazing with his hair!”

“Let me do his hair,” Tiki laughed, suddenly at Robin’s other side, grabbing him by the other arm and dragging along with Morgan. “It was so much fun last time!”

The tactician desperately dug his heels in, arresting his forward progress until something bumped him in the back, forcing him forwards again.

“Have fun,” Flavia laughed as he glanced over his shoulder to see who would betray him so.

_Oh gods,_ Robin thought as he was dragged by a gaggle of women towards the changing room.

“Easy! Easy on the coat! Morgan, Tiki, easy! I’ll get you for this, Severa, I swear it!”

*

Robin glanced around himself, checking to make sure no one else was around before he ducked into the furthest mixed bath from the others. He felt a little strange without his coat on, walking around instead in the yukata that had basically been forced on him, but at least it would be easier to slip out of when he got to the bath.

At least Inigo had been being forced into the room next, much to the usually confident boy’s terror.

“Those girls are really taking the whole ‘dress up’ thing seriously,” Robin muttered, shuddering as he recalled having the majority of his clothes yanked off.

At the very least he’d been able to keep them from dying his hair; he didn’t trust elixirs that he hadn’t brewed himself just as a matter of habit, and the one they had tried to pour on his head had smelled pretty suspicious.

_Even after all that I’m still early_ , Robin thought to himself, stepping into the mixed bath house he was supposed to be meeting Lucina in, an excited grin rising unbidden to his face.

_I know! I’ll get in and surprise her when she gets here! Oh, this is turning into the best day ever!_

Quickly slipping out of the yukata that the girls had just taken so much time stuffing him into Robin carefully folded it and set it aside on the shelves provided with the towel he’d been carrying before slipping into the hot spring.

“Wow,” he muttered, sinking up to his chin and letting out a contented sigh. “This is… actually really nice… Best. Day. Ever.”

*

Yarne glanced around furtively as he snuck through the hot-spring grounds that were steadily beginning to fill with people again now that the danger was passed. People utterly ignored him as he slipped through the steamy paths, making for the bath house he was supposed to meet Morgan at.

He had slipped out the back of the inn as Robin had been being stuffed into the changing room by about four different women, including Morgan; as much as he would have liked to admire her new hair-colour and outfit he didn’t want to run the risk of being the next one on the ‘dress-up’ list, so he’d snuck out.

The Taguel snickered to himself; it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t get a chance to take a very good look at her all too soon, anyway… All he had to do was make sure nobody saw him going to the mixed bath. No doubt his mother wouldn’t approve. And Robin would fillet him on the spot…

_Totally worth it,_ he kept repeating in his head. _Totally worth it…_

Yarne hesitated as Laurent and Nah walked by, both wearing yukatas and carrying what looked like the mage’s chemical experimentation kit. Judging from the huge smile on his face he was indeed about to do some experimenting on whatever was in the water at the hot springs. Nah hurried along beside him, smiling up at him happily and making the half-Taguel wonder just how long the mage could remain oblivious.

Shaking his head and moving on once the duo had passed, Yarne ducked beneath the shadows cast by the small garden next to his objective, taking one last look around, heart beating in his throat as he slipped into the building, already slipping out of his clothes.

She would be here any second now, and he’d dodged every objective in his path…

“Totally worth it,” he muttered, silently slipping out of his clothes and into the water, barely even disturbing the surface.

*

Morgan skipped as she stepped out of the inn, heading towards the bath Yarne had told her about with a towel slung over her shoulder, humming tunelessly to herself; the day had started out questionable, but now she only had to look forward to a nice warm bath, a hot meal and a soft, fluffy bed.

And an even softer, fluffier half-Taguel to share it all with…

Morgan giggled to herself as she stepped out into the hot-spring area, stopping just shy of walking into Lucina, outfitted much the same way she currently was.

“Oh! Hi Luce!” Morgan said awkwardly, her thoughts seizing up. “You look great! Er… what’s… up?”

“N-nothing!” Lucina answered quickly. “I was… merely going to take a… private bath!”

“What a coincidence,” Morgan said, an awkward smile crossing her face as a bad feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.

“Indeed,” Lucina nodded.

They stared at each other a moment longer before Morgan cleared her throat. “Well… see you at dinner.”

“Yes… dinner,” Lucina agreed, both women beginning to walk.

In the exact same direction.

_Alright Morgan, calm down_ , the young tactician told herself, staring straight ahead as Lucina did the exact same. _There are a lot of private baths over in that direction; she’s just going to veer off… any second now. Any… second… now. Veer. Veer! Veeeeeeer!_

Both women took the exact same turns, followed the exact same path, and came to a stop before the exact same building, their awkwardness growing the entire time.

“So…” Morgan muttered, blushing. “The mixed bath, huh?”

Lucina nodded. “I… do believe we had thought to use it in private, but I’m sure he will not… object to your presence…”

“He?” Morgan asked, spinning quickly. “You mean… but I was coming here with…”

Both women’s eyes went wide, and the spun at the same time to face the building with abject horror in their eyes.

*

Robin sighed, leaning back against the warm stones at the edge of the spring and allowing his whole body to relax, feeling the stress melt right off of him…

He perked up when something disturbed the water. He couldn’t be sure through the thick cloud of steam, but he could make out a thin, strong form sink into the water.

_That’s her there!_ Robin thought gleefully.

“Hey,” he whispered, moving deeper into the water.

The shadow in the steam stopped, looking in his direction before moving in his direction.

“Took you long enough to…” Robin said, stopping when he came face to face with...

“Yarne!?”

“Robin!?” the half-Taguel shouted, ducking to cover himself in the water. “What’re you… you’re not Morg…an… Oh gods…”

A vein began pulsing above Robin’s brow as he glared down at the cowering boy.

*

“Oh gods, I’ll be extinct! You’re condemning an entire race to death for just doing what you were!”

“Yeah, with my daughter! C’mere so I can drown you in this bath! Worst! Day! Ever!”

“Totally not worth it! _Totally not worth it_!”

 Lucina and Morgan stood, listening to the commotion from inside the bath-house as the two men found each other.

“Well, so much for that idea…” Morgan sighed.

“Indeed,” Lucina agreed.

“Want to go and use one of the women’s baths instead?” Morgan suggested. “I think it might be dangerous to try going in there right now.”

“I agree,” Lucina sighed. “Well, lead on.”

They managed to get a few steps before Owain came running up to them, out of breath and grinning happily.

“Greetings, girls!” he said. “Has my master come this way, perchance?”

Morgan grinned, indicating to the bath house over her shoulder.

“Many thanks!” the usually-blonde boy said, dashing off towards the bath house. “If you see the others, tell them that I found him!”

“Others?” Morgan and Lucina repeated, their question being answered a moment later as a small crowd, led by Flavia and Inigo rushed up in Owain’s wake.

“That way,” Morgan laughed, pointing to the bath-house.

*

Robin sighed, holding a hand to his head as he lay on his back staring up at the roof of his room, back in his normal clothes as he rested atop his futon.

In the end just about every other male member of their group had shown up to the bath, even some of the bolder women led, of course, by Khan Flavia; everyone except for Lucina.

It had been wild, and it had been fun, just… a different brand of fun than he had been looking forward to, and now he was simply lying there, waiting for someone to call out that dinner was ready.

_Damn that Taguel…_ Robin thought, glaring up at the ceiling. _I’m sure she heard me trying to kill him… I swear, next time I’ll get him…_

He could maybe wrangle one more day for them to relax here, but after that they would have to start heading back. Back to reality… back to a lack of privacy… to rosters and work and no free time to spend with anyone.

Robin sighed.

_Tomorrow. Tomorrow we can spend time together. It’s good for her to spend time with her friends, though. Remind everyone we’re two separate people. Oh gods I still have to tell her parents…_

Robin didn’t even twitch when one of the Anna’s called out that their meal was ready, deciding he wasn’t hungry and that he’d rather lay in the dark, sulking like a child.

_Gah! Dammit! Three cheers for lost opportunities!_ Robin thought, pulling the pillow out from beneath his head and laying it on his face.

The sound of rushing footfalls going by his door as the others clamoured for the meals faded, leaving Robin alone with his thoughts again.

_I’m hungry after all…_ he thought with a sigh, sitting up at the same time someone knocked on his door.

“Come in,” Robin called, lighting the candle in the corner of the room with a flick of his finger; he didn’t need anyone actually _knowing_ he was sitting in the dark sulking, after all.

Robin glanced up as his door opened and closed quickly, blinking a few times until he finally recognised the woman standing by the door.

“Lucina?” he asked uncertainly.

Not only was her hair down, but also… purple. Coupled with the beautiful blue-and-white yukata she was wearing it was enough to render Robin speechless. Not that she didn’t do that to him normally, but this was different. She looked astounding.

“You are not going to eat?” she asked, walking slowly across the room.

“Uh, no; I was going to skip dinner,” Robin said.

_At least I was still deciding if I was going to skip dinner or not_ , he added mentally, deciding to leave that part out.

“I missed the chance to show you this look this afternoon,” Lucina said, spinning as she walked by him, giving the tactician a good eye-full.

“It’s a… uh, good look for you,” Robin managed lamely, his eyes glued to the woman.

“I’m glad you like it,” Lucina chuckled, passing him and moving towards the candle, kneeling down to the small light source.

“And I’m glad you don’t want to eat just yet. I had some plans to make up for missing out on the bath,” she added, blowing out the candle.

Robin blinked a few times in the darkness until he felt a presence at his side, his face breaking out into a new smile.

“Best. Day. Ever.”


	49. Chapter 49

**Chapter 49**

Dawn broke over the mountains of the small Hot Spring town that the younger Shepherds were resting in, exhausted from their mission and their celebration afterwards. Light snoring, and in some cases rather heavy snoring, could be heard from the various rooms of the second floor of the inn, the Shepherds sleeping soundly through the rising sun.

All except for Robin, of course; sleep never came easy to him unless he was about to drop from exhaustion, and he found himself lying on his back, staring at the ceiling and simply letting his mind wander.

_Should I go and check to make sure Yarne isn't in Morgan's room?_ He thought absently. _Aw forget it, it's too early for this crap. Pretty sure after what I did to him yesterday he wouldn't have it in him anyway._

He let out a sigh, shifting a little to stretch out his neck.

_I have more pressing concerns, anyway_ , he reasoned. _Like that Risen Deadlord… thing from yesterday. What the hell was that? And that one in the forest with the creepy four arms? They're getting weirder and stronger… We must be running out of time. Oh gods,_ why did I let it go!? _I have to still be under the curse or something. Did I ever get that figured out? Eh. Maybe I am just crazy. Seemed like a good idea at the time, but those are some famous last words. I'll have to make a report to Chrom as soon as possible, though, which means vacation time gets cut short… again…_

Robin cringed internally as he thought of his friend.

_Which, of course, brings me to problem number two…_ he thought, glancing down at the messy head of blue hair currently resting on his chest, still sound asleep.

_How in Naga's name do I explain this to him?_ Robin wondered, internally quailing at the thought of his best friend's wrath. _I mean, we're talking about a man that breaks stone walls down with wooden training weapons, and a temper about as short as Nowi. I'm a dead man. I'm so dead. He'll murder me. I'm…_

Lucina sighed and shifted in her sleep, tightening her grip around his chest.

_Okay. That shut me up,_ Robin thought with a small grin as he reached up to stroke her hair.

Lucina shifted again, moaning a little in her sleep as the tactician gently ran his fingers through her hair.

_I wonder why it's not full of knots like mine is… Oh. Right. Most people brush their hair when it gets long. I think Tiki might have permanently scared me off of that idea, though…_

Robin continued to stroke her hair for a few more minutes before letting out a sigh.

_As nice as this is, I really have to pee._

He gently moved out from under the princess, putting all the mock-thieving lessons Gaius had given him over the years to good use and slipping his pillow in the place his chest had been occupying.

"What time is it?" Lucina asked, her voice muffled by sleep as she wrapped herself around the pillow.

"It's still early," Robin said in a low voice. "We have to leave today, so go ahead and get a little more sleep. I'll go make sure we're good to go after breakfast, m'kay?"

Lucina let out a soft sigh, rolling over and taking the pillow with her.

"If my tactician orders me to do so…" she muttered, never once opening her eyes throughout the entire exchange.

_That… was so cute… I think I'm gonna die_ , Robin thought as he slipped into his coat and out of the room.

*

 

The tactician let out a loud yawn as he stepped into the inn's kitchen, looking for something he could eat quickly before making the majority of the travel preparations himself to let the others sleep in; something preferably a little closer along the lines of Ylissean fare, rather than local.

"It's too freaking early…" he muttered, picking up a kettle and trudging to the already-lit cooking fire at one end of the long, thin kitchen.

He sighed as he put the kettle on, thinking of making some very, very strong tea to help get him going as he leaned back against the table.

"Morning, Robin!" a cheery voice rang out. "Are you here to rest for a bit?"

Robin glanced over his shoulder to the young woman carrying a stack of plates, her draconian eyes and the top of her head the only things visible above the pile.

"Nah? What're you doing?"

"I'm helping the Annas make breakfast!" she said happily, setting the plates down on the table, revealing a smiling girl with long green hair in a white dress, and dusting her hands off before hopping up onto a chair to face where Robin was leaning.

"That's nice," Robin said sincerely.

"I know!" Nah chirped. "I never got the chance to cook in an actual kitchen back in the future, so this is so much fun!"

Robin chuckled a little, her upbeat attitude making him grin despite the darker subtext of her statement.

"You should come to the strategy meetings, Robin suggested. "We can have you read out all the bad things in that tone of voice; it'll make them seem less… bad."

"What do you mean?" Nah asked curiously.

"Never mind," Robin chuckled. "Just me being selfish. You know, you've been with the army for a while now, and I think that this is the first time we've actually spoken one-on-one."

"You're right," Nah said conversationally. "But we all understand you're usually busy; you should hear the way my mother harps on about the fact you never play with her…"

"Hey, she wanted to cheat at staring contests, she lost play-time privileges," Robin said defensively.

They were silent for a few moments, Robin patiently waiting for the kettle to boil while Nah sat, staring at him. Just before he was about to ask if his hair was sticking out at odd angles, something that apparently happened often when he had just woken up, the young Manakete spoke up.

"Robin, can I ask you something… about my mother?"

"Uh… okay," the tactician said, unsure of whether or not he'd just stepped out into a mine-field.

"How can you stand her?" Nah asked honestly. "Don't you find her incredibly childish? Annoying, even? She spends almost all of her time running around camp playing games."

"Okay, one, I'm incredibly childish, so I can't judge on that point," he laughed. "And two, it's just who she is; I wouldn't want her to change, and neither would anyone else."

Nah clicked her tongue in annoyance, leaning towards the bleary-eyed tactician.

"Robin, you're much to kind!" she scolded. "You're meant to be one of the leaders of the Ylissean League! If you're so soft on her she'll never learn to act her age!"

"Heh, I'm not one to-"

"What does everyone seem to like about her, anyway?" Nah went on, not giving Robin a chance to reply beyond quirking his brow. "You're all so serious and responsible, and she runs around like a headless chicken! I have no idea what my father sees in her... Unless... he rushed her into marriage for some reason? Like he got her-"

"Stop!" Robin cut her off, holding up a hand for silence. "Please. Too… too much information. Things I don't need to hear about with an imagination as over-active as mine. Just. Yeesh. Look, we knew early on what we were getting ourselves into when we asked her to join the Shepherds, and aside from one teensy-tiny incident where she almost burned down the entire camp, it really hasn't been that bad."

"Oh? That's quite a protest there..." Nah said with a thoughtful look on her face. "I guessed right, didn't I? I had no idea my parents were so scandalous…"

"Didn't I call a halt on that thought-train?" Robin grumbled, carefully grabbing the hot kettle from the stove and placing it on a countertop. "Why are you so hung up on this, anyway?"

"It just…" the half-manakete said, deflating. "She's a hero in the future; people tell stories about her, and then when I get back here she's so…"

"Free-spirited?" Robin asked when she trailed off, pouring some water into a couple of mugs.

"Childish!" Nah exclaimed. "I mean, really! All she… Robin, what are you doing?"

The tactician shrugged, beginning to cut up some fruits as he waited for the tea to settle.

_Tea in a little bag that you can make by the cup_ , he thought with a shake of his head. _I think that right there is going to change Virion's life; leave it to an Anna to innovate like that._

"Cold breakfast," he explained. "Keep talking, I'm still listening; I'm just sick of local food. I want something simpler. And, you know, rice-less."

Nah giggled a little, before growing serious again.

"So her behaviour really doesn't bother you?" she asked.

"Honestly?" Robin replied over his shoulder. "Every single one of the Shepherds does something that bothers me. Your mother does the whole childish behaviour thing. Virion's a sore winner, and until I met him I didn't think such a thing was possible. Vaike and Lissa play practical jokes. Tharja's a stalker. Chrom's dense as a brick wall, which, er, isn't always a bad thing. Sumia's a klutz. Sully's more macho than three men put together, and Stahl's a pushover. Olivia's so timid it hurts, and it takes twenty minutes just to find Kellam in an empty room. Cordelia's so obsessed with romance it's hard to talk to her at times, and Frederick has a pole so far up his ar-"

The tactician brought himself up short, remembering he was talking to what amounted to as a child.

"Er, you get my point," he said instead. "What I'm trying to say is when you're as tight-knit a unit as we are you have to learn to get over little things like that. Or, in the case of Lissa and Vaike, figure out how to get even without escalating matters."

Robin turned, placing the plate of food he'd prepared on the table between himself and Nah with the tea-cups he'd just finished before sliding one of the cups to her.

"What I'm saying is, and I apparently quote my future self here; normal is overrated, Nah. It's the little eccentricities of our unit, our family, that make the horrible situations we go through on a daily basis bearable. Do you understand, or are you too busy eye-balling my food?"

"Er… no, I understand," she said, looking up from Robin's plate and taking her cup in both hands. "It's just I've never seen anything like that before…"

The tactician laughed as he took a sip from his own cup. "You've never seen a fruit-sandwich before? Your mother was the one that introduced me to them!"

Nah shook her head, eyes never leaving the plate with the outlandish food on it.

"It's just apple, banana and orange slices on bread," Robin said, grabbing the knife from behind him and slicing the sandwich neatly in two. "Here, try some."

Nah reached out hesitantly, taking the sandwich-half in both hands before bringing it to her mouth and taking a small bite. Her eyes went wide, and in moments the sandwich half had disappeared.

"What... what is this?!" she asked in awe, staring with wide eyes at the untouched half in Robin's hands. "I've never tasted anything so amazing! It's incredible! It's life changing! It's... It's..."

Robin laughed, holding out his own untouched half as Nah let out a squeal of delight.

"Here," he chuckled. "Just take it. I can never eat these in front of your mother, either; why should you be any different? I'll make myself another."

"Hey," Nah asked around a mouthful of fruit and bread after another few seconds. "So no offense, but you lost all your memories, didn't you? How do you know how to cook?"

"I picked up things here and there," Robin said over his shoulder. "I mean, don't try to get me to make anything more advanced than this kind of thing unless you want the camp to catch fire of your taste-buds to wither and die, but I read up a little bit while I had the time. And apparently I make a mean carrot soup."

Robin stopped mid-slice, a thought occurring to him.

"You know, you're actually only the second person to enjoy my cooking," he said, putting his second sandwich together. "And neither of you have been human. Maybe I'm descended from a line of inhumans, too?"

Nah didn't answer, instead staring intently at his sandwich.

"You know," Robin chuckled, sliding the plate across the table to her with a grin. "You are a lot more like your mother than you might think."

_Maybe I should try this for Lucina some time?_ he thought, watching how happy it made Nah to eat his food.

_Crap,_ he thought, realization hitting him. _Now I'm actually going to have to eat the local food. Damn my generosity._

_*_

Robin grunted, loading one of the last bundles of tents onto Anna's wagon, wiping sweat off his brow and marvelling that he could even manage to sweat in such a chilly climate.

"Do we really have to go back already?" Morgan moaned, perching on the edge of the step up into the inn from the storage area with a grim look on her face.

Of course he and Nah hadn't been the only ones already awake, and after he'd left the kitchen in the young manakete's capable (he hoped) hands he had run into his daughter, fully awake as ever despite the early hour, yet slightly subdued compared to the way she normally acted.

"Yes, Morgan," he sighed. "I don't like it either, but if Risen so strong are appearing so far away from home you know there's a problem. I'm… worried about Ylisse."

Morgan let out a sigh of her own.

"I know, I know," she conceded. "But we didn't even get to spend that much time together!"

"You chose the Taguel over me last night," he pointed out; that had been the other reason he'd been moping, if not the more distressing of the two.

"Hey, I was making sure you didn't break his neck thank you very much," she huffed. "Honestly, Dad; you need to learn to play a little gentler."

"Who was playing?" he asked seriously, grunting as he lifted the last of the tents into the wagon. "I was genuinely trying to cause him bodily harm. It's nice to know I actually did."

"Dad, that's horrible!" Morgan cried, rising to her feet.

"Hey, I backed off and said I was okay with you two… dating," he said, rounding on the girl. "But I put my foot down at naked-bathing-time!"

Morgan crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, a look Robin had often given to the other Shepherds when they had said something foolish; in fact it almost looked like he was glaring at himself.

"Hey, Lucina and I are adults!" he said defensively, feeling a blush creeping to his face. "You're still, what? Sixteen? Seventeen?"

"Eighteen," Morgan deadpanned, standing up. "Meaning I'm an adult too."

"Did we decide on eighteen?" Robin asked, referring to the time they had sat down and tried to bypass their amnesia and work their ages out.

"Even if we didn't, it's been about a year since then, so I would be now," Morgan said, finally snapping. "Meaning I'm more than likely nineteen now. I'm glad you're okay with us dating, but it doesn't work if you don't actually let us date! And while I'm venting, what the hell happened yesterday!?"

"Bwuh?" Robin managed before his irate daughter cut him off.

"Don't you 'bwuh' me! I mean when I did that little tiny thing called 'saving your life', and rather than being grateful, you scream at me instead! What the hell, dad!?"

"Morgan, I-" the older tactician tried again, left shocked and speechless at the viciousness of his daughter's verbal assault.

"No, you listen!" she shouted, stomping in close to him and cutting him off. "You died! You died, left all of us alone, then show up out of the blue acting like nothing ever happened! How are we… I mean how am I… dammit, dad, you can't just pretend that didn't happen! I'm grateful you're still alive, but you dying had a serious effect on all of us, not just me! You think about that for a while, then tell me I'm wrong! Look me in the eyes and tell me I'm wrong!"

With that she stomped off, leaving a reeling Robin blinking mystified at the space she had been occupying.

Everything Morgan said struck Robin like a blow from Vaike's axe; once again he'd been so focused on the little things he'd forgotten the big picture. Just how was Morgan faring? Obviously not well; with only a few fragmented memories, consisting mostly of why she loved her father so much, he'd seen fit to leave her all alone in the world, even if it had only been for a week. Or Lucina who had already lost everything once? Or Chrom, who had lost his best friend? Virion, Tharja, Cordelia… For Naga's sake, Panne had _hugged him_.

_Leave it to Morgan to think of the big picture, though…_ Robin thought absently, staring into the hallway his daughter had disappeared down. _All I ever do is think about what's sitting right in front of me._

"Has it really… been a year already?" he asked out loud, sinking to sit on the step.

"Apparently. Haven't you been paying attention? Sheesh… You're really not good with anything not involving tactics, are you?" Flavia asked, walking into the stable from outside and leaning against a post. "Even if those things're related to you."

"Why do people keep telling me that?" Robin asked, scratching at the back of his head.

"I wonder," Flavia chuckled, moving into the stable to sit with Robin. "That was pretty harsh; didn't think the kid had that kind of fire in her. Guess she proved me wrong. So… you and the princess, huh?"

The tactician cringed. "Yes, Flavia."

"Hey, relax, I'm not judging," she said quickly. "I'm a little disappointed because now it's going to be that much harder to get you away from Ylisse, but I do love a challenge."

Robin sighed, running a hand through his long hair.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I'm a little on-edge right now."

"Yeah," Flavia laughed. "Fighting with your kid's gotta be one thing, but telling all those kids vacation-time's over so soon? That's going to suck."

"Argh, don't remind me!" Robin groaned, falling backwards onto the small step with an audible thump. "I think I can get away with it though; I mean I was intending to spend the week here, but I never actually said as much, right?"

"I don't think so," the Khan snickered.

"Here's a thought," Robin said, staring up at the bare ceiling. "You go and patch things up with Morgan and I'll go announce the fact we're leaving early."

Flavia burst out laughing, slapping Robin's knee so hard it actually launched him back into a sitting position.

"Aw, man," she chuckled while the tactician rubbed the new bruise forming just above his knee. "I always do so much laughing around you lot. Why don't we swap roles? I'll get the kids ready to go."

"What, really?"

"Sure," Flavia said flippantly as she rose and stepped back into the inn, looking back to speak over her shoulder. "I've spent the last fifteen years leading raiding parties, armies and an entire nation. I think I can take a small group of young adults. You go be a father for a change; sounds like it's about damn time you do, in any case."

Robin was about to reply with a scathing comment about the way her 'leading' was more drinking and fighting than anything else, a plan for dealing with Morgan already beginning to come to his mind, but stopped in his tracks when a voice called out something he had been dreading hearing all morning.

"Robin?" Cynthia called from outside the stable. "Have you seen Lucina?"

Flavia instantly took notice of his panicked expression, her own face breaking into a grin.

"Oh, you dog, you," she said slyly.

"Shut up," Robin muttered, leaping to his feet and rushing past her as Cynthia called his name again. "Don't rat me out or we'll leave you here!"

"I can live with that!" Flavia called after him as he disappeared into the inn ahead of her before turning to face the younger Ylissean princess as she wandered into the stable.

"Good morning, Khan Flavia!" Cynthia greeted brightly. "You haven't seen my sister or Robin around, have you? I can't find either of them anywhere, and Anna wants us all to start handing the yukatas back."

Flavia tried, she honestly did, to stop herself, but such opportunities were rare, and needed to be taken when presented.

"I dunno," she said, feigning boredom as she crossed her arms and leaned back against the door jamb, miraculously keeping a straight face. "I think I heard him saying something about getting something to eat and being exhausted from spending the night with your sister, but-"

"ROBIN! I SWEAR TO NAGA I'LL KILL YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS!"

*

Lucina let out an almighty yawn as she sat up, rubbing at her eyes and blinking the sleep out of her thoughts, absently wondering what everyone was screaming so loudly about first thing in the morning.

_Robin… went to pack up the gear,_ she recalled, her hand coming to rest where the tactician had rested the previous night.

A slight blush rose to her cheeks as she recalled the previous night's events; they hadn't actually done anything worth mention, Lucina standing by her half-joking comment back in the forests of Regna Ferox to Robin about saving herself for marriage, but they had spent the evening together and she had spent the entire time curled up with him…

Lucina shook the usual conflicting emotions of duty and love from her mind, focusing on simply basking in the moment and dressing herself for the trek back to Chon'sin. She stuck her head out the door of Robin's room, carefully ensuring that the coast was clear before tip-toing to her own room, holding her yukata closed with one hand as she went and wondering how in Naga's name the Annas had managed to get it to stay closed in the first place.

It was regrettable that they had to return so early, but Robin had been right in needing to inform her father about the increased Risen threat as quickly as possible; they weren't even sure that the group wouldn't be attacked on the way back, or the town would be assaulted again in their absence. However it had been pretty obvious that the Risen were just trying to lure them out with the townspeople...

Lucina caught herself as she pulled her blue chest-piece on, stopping and blinking a few times as she realised she had thought it 'regrettable' that they return early. She hadn't wanted to stay and vacation in the first place!

"Robin must be rubbing off on me…" she reasoned, flipping her hair clear of her light armour and doing up the last of the clasps before fixing her cape to her shoulders.

She flexed and rotated her arms a little, the familiar feeling and weight of her armour a comforting and nostalgic one. It had been nice to wear the yukata for a time, but they were still at war against Grima, as elusive as the Dragon was being, and she had felt exposed the entire time.

Well, all the time Robin hadn't been distracting her, she thought with another slight blush.

The Princess glanced up as she fixed the tiara that usually held her hair back from her face during battle in place, the hurried gait of someone rushing down the wood-floored hallway unmistakable in the early morning quiet.

The door of the room next to her own opened and closed quickly, a loud clatter signifying Morgan's foul mood.

Lucina wondered what could be bothering the girl; she had been fine the previous evening when they had visited the woman's bath together… Lucina felt a stab of guilt wondering if Morgan had somehow learned that she and Robin had spent the evening in the same room, making the younger tactician's mood her fault…

"I should talk to her, at least," Lucina decided, stepping into the hallway. "Especially if this is my fault…"

The young Lord stepped out into the hallway, edging along past Inigo and Gerome walking towards the stairs, both young men apparently in high-spirits as they chatted. Well, Inigo chatted, but Gerome actually seemed to be listening, which was a big improvement for the aloof wyvern-rider.

The only room between Morgan's and Lucina's was Cynthia's, so the princess found herself outside of her friend's door a lot faster than she had been expecting to, suddenly at a loss. If it was her fault that Morgan was so upset then how was she supposed to make things right? She loved Robin, but wouldn't be the reason that a parent and a child became estranged.

Perhaps she was merely overthinking things; Morgan could have been upset for any number of reasons, it didn't necessarily mean-

"Rargh! Dammit, Dad!" the younger tactician growled angrily from inside the small room, making Lucina's eyes widen slightly.

She'd never heard that tone of voice from the usually bubbly girl before. But at least now she knew what was bothering her…

Gathering her nerve Lucina knocked lightly three times.

"Yes?" Morgan answered instantly. "Come in, it's unlocked. Unless that's you, dad. Then you can go away, I'm still mad at you."

"Unfortunately it's just me," Lucina said with a depreciating smirk as she stepped into the room that was basically a carbon copy of her own. "I heard you shouting before. Is everything okay?"

"Oh, hey Luce," Morgan sighed, running a hand through her lengthening hair the same way her father usually did when he was stressed as the Princess shut the thin sliding door behind her. "I… er… guess I just had a fight with my dad."

"That's a first," Lucina said. "I don't believe the two of you ever fought in the future."

"Yeah, well, I bet he wasn't as big a jerk in the future," Morgan huffed.

"No," Lucina laughed. "But he was much colder. I would thank Naga that you are being given the chance to know him as he is now, rather than the man he became."

Morgan gave Lucina a strange look before sighing again and sinking to sit at the low table to one side of the room.

"Did he put you up to coming to talk to me?" the young tactician asked tiredly.

"Of course not," Lucina answered truthfully. "I haven't seen him all morning. In fact I thought you were angry at me before I heard you growling about him."

"Why would I be mad at you?" Morgan asked, tilting her head curiously as Lucina moved to sit at the table with her.

"Well…" the blue haired princess stammered. "He and I are… we… have… ah…"

"Stop!" Morgan said quickly, shutting her eyes and blocking her ears as her face turned red. "I don't want to hear it! Please for the love of Naga stop!"

"We haven't done anything yet!" Lucina assured her hastily.

Morgan raised an eyebrow at this as Lucina began to blush, but chose not to press the topic.

"I'm okay with you two being together, Lucina," Morgan said after a brief pause. "That's not what bothers me. What bothers me is the way he's been acting lately."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the way he's been acting since he came back!" Morgan exclaimed. "He's been like a child, for Naga's sake! He's completely ignoring the fact that we all had to deal with him being dead, and it's starting to get to me. I mean it was fun at first, but now he's just… It's like he's a different person. Hasn't it been bugging you?"

Lucina was silent, letting the girl's rant sink in.

"I do not know the specifics about what happened after Steiger," she said hesitantly, choosing her words carefully. "I do not know if he actually died, or if he was merely severely injured. But he wiped a fortress the size of a city off the face of the map with a single spell; I'm no mage, but that kind of strain alone would be enough to kill a man, completely ignoring the weight of the thousands of lives he snuffed out all at once. Yet he came back to us, falling out of the sky to save both of our lives, no less. The kind of mental trauma he must have gone through in that short period of time… I shudder to think of it. I've noticed him acting differently, too, but do you remember what he was like before Steiger? Can you honestly say you're not happier to see him back among the rest of us, instead of brooding alone all the time?"

"Well, no…" Morgan admitted.

"And even if he is acting a little over the top lately, he's still Robin," Lucina added with a small smile. "There's no mistaking that."

Morgan nodded silently.

"Maybe I was a little hard on him," she admitted after a moment's contemplation. "But the way he's been treating Yarne…"

Lucina barked out an involuntary laugh.

"I'm surprised he's backed off as much as you say he has!" she admitted. "I'm worried my father is going to kill him outright when we tell him about us."

Morgan snorted with barely contained laughter before sobering again.

"That's true, too, but I still-"

"C'mon already!" someone shouted from outside in the hallway, two pairs of feet thumping down the wooden boards leading to the girls rooms.

"This is not a good idea," a familiar voice said. "In fact this is a very bad idea. I should know; I've apparently had a lot of them lately."

"So let me help you with a good one before I lose my nerve!"

The sliding door slid open, revealing Yarne actually dragging Robin by the cuff into the room.

"Morgan," the half-Taguel said. "I forgive your father for nearly drowning me and breaking my neck last night. I… I mean… I didn't mean to listen in, but t-these ears…"

"And all at once he's back to being beta again," Robin chuckled, rolling his eyes as the Taguel boy wilted in the face of the girls' curious stares.

"The bunny and I are cool," he added, throwing an arm around the younger man's shoulders. "Just a little male-bonding in the baths. If I'd really wanted to hurt him, I'd do it where it would be easier to hide the body."

"Yeah right, like you could keep up with me," Yarne quipped, grinning up at the tactician nervously.

"Well, that solves that," Lucina said, turning back to Morgan, who was still frowning.

"Okay, fine," she said. "But that still doesn't excuse the way you treated me after the battle yesterday."

"What, Tharja didn't explain that?" Robin asked. "I thought you two were going to talk about it."

"Er… that's probably m-my fault…" Yarne muttered, slipping out of Robin's grip and edging towards the door.

"Hold on," the tactician said, stopping him dead in his tracks. "If you're going to be part of the family you may as well know, too."

"Part of the family…?" Yarne muttered, turning with a blank, surprised look on his face.

Morgan and Lucina both looked up at him curiously while Yarne stood stunned.

"I got mad because you scared the hell out of me by using Dark Magic," Robin explained in a softer tone. "Tharja thinks, and I'm inclined to agree with her, that I've been under some weird curse or something for the last few months, possibly since before we even got to Valm, that's been feeding off of dark magic. I know we're predisposed to finding it a lot easier to cast than most mages, but until we figure out what exactly happened to me I'd prefer you not use it in case it puts you in danger, too."

"Plus I'd just been bitch-slapped with a sword, so I was kinda still smarting," he added with a chuckle, running his fingertips along what was going to be the newest scar in his vast collection.

Morgan nodded a few times, taking in her father's explanation.

"That's it?" she asked in a quiet voice. "You and Yarne are actually all buddy-buddy and you just freaked out because you were worried about me?"

"Pretty much," Robin said apologetically.

The younger tactician let out a harsh laugh, startling the other three people in the room.

"Oh Naga I feel stupid right now," she chuckled, running a hand through her hair before her chuckling turned strained and she let out a sob.

"I think that this is a moment that friends shouldn't be intruding on," Lucina said kindly, patting Morgan on the shoulder before standing and moving to Yarne's side. "We shall go and assist the Annas with our travel preparations."

"P-part… of the… family…" Yarne muttered again, still over-awed.

Lucina rolled her eyes in an attempt to hide the grin rising to her lips as she grabbed the half-Taguel by the arm and dragged him from the room, leaving Robin alone with his future daughter, who was still looking at the ground.

"I'm sorry," Robin said after a few moments with as much honesty as he could put into his words. "I should have said it sooner; I should have said it the second I got back, but I got so caught up in everything and didn't stop to think about it. Morgan I am so, so sorry for everything I put you through."

"You were dead," Morgan sniffled, still not looking up. "You were really gone, and left me all alone… I know you're back now, but still…"

Robin sighed, kneeling down next to her and pulling her into a tight hug.

"I am back now. And I'm not going anywhere again. There's still a little time left before we have to go; why don't we spend some time together? Just the two of us."

Morgan nodded happily, wiping the tears out of her eyes.

"I like that idea."

*

The young Shepherds made their return trip to Chon'sin thankfully without incident, refreshed and relaxed, but grateful to see their parents and allies again. A further two months passed, the peace talks continuing under Chrom and Say'ri's watchful gazes, and some sense of stability began to return to the war-torn continent of Valm. During this time Roark, rather gleefully according to reports, marched right by Seth and Raimi's forces with the remaining League forces under his command, leaving the two perplexed Lieutenants to hold Port Ferox and the costal roads to Chon'sin as he and the wounded, tired soldiers got a head-start on the return journey to Ylisse. Reports of Liung's forces returning home safely emerged as well, and rumours of the incredible celebrations held in Chengshi over the next few weeks drifted down from the north, leaving the monarch to pine for his homeland as the talks dragged on.

Wallace and the former Valmese Resistance were slowly returning the control of the central Valm territories to the Imperials, however a large number of the soldiers were poised to fill the depleted ranks in the Imperial military, returning to command old units and the like in the wake of the war and ensure that a tragedy of its kind was never repeated again. Public funeral services were held in the capital for the great generals that had passed during the conflict, Robin actually making the trek back to the capital to pay his respects to General Pheros in an attempt to assuage his guilty conscience. A grand service was also held for Walhart, and a smaller, more subdued service held for Priam, both of which Robin attended with Chrom and the other important Shepherds.

Now, he was back in Chon'sin, lying face-down on the futon in his room fully clothed, letting himself rest after the exhausting ordeal of post-war politics. He and Lucina had both been so busy they had barely even seen each other since fighting the Risen at the hot-spring town; she had been leading the makeshift Ylissean Honour Guard formed from the more presentable Shepherds for her father, a job that dictated she be constantly wherever Chrom was, and Robin had spent all his time with either Morgan or Virion, working to organize the Ylissean and Feroxi forces while they were still in Valm. Even Morgan had been scarce lately; she had duties to Chon'sin while they were here, and Robin insisted that she not shirk them.

"I'm getting too old for this crap," he groaned, trying and failing to roll over.

All day… all day long, all he had done was argue with Frederick about troop deployments. The Knight Commander had been adamant that they stick to conventional deployment patterns, completely ignoring the fact that conventional patterns required both the Royal Knights and the Pegasus Knights to be present for Robin's planning. Which they currently were not. In fact both orders were currently on boats headed back for Ylisse, a thought that irked Robin considering just how much he was looking forward to going home, too.

At least Robin was starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel; soon they would be returning home to Ylisse. The Imperials were cooperating with the other Dynasts and nations around Valm, and control was slowly being returned to Imperial hands. Liung and Say'ri would never let them get away with grabbing at land or power again, though, so it wasn't really that much of an issue. The peace talks were almost over, and it was almost time to say farewell to Valm. Apparently not a moment too soon, either.

_I thought getting married would mellow Frederick out a little,_ Robin thought, staring off to the corner of his room absently and recalling the small service Libra had conducted for Frederick and Cordelia a few weeks ago. _If anything that pole up his butt went a little deeper…_

He winced as the sound of his door opening and closing reached him.

"Go away and let me die in peace!" he groaned, burying his head under his pillow.

The only people that could possibly be bothering him right now were Virion coming to confirm some orders with him, Morgan looking for advice on troop formations despite already knowing the answers herself, or Frederick looking for round two; all eventualities that Robin was desperate to avoid at present.

A soft laugh greeted him instead of more work as someone crossed the room at a leisurely pace.

"I thought you weren't planning on dying again anytime soon," Lucina teased.

Robin perked up, moving to sit up before a hand between his shoulders gently stopped him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked curiously, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye as she sat down next to his futon.

She was in her casual attire, which was to say her familiar blue tunic and clothes, without the armour or cape; an unusual enough sight considering she was so used to wearing both everywhere she went.

"Father decided to take the afternoon off," she explained, smiling lightly. "Which meant the Honour Guard also got the afternoon off. I went looking for you, but Sir Virion said you had escaped at some point, leaving only a note scribbled on a scrap of parchment consisting of a few curse words."

"It was hardly eloquent, I will admit," Robin muttered, feeling his face heat up.

"You've been exhausting yourself again," Lucina stated.

"No, I'm fine," Robin insisted, trying to rise but being pushed back down again.

"I can tell that's not true," Lucina said to him. "It's not as bad as before, but you're still running yourself ragged. I've come to try and help you with that."

"Then grab a stack of reports and start… working…" Robin went to joke, trailing off when Lucina gently peeled the coat off of his back; something that even Morgan probably wouldn't get away with.

"What are you doing?" Robin asked expectantly as Lucina pulled the shirt over his head next.

"It's not what you're hoping for," she laughed as Robin's face fell a little. "I've been talking with Brady again lately, and he's taught me quite a bit about remedial massage. I had thought to try it on you."

"That sounds…" Robin began, about to say 'like a bad idea' before Lucina's hands met his back and he let out a low groan.

"Amazing," he said instead, drawing the word out as his tired muscles were stretched out.

"I've been working very hard on this in my spare time," Lucina chuckled, kneading at his shoulders. "There was no shortage of volunteers to help me practice, I will admit, even after rather… disastrous early attempts."

"Where did you… mmmmm… find the time?" Robin mumbled into his pillow.

"We're not all as busy as you have been," Lucina said. "In fact, most of the Shepherds are sitting around waiting for orders half the time. It's so bad that Frederick is starting his 'fanatical fitness sessions' again. I think that Lady Tharja has hexed herself invisible to avoid him, in fact."

"Sounds like her," Robin groaned. "If I'd have… ahhhh… known you were all so bored I'd… oooooh… have put some rosters together."

"I think everyone is enjoying the time off too much," Lucina chuckled, applying a little more pressure and laughing at the faces Robin was making.

A few minutes passed, Robin simply struggling to both relax and stay awake while his tired muscles were massaged.

"This is nice," he mumbled in an attempt to remain conscious.

"I should hope so, after all the effort I put into learning it."

"No, not the…" Robin began, stopping himself short. "Well, yes, that's great, too, but I meant just getting to spend time together like this. It's been weeks since we've even been able to take meals together."

"We've both been busy," Lucina said kindly.

"Yeah, apparently some of us more than others," Robin muttered.

"I heard that," Lucina laughed. "It's not my fault you constantly feel it necessary to work yourself to death."

"Hey I… actually, I have absolutely no excuses right now. Damn," Robin grumbled, realising he'd relaxed to the point his sarcastic wit was being effected, making Lucina laugh.

"However," Robin added, finally managing to roll over and sit up. "That means it would be remiss of me to not take advantage of a rare situation like this."

"Oh? Don't you have work to be doing?" Lucina asked teasingly.

"I'm taking a page from your father's book and taking the afternoon off!" Robin declared, pulling the princess onto his lap. "All work and no play-"

"Makes Robin the man he is," Lucina giggled, cutting him off mid-quote.

"Still taking the afternoon off," Robin insisted, leaning in close.

Lucina responded by wrapping her arms around the back of Robin's neck and leaning up towards him, seeking out-

"Robin? Are you in here?"

The tactician froze, eyes wide as a familiar voice called out from outside his door, a door which was currently sliding open to reveal the Exalt of Ylisse.

_Doesn't he ever knock!?_ Robin thought in a panic, wondering what exactly he should be doing here. Lucina had a similar expression on her face; rumours for once miraculously hadn't spread about the two, so Chrom was still in the dark about their relationship. Neither of them had had the time lately, or Robin hadn't anyway, to even think about letting the Exalt know.

_This is bad_ , Robin thought, seeing his life flash before his eyes.

"I heard you're playing hooky," Chrom was saying. "C'mon, let's go and grab a couple of… ales…"

Without thinking the shirtless Robin bolted upright, throwing Lucina off of him with a surprised yelp.

"Hello, Chrom!" Robin said, much louder than necessary as the Exalt looked back and forth between his daughter and his best friend. "What… ah… brings you to my… room!? What a funny coincidence! Ha! Ha ha! Ha…"

"Father this is-" Lucina began, climbing up to her own feet and casting Robin a dirty look.

"Exactly what it looks like," the tactician cut her off in a resigned tone. "There's no point lying now, is there?"

Lucina nodded, looking rather nervous as Chrom continued to look between the two silently, his brow furrowed.

Chrom nodded once, slowly crossing the room and bending down to pick up Robin's coat without saying a word. He then proceeded to cross the remaining space, shove the coat into Robin's grip, grab him by the arm and lead him from the room.

"Lucina, I think you should go and inform Virion that Robin's not coming back to work this afternoon."

"Father-"

"Oh gods I'm about to die, aren't I!? Save me! Don't let him take me!"

"Oh shut up already," Chrom grunted, dragging Robin from the room.

*

"Here," Chrom grunted, slamming two full mugs of ale down on the tabletop before sinking into the seat across from a visibly quaking Robin. "You look like you could use a drink."

The tactician nodded mechanically, downing his entire mug in one go before reaching out and doing the same to the one sitting in front of Chrom. The local ale didn't compare to the Feroxi stuff that he was used to, but Robin didn't even taste it as he gulped the liquid down. With a slight grin on his face Chrom gestured for refills.

"Feeling better yet?" he asked.

Robin looked at his friend. "If you're going to kill or maim me, just get it over with. Quick and painless, please."

"Robin, why would I kill you?" Chrom asked with a knowing smirk on his face.

_Oh you smug bastard, you know exactly why_ , the tactician thought as two more mugs were placed on the table.

"I think you have a pretty good idea why I might think that," the tactician deadpanned, taking a sip from his third mug.

Chrom had led him, dragged him more like, to the closest tavern to the small castle they were residing in, barely stopping long enough to let Robin put his coat on and fasten it to make himself presentable enough for public. He had barely said a word the entire time and neither had Robin, too terrified to speak.

"Enlighten me," Chrom said, leaning back.

"What do you want me to say?" Robin asked desperately. "I'm not going to lie to you; Lucina and I are… uh… seeing each other, I guess you could… call it."

Chrom nodded, motioning for him to continue.

"It's not like I planned this," Robin went on. "Hell, I tried to actively avoid it! I know that by being with her I'm putting the entire time-flow out of place, but I couldn't help it! And she's not completely guilt free, either! She accepted my confession without a second thought!"

Chrom raised an eyebrow.

Robin shrugged. "That's it."

"That's it?" Chrom asked curiously. "Funny. I thought you had a daughter with Say'ri."

"Not from this timeline," Robin pointed out. "She and I already… kinda talked about it. Morgan knows, and doesn't really care. So… yeah."

"And you didn't think to tell me?" Chrom asked, leaning forward across the table and radiating the menace that Robin had been expecting, speaking in a low tone. "That's why I'm angry, Robin; I don't give a good-gods-damn about what the two of you do. You're both adults, and quite frankly I'm thrilled I don't have to chase boys away from Lucina now. But, and I'll be having this conversation with her, too; you really thought so little of me that you waited for me to find out like this?"

"I'm sensing some anger here…" Robin muttered, shying away from his friend.

"Of course I'm angry!" Chrom thundered, slamming his hands down on the table and drawing curious glances from the tavern's other patrons. "You're my best friend and you couldn't tell me this!? I don't care how busy you've been lately, that's just outright disrespectful!"

The Exalt held that pose, glaring at Robin for another few seconds before sighing and falling back into his seat, taking a big swig from his own mug.

"But what's done is done," he grumbled. "We'll just have to work past this now."

"It's not like we were planning to keep it a secret," Robin said, squirming a little I his seat. "It just never… seemed like an opportune time, I guess. For what it's worth, I'm sorry I didn't say anything."

"It's going to take a whole lot more than a single apology to mend that bridge, Robin," Chrom said before draining his mug.

"What if I foot tonight's tab?" the tactician asked.

Chrom stopped to think for a moment before sighing as a slight grin broke out on his face.

"That would probably be a good place to start."

*

"You know, now that I'm used to the idea I'm kinda starting to warm up to the thought of you being my son-in law," Chrom admitted, roughly trying to hug Robin. "I mean sure, there's a bit of an age gap, but I mean love is so precious. And I just love the both of you so much!"

"Yeah," Robin groaned, doing his best to half-support, half-drag the incredibly drunken Exalt back to the castle they were barracked in. "Great. I'm really… glad you approve… I'm still not… calling you 'dad', though…"

"And another royal wedding!" Chrom slurred, practically ignoring the smaller man carrying him. "Sumia's going to be thrilled! She just can't get enough of that wedding crap. Once was enough for me but… uh… what… what were we talking about?"

"Okay, you're officially drunk," Robin grunted, readjusting his grip. "And heavy. What've you been eating?"

"Meat," Chrom answered simply before picking up on his earlier train of thought. "But think about it; all those times we joked about you practically being family, and now you will be!"

"Hey, I haven't even proposed yet," Robin said quickly.

"What's the hold-up, then!?" Chrom asked, blinking rapidly. "As your Exalt I hereby order you to hurry up and marry my daughter! Give me grand-children already! Wait… Morgan's going to be my grand-daughter now, isn't she? Good work, Lord-Tactician Robin! Well done! I'm a grandfather!"

Robin burst out laughing at the sheer absurdity of his friend's statement, almost dropping his burden in the process but righting himself at the last minute.

"Ugh… don't do that again," Chrom hiccupped. "I'm gonna puke…"

"Not on my coat! Not on my coat!" Robin shrieked as they stumbled into the castle's courtyard.

"What in the hell is this!?" a very angry voice called from the entrance to the castle's main building.

Robin and Chrom both guiltily looked up, wilting beneath Sumia's intense glare.

"Uh-oh, we're in trouble now," Chrom giggled drunkenly. "Better get used to this sight, buddy, cause once the honeymoon's over…"

"I beg your pardon?" Sumia asked icily.

"Nothing, honey," Chrom said hastily, shuffling back a little to not-so-discreetly place Robin between them.

"You were out all night drinking? Really? You didn't think to let me know at the very least where you were? Do you ever stop to think I might worry about you?"

"Sorry dear; it just kinda… happened…" Chrom mumbled apologetically. "Robin and I had to celebrate!"

"Celebrate what?" Sumia asked, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes.

"Er, nothing at-" Robin started.

"He's getting married!" Chrom slurred happily.

"No I'm not!" Robin insisted. "Not yet anyway! Argh, dammit Chrom, stand up already!"

"I'm not even going to ask," Sumia said with a pointed glance at Robin, shaking her head and taking Chrom off of the tactician's shoulder. "Come on you big lug. Let's get you into bed."

"I like where this is going," Chrom said lustily, moments before Sumia dropped him.

"Oops," she said, feigning innocence. "You slipped."

Robin snickered, ducking around the corner of the fort and angling for the side door. The last thing he needed at present was to follow those two all the way to the sleeping quarters upstairs; he'd take the long way around. At least things were kind of settled with Chrom now; he'd even gotten the Exalt's blessing and all, so there were no more problems there.

And soon now they would be going home, to boot! Robin was so happy he could swoon.

The tactician stumbled a little as he jogged up the servants' staircase hidden from the main foyer, revaluating just how drunk he himself was.

_Too drunk to climb stairs, but sober enough to carry a man that outweighs me by a margin of two-to-one. That's the fine line I walk every time I drink_ , he thought absently as he slowed down, wary of tripping and dying on a staircase after managing to survive the war with Valm.

"Bugger it, I'm going to sleep," he mumbled to no one in particular, shuffling in the general direction of his room.

He needed his sleep. They were heading home soon, probably within the week if what Chrom said was true, and there was still so much to be done.

_All I've gotta do is kill an ancient and powerful Dragon that is likened to a god and I'll get my happily ever after. No sweat, right? Right! I can do this, no problem!_

Robin stumbled again, not acting fast enough to catch himself and landing face first on the hallway floor.

"Ow," he groaned, lying there.

_You know… this floor is actually pretty comfortable_ , he thought before he passed out. _Bring it on, Grima. We're ready for you._

_*_

Across the sea, in the harsh deserts of Plegia, surrounded by bones and feeling of the lingering, ancient sense of death and destruction, was the nation's capital built upon the corpse of the Dark Dragon.

Inside the ostentatious palace, down beneath the lowest cellars in a room lit only by a few weak candles and carved from the very bones of Grima himself, the Hierophant of Plegia glanced up with Robin's face as two people intruded upon his meditation.

"The time is close at hand," Validar muttered respectfully, scrunching up the messages he had just been brought. "The fool-Prince and his Shepherds are returning victorious from Valm. The pieces are all falling into place."

"His rebirth is close at hand," Aversa purred from beside the imposter-king.

The Hierophant let a cruel grin rise unbidden to his lips before standing, throwing the coat that had been covering his body off to the floor and revealing the intricate circles and lines of dark power he had spent the last six months carving into his flesh.

"Good," he hissed, tossing a bloody knife away before running red-stained fingers through long brown hair.

"Good," he repeated, energy flaring along the newly carved lines on his arm, burning the flesh and turning them into black scars almost immediately like the rest coating his bare torso.

He let out a soft laugh, his voice like the grinding of stones as his shoulders heaved. Validar grinned along with him, reluctant to disagree with his master. Aversa shuddered unseen by the two men, still uncomfortable around the Hierophant when he was in a good mood.

"Then let the final preparations begin!" the man that looked like Robin shouted into the darkness, spreading his arms wide. "I call upon the Twelve, the undying lords of death! Come to your master's side and do my bidding once more!"

The shadows at the back of the room seemed to coalesce, becoming the shapes of thirteen dark warriors with piercing red eyes.

The Hierophant let out another rasping laugh, throwing his head back as if to laugh at the very heavens.

*

Across the desert, in a small dust-bowl of a town to the west, near enough to the coast to make mining the minerals from the harsh landscape barely viable, an imposing figure of a hooded and cloaked man dismounted a horse in the main street, glancing around at the poverty-stricken people doing their best to ignore him.

A smaller man, hooded and wearing the ceremonial robes of a Dark Mage dismounted next to him, scoffing a little at the squalor around them.

"Do you truly think Validar would go so far as to place one in this backwater?" the mage asked in a cultured accent, glancing around them with golden irised-eyes beneath his hood.

The bigger man nodded, stroking his beard and looking around them as well, studying the small village's inhabitants and trying to get a feel for the place.

"I believe so," the big man said in a soft tone at odds with his gargantuan size. "We've found them in smaller towns than this. Besides, it was your trinket that led us here."

The mage looked down to the small glowing glass orb in his outstretched hand, sighing when the orb pulsed from within with red light.

They started walking in a random direction, leaving their well-trained horses to wait for them near the local inn's watering trough. The townspeople not hard at work in the local mines payed them no heed; the village may have been small, but it was a gateway village to the more verdant areas on the coast, so they saw their fair share of visitors. At least in the other towns it had been easy to find their prizes; the townsfolk recognized anyone out of the ordinary, especially someone bearing the Royal Seal of Plegia's King.

They wound up circling the small mining town twice, the big man's eyes carefully watching everything around them while the smaller mage's gaze never left the orb in his hand.

Eventually they came to a stop at the town's well, staring into it with disdainful looks on their faces.

"The well?" the big man asked, tugging his hood off and running a hand over the top of his shaved head. "Are you sure it's the well, Adri? There are more central points to the town…"

"It appears so," the mage replied, leaving his hood where it was as he crouched down to study the stones of the small well.

"This well may not be central to the town geographically, but for the spell it would be perfect; it's literally the centre of the town. The well is responsible for giving life to the town. Without this hole in the ground there would be no people here to curse. They all come here at least once a day, exposing themselves to it… so…"

"I get it, I get it," the bald man sighed. "Just destroy the seal before it can do any more harm."

The Dark Mage, Adri, nodded and stood. Finally tugging his hood off of a face sporting a neat grey goatee and straight, perfectly arranged hair the mage sighed, blinking a few times in the harsh sunlight before leaning into the well. The big man kept a lookout, glaring down any of the villagers that cast curious glances their direction.

"Dammit, I can't reach," Adri groaned, his voice echoing from inside the well. "Mustafa, hold me and make sure I don't fall in."

The Plegian General sighed, gripping the back of the Dark Mage's belt and allowing him to lean further forward. There was a bright flash as the curse's magic circle was undone, and a satisfied sound came from the mage before Mustafa hauled him back up.

"Done?" the big man asked, stroking his beard again.

Adri nodded, looking around them a little again.

"How many villages has it been now?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"Too many," Mustafa answered without hesitating, turning away and heading back to their waiting horses. "Come. We must return to the Midmire Garrison before anyone notices I'm missing."

Adri sighed, glancing at the glass orb that had now grown silent before following after the bigger man.

"We've done all we can," Mustafa said over his shoulder as they walked. "We've destroyed dozens of circles in at least twenty towns. That should at least slow them down."

"And if it's not enough?" the Dark Mage asked hesitantly.

"Then we pray to Naga that the Ylisseans can do the rest," Mustafa sighed.


	50. Chapter 50

“It is with great pride an honour that I present to Exalt Chrom the First of Ylisse, the Liberator of Valm, the gemstone Vert, treasure of Chon’sin! For generations it has been the charge of the royal family to safeguard this relic until the time to return it to the exalted bloodline of Anri came, and that time is nigh. Along with this stone I also entrust to him our hopes for the future…”

“Where’s Robin?” Lissa hissed to Lon’qu as the quiet swordsman stepped into line next to her, Say’ri’s speech continuing unhindered.

The tall man shrugged; he knew exactly where Robin was, but it was hardly something for him to bring up in the middle of an important diplomatic ceremony considering his wife’s volatile temper.

Chrom stood on the stage, flanked by Frederick and Cordelia in all their finery as Queen Say’ri presented him with one of the Fire Emblem’s sacred gemstones on behalf of the peoples of Valm. Flavia would be next, presenting Gules. It was a historic occasion, one that Robin wasn’t supposed to be missing. Every important political figure had gathered, along with what seemed like half of the continent’s population, to see this historic day and send the Shepherds off.

Lissa was fuming; she had personally dragged the tactician from the room he and the others had set up as their operations centre that morning, demanding that he clean himself up and be on time for a change, to which he had responded with an affirmative. That he wasn’t here didn’t bode well for his future, especially given Lon’qu’s wife’s love of practical jokes and the small space they were all going to be sharing very, very soon.

“Khan Flavia?” Say’ri said on the stage, finally finished with her speech and stepping back as the Khan snorted herself awake where she had slouched in her chair and stood.

“Er… right. Sorry. Here, catch,” she yawned, tossing a small gem to Chrom. “It’s Gules. Apparently Basilio had it and hid it from everyone, including me. Don’t drop it or lose it; that’s the national treasure of Regna Ferox and I want it back when you’re done with it.”

With that she sat back down, leaving a perplexed Chrom blinking, cradling the precious stone, and an irritated Say’ri standing in the limbo between the podium and her seat; she hadn’t even made it back to her seat in the time it took Flavia to throw Gules at Chrom and fall back into her own seat, arms resting behind her head and a wicked grin on her face.

Robin was missing some serious political fun here. But, Lon’qu thought with an evil grin, he was surely paying for it.

*

“How long can this thing hold a grudge!?”

“I don’t know! Keep runnin!”

“Father this is most absurd! Why… why are we being chased like this!?”

Robin, Vaike and Laurent dashed through the streets of Port Ferox, the three men running in terror from the vengeful spectre of Sully’s war-horse. Robin didn’t know what Vaike had done to anger the creature again; he didn’t know how Laurent had wound up involved; all he knew was that as he was heading for the parade grounds outside the city like he’d promised Lissa, he’d had the misfortune of stumbling across the chase and being swept up in it.

“Because you’re father’s a perverted idiot!” Robin laughed as they ran.

“Why do you find this amusing!?” Laurent cried, one hand holding his huge hat to his head while the other desperately pumped in time with his legs.

“Least all’a that trainin’s being put to use!” Vaike laughed, slapping his son on the shoulder as the trio came out onto the docks.

“You just had to piss it off again, didn’t you?” Robin laughed as they vaulted a low stack of barrels. “You couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie, could you?”

“Aw c’mon,” Vaike grinned. “Yer havin fun!”

A loud snort from much closer than Robin was comfortable with signified that their pursuer hadn’t given up yet.

“It’s just running endorphins!” Robin reasoned, letting out another laugh as they put on an extra burst of speed. “I’ll be pissed off when we’re not about to be trampled! Keep up, Laurent! That thing’s got a worse temper than its master does!”

“This is most unpleasant!” the mage shouted dismally as they were forced up the ramp into the _Dragon’s Claw_ , the horse stopping at the foot of the boarding ramp and giving a satisfied snort.

*

Robin resisted the urge to retch as he leaned over the railing at the back of the _Dragon’s Claw_ , watching the land mass of Valm receding in the distance. The Plegian flagship would once again be his home for the better part of four months, and he had thought that he was prepared for it, but apparently seasickness didn’t go away so easily.

Now that Sully’s horse was safely below decks where it couldn’t chase him, and Lissa had finished yelling at him for breaking his promise, he was free to lounge about and stew in his sea-sickness.

“Oh Naga please just kill me now,” Morgan said from the deck not far from Robin’s feet where she was curled up over a bucket.

“Buck up kiddo,” Robin groaned. “We’ve got a long way to go.”

“Ugh, don’t tell me that,” Morgan groaned back. “I’m tempted to just throw myself over the railing and be done with it already.”

“We’re not even out of sight of the land yet,” Robin chuckled.

The younger tactician let out a piteous whine, curling up on the deck.

“I’ll head below decks and see if I can find something to take our minds off of the voyage,” Robin offered, pushing himself up and valiantly attempting to keep his breakfast down. “I get the feeling you and I are going to get very, very good at chess by the time we get home.”

“As excited at the prospect of finally seeing home again for the first time, I still feel like dying!” Morgan called melodramatically after Robin as he descended the small staircase to the main deck. “And look for checkers! I hate chess!”

A lot of the Shepherds were milling about, unhappy at the prospect of being cooped up in the tiny ship again for the entire voyage, but restless at the thought of finally going home again after so long away. He glanced up, Huginn and Henry’s flock of ravens all perched on the rigging, watching the land receding in much the same way Robin had been. He gave Noire a little wave where she was lugging a crate full of her mother’s spell reagents around, dropping one side and catching it with her knee when she released her hold to wave back. Frederick was jumping up and down, leading a rather large group of Shepherds in star-jumps as Robin passed, glaring at the tactician for shirking his training regime, but not losing count. Yarne was up the front, huffing like he’d run a marathon as he struggled to keep up. The white-haired tactician bumped into Vaike at the top of the stairs, already swinging his weighted training axe around to stave off boredom rather than training with the others.

“How’s the sea-sick club?” the shirtless axeman asked with a snicker.

“Green and pukey,” Robin deadpanned, holding the ship’s railing for balance. “If you go and check it out, bring a spare bucket or something; we’re operating at capacity already. And put on a shirt or something before you get burned.”

“I think I’m pretty happy down here, thanks,” he laughed, going back to swinging his axe around. “And teach don’t get burned! Teach burns the sun!”

Robin shook his head as he passed, amazed that the man could find such enjoyment out of simply training, even after their brisk ‘morning jog’. He brushed by knots of crew that were busy doing whatever it was sailors did on the sea, and managed to catch Sumia as she tripped over some loose rigging spread out on the deck, all before ducking low and descending into the dim confines of the ship’s interior.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his head and looking behind him at the kitchen area, the phantom of a smiling old man in ratty leather armour up to his elbows in dishwater appearing and fading as Robin glanced over the space.

“Morning, Robin!” Nowi called happily from behind him, bouncing up and down as Nah followed her mother in a much more subdued fashion. “Watcha doin? Wanna play?”

“Me?” he asked with a grin, glad for the distraction. “I’m looking for something. But Morgan’s up on the aft deck curled up around a bucket and in dire need of a distraction; go play with her.”

“Right!” the young-seeming manakete cheered, doing a swift about-face and dashing up the stairs.

“You not going to follow her?” he asked Nah curiously.

“It’s a small ship,” the actually-young half-manakete answered, sitting down at one of the long tables in the galley and pulling out one of Laurent’s hand-written tomes. “What’s the worst she could do?”

Robin let out a slight laugh, wary of putting too much strain on his upset stomach, and gave the manakete girl’s shoulder a friendly squeeze as he passed her, ducking below openings and angling for his cabin at the back of the ship. If memory served there was still that old checkerboard in the trunk in his cabin, unless someone had moved it while the ship had been in use…

The tactician finally reached his destination, hand reaching out for the door of the closet-sized cabin that would once again be his home for the coming months, pushing it open with a gentle nudge.

“What the hell…?” he muttered, stepping into the alien room.

The walls were covered in bright tapestries featuring Chon’sin style artwork and letters, and a set of ornate Chon’sin katana were sitting on the small nightstand/table next to a familiar lacquered white chest-plate. His meagre possessions that couldn’t be strapped to his body were in a box just beside the door, the beautiful lance that Cordelia had given him leaning next to it.

“Excellent timing,” a voice Robin had thought he wouldn’t hear again for a long, long time said from behind him. “You can take your trash away from my cabin now.”

“This was my cabin!” Robin shouted, rounding on Say’ri. “Why is it full of your crap!?”

“Fie, tactician, isn’t it obvious? Because this is now _my_ cabin,” the Queen of Chon’sin answered frostily. “I’ve already organised it with Lord Chrom at this vessel’s captain. Now if you would be so kind as to move, you’re blocking my path.”

“What happened to that little thing called leading your nation?” Robin asked in a flat tone.

“I believe saving the world is slightly more important,” Say’ri answered without skipping a beat. “I left Seiko and Keiji in charge, and will return once the Dark Dragon’s threat has been dealt with. Besides, I must safeguard the gemstone Vert; it is one of Chon’sin’s greatest national treasures, after all, right up there with that priceless antique sword you obviously didn’t think I’d noticed you openly flaunting everywhere you go.”

“I’m not giving it back,” Robin said petulantly, taking Sol from his shoulder and holding the sword close to his chest protectively.

“Then I shall not be returning your cabin. Good day.”

A vein above robin’s brow twitched as the woman stepped past him, closing the cabin’s door in his face.

“This isn’t over!” Robin shouted, bending to retrieve the little box and lance. “Not by a long shot! And why couldn’t you have sent Seiko and Keiji instead!? At least I know they’ll listen to me!”

_I am so not getting that cabin back_ , Robin lamented internally, moving to take one of the few free hammocks left. _It’s going to be a long couple of months._

“I’ll be damned if I’m giving up my room in the palace!” he shouted, turning to walk backwards and grunting when he walked back-of-the-head-first into the low bulkhead that separated the crew section from the cabins.

_I am so glad no one saw this horrible defeat_ , Robin thought dismally, picking one of the hammocks and upending his little crate into the footlocker beneath it with a sigh.

_Is it really so wrong of me to hope that she would have stayed in Chon’sin?_

*

Shadows danced from the candlelight illuminating Grima’s Sanctum, the most holy part of the Grimleal Church at the Dragon’s Table in Plegia. It was here that Validar had relocated his seat of power to, claiming that the Church and the State must become one entity to finally resolve the many issues left in the wake of the last, utterly disastrous war with Ylisse.

The tall, slim man held out a hand and ran it along one of the railings circling the room’s overlooking balcony as he walked around it idly; he often came here when he had nothing better to do. It was here in the sanctum that Grima’s power was strongest, it was here that the Deadlords had been summoned, and it was here where he had been reborn at his lord’s will after cheating death. He felt a certain affinity with the dark magic lingering in the Sanctum, and it calmed him.

His other hand dwelled in his voluminous robe’s pocket, fingers delicately running over the perfect orb contained within; it was his treasure, his ace in the hole.

“My lord?” one of the young acolytes serving at the great Church said, bowing deeply. “There is a… a…”

“I know,” Validar said, his voice a harsh whisper, irritated at being interrupted when he was thinking. “Show them in.”

The acolyte backed away, still bowing low enough that his journeyman Dark Mage robes brushed the floor, before turning and racing to do his master’s bidding. The acolytes were all that remained of the Church’s original contingent of priests, the majority of the more powerful me being used as either vessels or sacrifices for the Deadlords that were prowling the land now, doing their master’s bidding just as Validar did.

The acolyte returned in a manner of moments, sweating and nervous as he led two cloaked and hooded strangers onto the balcony. He bowed low again, before backing away to wait at the door until he was called for, just out of earshot.

“What news?” Validar asked without preamble.

“The Ylisseans return,” a dry, rasping voice said from the taller of the two figures. “They will be in Ylisstol in… less than a week.”

Validar nodded, taking this information in.

“And what do you think we should do about that, Simia?” he asked, his tone almost bored.

Feminine hands the pale grey colour of dead flesh reached up and flipped the hood back from a harsh, angular face of the same colour, twin red eyes regarding Validar like burning coals in a firepit as the Deadlord glowered at him.

“Kill them on the road,” she stated. “Slaughter them before… they can hide behind their stone walls and guards. Use the Grimleal.”

Validar nodded in contemplation. In truth he had already considered doing just that, but had chosen a different tactic instead at Aversa’s suggestion.

“Ah, Simia,” he breathed, fingers with black nails as sharp as blades on them reaching out to stroke her pale cheek. “Were it so easy. I cannot act against them in the open yet. There will be more than enough time for that later. This is why I called for the two of you now.”

He dropped his hand, ignoring the look of contempt on the Deadlord’s face as she glared at him, unable to act against her master’s orders and kill the presumptuous man. Validar couldn’t help but assert his superiority as her master’s chosen agent, and it infuriated her.

“I would ask what Porcus thinks,” Validar chuckled darkly, glancing at the other figure. “But I think I already have a pretty good idea of what he would say.”

The second cowled figure looked up, a face similar to Simia’s with glowing red eyes staring out from beneath his cowl. However where Simia had been given the gift of speech, Porcus had rough stitching keeping his lips firmly closed as he gripped the daggers beneath his cloak, kneading them expectantly.

“Go,” Validar said, his feigned cheer dropping as cool indifference set in. “Take a squad of Risen and kill the Exalt and the Royal Family. Quietly, if possible. If not… well, it will hardly matter, will it?”

“And the tactician?” Simia hissed expectantly.

“Do as you please,” Validar said, waving a hand over his shoulder dismissively as he began to walk away. “If he dies now then he isn’t worthy after all.”

Porcus let out a low, wordless snort from his nose, drawing Validar’s attention back.

“Oh, but where are my manners? You must be hungry after your journey. By all means, go ahead and feed before you head out again.”

Porcus glanced up at Simia, the taller Deadlord letting out a derisive snort before crossing her arms and turning away. With the sound of tearing thread and flesh Porcus turned to the acolyte still standing and waiting for orders.

The boy looked up as the Deadlord approached, quaking and breaking out into a sweat as he beheld the creature’s smiling face for the first time in the candle-lit gloom. The acolyte’s tortured scream echoed through the entire Sanctum, along with the sounds of tearing, cracking and slurping as Porcus tended to his meal, Simia looking on and waiting for him to finish disinterestedly.

*

A chill spring wind blew through the grounds of Ylisstol castle, rustling the trees in the garden and making the staff shiver as they went about their duties. For nearly a year life had gone on as usual, uneventful as the young princess grew older and Cullen watched over her like an aging hawk.

The former Knight Commander, currently named ‘Lord Steward’ in his master’s absence, let out a small sigh as he leaned on the low wall surrounding the palace cook’s veggie patch in the back corner of the gardens, watching the new recruits running spear and lance unit drills as he cradled a steaming mug in his hands.

It was his opinion that he was getting too old for this lifestyle; when he had retired two years ago and joined the Ylissean council as the new Hierarch he had been looking forward to a little rest. Not that he would ever give voice to these thoughts; he had loyally served three generations of House Ylisse as a knight, and he would continue to do so as long as he was needed. But three generations was a long time to continue to fight, and he was tired.

The last year of peace had seemingly come from Naga’s grace itself; uninterrupted economic growth from trade with Regna Ferox and limited dealings with the recovering Plegia had been complimented by the fact that even bandits were becoming rarer now; probably due in no small part to the way that Frederick and Cordelia had burned across the countryside slaying bandits like wheat before the scythe.

Cullen smiled proudly as he imagined his old students leading a deadly charge across a field like he had taught them; it was a source of pride few ever got to feel, watching their old squires grow up to become commanders of the entire Order, and one that this old warhorse was humbled to get to feel. His students had long ago surpassed what he or even the late Commander Phila had been capable of.

However they were currently across the sea, fighting to ensure their home’s safety as he was left to tend the recruits and watch over the infant Princess, Lucina, who would one day, Naga willing, be learning from him as well.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to getting to serve his fourth generation of Ylissean royalty in a more advisory role…

He glanced up as the drill sergeant began to shout at some of the slower recruits; being a soldier wasn’t an easy life, something that Cullen knew from experience, but it was rewarding knowing that you were protecting the people you cared about, and that was enough for him. It was a fact he tried to pass on to every generation of recruits and squires he had trained; not just a lesson of war but a lesson of life, and one that Prince Chrom had taken to heart since the first time he gripped a training sword.

He let out a soft chuckle as the drill sergeant booted one of the slowest of the lot in the rear for motivation, not ashamed to admit he’d kicked a fair few recruits in his day, too.

He glanced up lazily as another recruit, one of the men that had been manning the castle gates if he wasn’t mistaken, came running up to him.

“Milord,” the youth said, saluting smartly. “We’ve just received word from the City Guard, sir. It’s the Prince! He’s returned!”

Cullen smiled broadly under his beard as the recruits running drills stopped, even the drill sergeant looking to him for orders.

“Well, what are you standing around for?” he shouted. “Spread the word! We have heroes to welcome home!”

*

Robin resisted the urge to groan as they entered sight of the city gates and he beheld what was waiting for them.

“Is it just me, or did the whole city turn out for this?” Cynthia asked excitedly as she led her pegasus by the reins.

“Looks like,” Chrom chuckled, placing a hand on his younger daughter’s shoulder. “They’re here to thank the brave heroes for saving them from the foreign invaders, after all.”

The younger blue-haired girl’s eyes lit up as she smiled back at her cousin where he was walking with his own parents.

“Owain! We’re heroes! We did it!”

The Shepherds chuckled as, for once, the loud blonde boy was speechless as he looked over the assembled crowd.

Robin chose this moment to try and sneak away, not one for crowds or adoration. He was just about past the periphery of the group, too, when a meaty hand grabbed the scruff of his coat, stopping him dead and dragging him back.

“I believe milord wanted you to march at the front with him,” Frederick said in a dull monotone, dragging Robin back to the head of the column.

“Thought you could get away, huh?” Chrom laughed as the tactician indignantly straightened his coat after the Knight Commander released him.

“Apparently I need to try harder next time,” Robin grumbled, frowning at where Severa and Cordelia were snickering as Frederick returned to them, having witnessed the entire ordeal.

“Oh just deal with it,” Chrom laughed, throwing an arm around the other man’s shoulders. “This is more your victory than anyone else’s. You’re the genius tactician that led us to victory!”

“I believe my daughter might disagree with that statement,” Robin muttered under his breath.

“Don’t be such a killjoy,” Chrom guffawed, releasing the man. “Now be happy and march with your family. Don’t make me make it an order!”

_Not quite ‘my family’ yet, but if I mention that it’ll just start Sumia off on another wedding trip_ , Robin thought bleakly as he fell back into line beside Lucina.

“I told you it wouldn’t work,” she chuckled at him. “Father wants to share this victory.”

“So let him share it with the others,” Robin grumped. “All I did was the paperwork.”

“Don’t sell yourself short like that. We wouldn’t have won without you and Morgan leading us.”

Robin’s head perked up as a thought occurred to him.

“And yes, he will notice if you try to substitute yourself with Morgan,” Lucina laughed.

Robin’s face fell and he let out a sigh.

It had been a long, uneventful voyage back to Ylisse from Valm, full of nothing but training and boredom for most of the Shepherds. Robin had held chess tournaments, had been partaking in Frederick’s insane fitness regime just to stave off the boredom, and had even caught up on his writings that detailed the exploits of the Shepherds in case he lost his memory again. He had also spent much time with Chrom, Lucina and Lon’qu mastering his new sword; the two men had helped him to perfect his technique with his old rapier, so he assumed they would want to help again, and he’d been looking for any excuse to spend more time with Lucina, so it had worked out perfectly. Robin had no doubt that if push came to shove he’d have no problem going blow to blow with just about anything now, insane conquering emperors and evil dark dragons included.

He was in better shape now than he had been when they left, both physically and mentally; the scars of the war against Valm had healed, including the one caused by the Risen Deadlord’s cursed blade across the bridge of his nose, and while he still feared that the damnable voice would return, it had so far been silent.

And still he had been too lazy to get someone to cut his hair.

The one upside of the long, long, _long_ voyage had been the opportunity to get to know the newer Shepherds better, and to grow closer to Lucina. He was now certain that Owain was insane, Severa wasn’t as cold as she wanted everyone to believe, Tiki was secretly almost as childish as Nowi, Say’ri really did hate him now, Brady was in dire need of a father figure, Inigo would flirt with anything that moved (as shown by his hilarious experiment to put Laurent in a dress and parade him in front of a drunken Inigo), Cynthia was a very dangerous young woman when her sister’s honour was involved, Gerome was wholly lacking in the personality department, and Morgan and Lucina got along a little bit too well for his peace of mind.

The sound of his daughter and Lucina giggling to each other as he walked by, completely in the dark about what they were discussing but positive it was about him, still haunted his dreams…

Robin glanced over his shoulder, spotting Morgan marching along with her mother, the woman that time dictated that Robin was supposed to have been with, Say’ri smiling a little as she chatted with her daughter.

Of course, Morgan had been smart enough to ask Olivia to cut her hair, and once again it hung to just above her shoulders.

“Do you think I should have gotten a haircut?” Robin asked absently as they came closer to the city gates and the cheering crowd.

“Why? Are you all of a sudden nervous about your appearance in front of the crowd?” Lucina asked playfully.

“No,” Robin answered. “At least I don’t think I am… How do you deal with yours being so long?”

“I brush it.”

Robin let out an involuntary shudder.

_Never again_ , he thought as he recalled the time a certain ancient manakete had nearly torn his head off with a brush.

Any other opportunity for further conversation was lost when they entered the gates and the crowd let out a roar that shook the eaves of the buildings lining the colonnade.

The tactician glanced up to where Huginn and the rest of Henry’s flock were circling, thinking he’d rather be a bird right now; birds didn’t have to do this boring political crap. All Robin wanted was to go back to his seat in the Royal Library already.

_It’s going to be a long day_ , Robin thought with resignation as he waved and smiled at the crowd, doing his best to hide how he really felt.

*

“Shepherds! Soldiers of Ylisse! Brothers in arms and friends dearest to my heart! Tomorrow we once again begin the preparations to face the darkness that would consume this world! Let us remember those that could not be here tonight to celebrate with us and mourn them! But tonight… tonight we drink and celebrate our hard-fought victory!”

“To victory!” hundreds of voices shouted, holding up mugs of ale as Chrom said his piece, his own tankard held high above his head.

The Exalt had extended an open invitation to those soldiers that had served in the League to join the festivities at the Ylissean Palace, and the banquet hall and grounds were packed to bursting as they drank and sang and danced to their victory. Robin wasn’t afraid to admit it made him feel more than a little claustrophobic as he threaded his way through the throngs of people.

It appeared that most of the soldiers remembered him as having brown hair, though, so he passed ignored and unmolested as he carried two mugs of ale above his head in an attempt not to spill them all over himself the way he had with the previous two.

“It’s going to take me forever to get the smell of ale out of my coat…” he muttered under his breath as he threaded his way through the groups.

Vaike was currently holding a crowd of at least a hundred men enraptured as he told tales of the Shepherds’ (mostly his) heroism on the frontlines; Frederick was busy grilling the officers that had been in charge of the garrison force left behind for every scrap of detail on everything that had happened while they’d been gone, his usual shadow Donnel absent as the boy had chosen to head home to his island in the south as soon as the arrival parade had ended; knots of Shepherds were laughing and drinking, as were the soldiers that had survived the war. The atmosphere was great, and even Robin’s grumpiness at being made to stand at attention next to Chrom while he had addressed the Ylissean masses was starting to abate.

“Here you are,” Robin said, finally reaching his destination, one of the many tables lining the palace grounds holding the celebration.

“Thanks!” Morgan said eagerly, taking the mug in both hands and starting to drink.

“Go easy,” Robin warned, taking a sip from his own. “Chrom broke out the good stuff tonight, so it might be a good idea to pace yourself.”

Morgan gave her answer by way of a belch, making Robin roll his eyes and think that she’d spent too much time around the Feroxi; one blonde-haired, red-armoured Feroxi obsessed with securing Robin’s services in particular.

“Where’s your mother?” Robin asked curiously, scanning the grounds and seeing just about everyone else present.

“She said she wanted to get some rest,” Morgan said, seemingly enraptured by the contents of her mug. “Get used to her new room, that kind of thing.”

Robin quirked a brow, reminding himself that Say’ri was being housed in the palace’s guest wing, not in fact his room in the Royal Apartments like he had feared.

The tactician sighed and leaned against the small table, watching the festivities and letting his mind wander. Tomorrow their attempts to halt Grima’s resurrection started in earnest; they would be sending riders out in every direction, led by Frederick of course, to track down the last of the missing gemstones; Sable. His part would be to do exactly what he had been doing before; study, come up with tactics, and ensure the remainder of the army was ready.

The rest of the Shepherds would be…

“Eureka,” Robin said suddenly, perking up.

Morgan glanced up curiously, her father looking over at her in a new light.

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” she asked, edging away from him and attempting to hide behind her mug.

*

“That actually seems like a good idea,” Chrom said thoughtfully.

“Really?” Morgan asked, her tone implying that she thought otherwise.

“Sure,” the Exalt said off-handedly. “Robin’s going to be busy with the entire Ylissean Army; the Shepherds need a new tactician, and I think he’s got the right of it asking you.”

Robin beamed at his daughter, hand resting on her shoulder as he told his plan to Chrom and the rest of the Shepherds at the table the Royal Family was occupying.

“I’m with m’brother,” Lissa slurred, leaning heavily on Lon’qu’s shoulder. “Morgan’s… great! She should do all the thinky-thinky for us now…”

Lon’qu nodded once in agreement, holding his wife up as unobtrusively as he could; it was pretty clear that she was still a lightweight.

“I agree, too,” Sumia said, bouncing the small bundle in her arms as she spoke. “It would be nice to know we’re in good hands while Robin’s busy.”

Since they had gotten back Sumia had barely put the younger Lucina, this timeline’s Lucina, down, holding on to her for dear life through absolutely everything since the end of the small parade. Robin guessed that it couldn’t have been easy for her to be away from her infant daughter for so long, even if she had been spending time with the time-travelling adult version.

“Any objections?” Chrom asked, looking over to where Cynthia and Owain looked about fit to burst next to the older Lucina.

“None!” Cynthia cried, throwing a hand in the air.

“It is fate!” Owain said, emulating her pose. “The Justice Cabal is triumphant!”

Lucina shook her head at her sister and cousin’s antics before turning and smiling at Morgan.

“I guess it’s unanimous then,” she said apologetically.

“Yay,” Morgan said, a strained smile on her face.

“Oh it’s not as bad as your father makes it out to be all the time,” Chrom said, turning to laugh in Robin’s direction. “Right Ro… bin…? Where’d he go?”

Everyone perked up, looking around for the suddenly absent tactician.

“He… used me as bait…” Morgan said, clenching her fists as a vein throbbed on her forehead. “He used me as bait so he could leave the party early!”

The entire table burst out laughing at Morgan’s realization, leaving the girl to sigh and sink into a chair near her friends, cursing the fact her father was so crafty.

*

The walls of Ylisstol were operating on a skeleton watch, every available man attending the celebrations either drinking or making sure that things didn’t get out of hand. However, Robin had come up with a patrol schedule that made sure the towers were constantly manned, and the patrols passed at irregular intervals so that no one would be able to sneak over them.

This made no difference to Porcus as he dug his fingers and the short blades on the tips of his boots into the cracks between the stones of the tower, glowing red eyes staring upwards at the firelight from the torches above him.

Like a spider he scaled the wall, never hesitating to search for hand or foot-holds as his leather armour slid soundlessly across the stone surface, instinctively knowing where to position himself to hide from light or prying eyes.

That was what he was. Porcus was shadows incarnate; he was silent death that dwelled in the night unseen, moving like a cold wind from target to target. All the Deadlords were darkness made manifest, but only Porcus clung to the darkness like a shroud; only Porcus knew the dark’s secrets, and how best to utilize them for maximum efficiency in his tasks.

His acute senses picked up the footfalls of the patrolling guard, and with barely a thought the Deadlord threw himself up the wall five meters, gripping the lip and pulling himself over it, dagger already in hand.

His lips, once more stitched together after his meal in Plegia, straining at the cord holding them closed as he grinned, driving one of his daggers deep into the guard’s neck and tossing him over the edge of the wall without a sound, without a single drop of blood falling on the stones beneath their feet.

The Deadlord ignored the soft crunch of the body hitting the ground, the signal to Simia and the nameless ones with her that it was safe to scale the wall here, as he scanned the closest tower, suddenly overcome with bloodlust. He’d been watching the guards and their patrol for hours now, and as crafty as the one that had come up with the irregular schedule was, there was still a pattern if one knew where to look; and Porcus knew that he had exactly seven minutes before the next patrol arrived on this section of wall.

That was plenty of time to go and tear apart the guards in the tower, and then be back to lead Simia and the others to the palace.

Porcus grinned again, starting off at the tower he’d been eyeing. There were only three men inside, and he needed the warm-up.

*

A few hours later and Robin dropped to the floor of the Shepherds’ barracks, sheathing his dagger and dusting his hands off. He’d missed the entire party, or the part he was willing to attend anyway, but it was totally worth it in the end.

“There. All done.”

He looked up at the naked rafters of the rough building that so many of his closest friends called home at where he’d just finished his work.

In script as careful and presentable as he could make it he’d carved ‘In loving memory of the mercenary Gregor, who gave his life so that we could all see victory.’ He’d even gone so far as to carve a little border around it, so it looked almost like a plaque dedicated to the old mercenary. It was rather well done, if he did say so himself.

Robin sat in a chair, still looking up at his handiwork, suddenly overcome with melancholy.

He drew his dagger out again, turning it over and over in his hands and admiring Jake’s handiwork. The weapon had once been the beautiful rapier that Chrom had given him at the very start of their journey, back when all he’d had was less than a week’s worth of memories, a hand-written spellbook and a ratty old coat. He’d broken it in the fight at Fortress Steiger in Valm, and carried the hilt around with him in the hopes something could be done with it. In a way it almost symbolized his own breaking and reforging; leading up to Steiger he’d been a complete mess, cursed and alienated from everyone he cared about, mentally and physically broken. Now things were finally back to normal, even if he was a different person. A different person, and a different weapon.

Robin snickered a little, sliding the dagger back into its sheath and standing.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding,” a hard-edged voice said from the doorway.

Robin glanced over his shoulder, crossing his arms and staring back up at the carving.

“Hey, Panne. Were you looking for me?”

The Taguel woman nodded, padding over to stand with Robin and looking up at the carving with him.

“The others were some time ago, but I believe they gave up and retired for the evening. Is this a common practice among man-spawn?” she asked, her head tilted sideways in curiosity.

“Kinda,” Robin said. “We leave grave-markers, usually. When we bury the dead it serves as a mark of respect to the deceased. Sometimes separate plaques or monuments are dedicated, like the one I made here. I just figured… I dunno. I feel better thinking he’s watching over us.”

Panne nodded, thinking for a few moments.

“It was common belief among my people that once we die our spirits move on to inhabit other life; much in the same way our bodies feed the earth, our spirits feed new birth.”

“Reincarnation,” Robin said.

“I have heard it called such,” Panne agreed. “But we did not necessarily believe that it was only for our people. We believed all life did this, even plants and prey-animals.”

Robin nodded, his hand drifting to grip the small amulet beneath his shirt.

“So what do you believe?” he asked conversationally.

“I believe it is not worth worrying about until I die,” Panne answered immediately.

The tactician let out a short laugh. “Yeah, that does sound like your thought process, alright.”

“What of you?” the Taguel asked curiously, turning her head to face Robin. “What do you believe?”

He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair and shrugging.

“If you would’ve asked me that a year ago I’d have been able to give you an answer,” he said apologetically. “Unfortunately when you get as close to death as I did things get a little… murky.”

Panne looked at him questioningly; despite the constant joking about it Robin hadn’t actually spoken about his near-death experience to anyone. Not even Morgan or Lucina. Naturally, those close to him were curious. Seeing the questioning look Panne was giving him Robin let out a sigh and leaned back against the closest chair.

“Look, all I remember is… nothing. I mean nothingness, an empty desert as far as I could see. I don’t know if it was death or something else, but… I dunno. I guess I sound pretty silly right now, huh?”

Panne shook her head, her long rabbit-ears swaying with the motion.

“I would say you would have a better understanding than most,” she said softly. “As close as we come to death every time we take the field, you are the only one to actually experience it.”

“I’m starting to think that’s why my hair’s white,” Robin commented offhandly. “Think about it; I got so close to dying that it scared the hell out of me and my hair turned white.”

“Is that a common human conception?” Panne asked, completely missing Robin’s lame attempt at a joke.

“It was meant to be a… never mind…” he muttered, holding his shirt open and fanning his chest a little.

“Is it just me, or is it really warm in here?” he asked irritatedly as an afterthought.

Panne shrugged. “I am finding the night air quite pleasant, actually.”

“Well then…” Robin began, stopping as his eyes went wide and his hand flew down his shirt.

_It’s… warm… No. Oh no. Not now. This can’t be happening now!_

“Panne, where’s Tharja?” Robin asked urgently.

“Her quarters?” the Taguel answered immediately, noticing the change in the tactician’s behaviour. “Robin what is the matter?”

“We need to get to her fast,” he said, moving to exit the barracks and suddenly praising the fact he’d left his sword in his room. “Don’t let me out of your sight. Make sure I go to Tharja no matter what, okay?”

“Robin, speak to me,” Panne urged, moving to keep pace with him. “What is happening?”

“Hopefully nothing,” Robin said as they broke into a brisk jog in the direction of the palace. “Hopefully I’m just being a magical hypochondriac. But if I’m wrong… Panne, don’t hesitate to take me down if I start acting weird.”

“You are already acting weird,” the Taguel woman growled, easily keeping pace with the tactician.

“Okay, weirder than normal,” Robin chuckled. “Just trust me; I’ll explain once we find Tharja.”

*

Robin was panting and out of breath by the time they reached the palace gates, the grounds silent and the revellers long since having followed Vaike’s lead and headed for the nearest taverns. Chrom had already warned the establishments this was coming, but had already offered to pay for any damages caused just in case.

Robin glanced around anxiously. There were no guards at their posts.

“Do you smell anything weird?” he asked over his shoulder.

“I cannot tell,” Panne grunted. “Too much lingering man-spawn scent; you could wave a carrot under my nose right now and I wouldn’t be able to smell it.”

“They probably all went out drinking,” he reasoned, starting to run again and slipping through one of the palace’s smaller side doors. “Frederick’s going to kick their arses in the morning. C’mon. We’ve gotta keep moving.”

“In the time we have been running you could easily have explained what’s going on,” the Taguel complained.

“Not really,” Robin said apologetically as he led them through the empty servant corridors, wincing every time the hot pendant struck his skin but afraid to take it off just in case. “Trust me, Tharja explains it much better than I do.”

Panne stopped as they reached the large staircase in the main hall, looking around warily. Robin made it about half way up the stairs before he realized she had stopped, looking back down expectantly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone strained as he tried to keep the burning hot amulet off his chest. “We haven’t got a lot of time here.”

“Those were the servant corridors, correct?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Then where were all the servants?”

Robin blinked, looking around. The hall was empty and the torches and lamps unlit. There should have been servants still moving about, cleaning up after the party, but everything was still.

“Something is very wrong here,” Robin said as Panne slowly moved to join him on the stairs. “Forget what I said earlier; I need you to go and make sure baby-Lucina is safe. I’ll find Tharja and find out what’s going on.”

Panne nodded without hesitating, leaning forward and shifting into her Taguel form, taking off like a shot down the abandoned corridors.

_Please just let me be over-reacting_ , Robin begged internally as he reached the top of the stairs. _Let the entire palace staff have gone out drinking with the others. Please, please, please…_

The hairs on the back of the tactician’s neck rose, the amulet flaring with heat again demanding his attention.

Gritting his teeth and baring the pain, Robin drew his dagger and started edging down the hallway to the apartments he, Tharja and Virion occupied. Of course no there was no doubt that Henry and Cherche had moved in, too, but…

A sound caught Robin’s attention; less a sound and more a premonition of a sound, a light whisper of parting air. The tactician ducked without thinking, a darkened blade passing over his head and shearing through the hair too slow to follow his head.

“Assa-” was as far as his warning shout got before a booted foot found his ribs, forcing him back a few steps coughing and spluttering.

Two blood soaked Risen stood before him, appearing out of the shadows with cowls pulled low over their faces and menacing leather half-masks covering the lower halves of their faces.

_I should have known this would happen,_ Robin thought with a sigh.

He grit his teeth again, darting forward with his dagger ready and knocking aside the blade of the first Risen. With a vicious kick he dislocated the creature’s knee, dancing around it to slash its neck open with his momentum and engage the other. He brought his open hand forward, the heel of his palm striking it square in the chest and forcing it back, giving Robin enough time to bring his dagger around and bury it in the Risen’s chest in a shower of purple ashes.

“Assassins!” Robin roared as loud as he could. “To arms! Risen in the palace! Ris-argh dammit!”

He was cut off again as a third Risen fell from the ceiling, landing on his back and knocking him to the floor in a tangle of limbs. The creature growled a low, menacing sound, obviously irritated that the surprise attack had been given away. An arrow appeared in its side, distracting it long enough for Robin to get his dagger up and ram it in the creature’s chest.

“I must still be drunk,” Virion complained, lowering his bow as the Risen straddling Robin dissipated. “I was aiming for its head.”

“Are you okay, Robin?” Cherche asked, her form-hugging chest-plate hanging loosely over her nightgown as she came to help him up, axe resting on one shoulder.

“I’m fine, go make sure the Princess is safe,” Robin said, patting the purple ashes and dust off the front of his coat.

“Which Princess?” Virion asked glibly, already moving with Cherche in the direction that Panne had.

“The one that can’t swing a sword yet, you dolt!” Robin called after him, earning a rude hand gesture in response.

_Cynthia and older-Lucina will be fine, they can take care of themselves, but if the target is the royal family then the child is in serious danger. I was right to send Panne ahead. Dammit, how can Tharja and Henry still be sleeping through this!?_

The sounds of sleeping people rousing and readying weapons began to grow as he strode down the hallway, intent on making sure that his Dark Mage friends were alright before circling around to the Exalt’s Chambers, his progress stopping dead as a familiar form stepped out from around the closest corner.

“Oh I knew it was a bad idea letting you go,” Robin moaned as the female shape drew her hood back, revealing the face of the Risen that had been haunting his dreams lately.

“On the plus side, I don’t have to come looking for you now,” he added, shaking his neck out. “No loose ends, right?”

The Risen woman, Simia she had called herself in Chon’sin, grinned and chuckled, her pointed teeth making Robin instantly nauseous as his amulet gave another pulse of heat.

“I like it… when my prey talks,” she hissed, holding up her black-bladed sword and tossing the cloak she had been hiding beneath aside as she began advancing on Robin.

“Yeah?” Robin asked, his pace increasing. “Just which one of us is the prey here, monster!?”

Robin ducked beneath her first swing to the right, bringing his empty left fist up right into the unprotected side of her torso where the armour didn’t cover. His knuckles caught on the edge, tearing the skin, but his blow was solid and he staggered her back. With the speed and skill born of months of nothing better to do than train with all of his weapons, Robin spun on the tips of his toes, bringing his leg into the back of the Risen’s knees and forcing her to a kneeling position with one swift kick.

She growled, bringing her sword around and almost catching Robin’s side, forcing him to retreat from the cursed blade; the black weapon was still an unknown, and for all Robin knew his coat wouldn’t be able to take a hit from it.

“You’ve improved,” Simia rasped, climbing back to her feet while Robin waited for an opening. “Good. More fun this way.”

“Can you even feel fun?” Robin asked goadingly.

The Risen’s superior grin faltered, and with a low roar she threw herself forward again.

*

Panne ran as fast as she could to follow Robin’s instructions; her instincts were screaming danger as loud as they could, and given the tactician’s strange behaviour she was inclined to agree with them.

She skidded around the corner, claws digging heedlessly into the beautiful carpets as she ran for the young Princess’ room. She didn’t actually know where it was, but the child had a unique scent like all humans did, and it wasn’t hard for her to zero in on it. There was another scent in the air with those of her companions, too; something unpleasant, like wet rot.

Movement from the shadows around her caught the Taguel’s attention, but she ignored it, focused solely on protecting the child. She automatically ducked beneath a dagger swung at her throat as she passed the first of the risen brave enough to step out and face her, landing a vicious kick with her back foot as she passed it, throwing the creature back a good few meters. The next two attacked together, and again Panne barely slowed, throwing herself upwards and lashing out with her claws as she ran. One of them managed to score a small hit on her fore-limb, but it was light and she ignored it.

There, outside her destination, shadows were coming to life. A crowd of Risen, waiting for what appeared to be their leader, a grotesque, hunched creature with its mouth sewn shut, to open the princess’ door. He nodded forwards, and the group moved past him to meet Panne while it watched.

How they had gotten so deep into the palace without raising an alarm was beyond the Taguel, but it didn’t matter.

Baring her teeth in an intimidating snarl she plowed into the group of Risen, kicking up clouds of ash and dust with each one she felled. She cursed her haste in getting here, having left at least six at her back, but it had been necessary; the leader’s hand still hovered above the princess’ door-handle.

Panne let out a pained howl as a sword raked across her ribs, spinning and lashing out before ducking low in a roll that carried her clear of the group and face to face with the Risen leader, grinning despite the pain that would be caused by pulling on the thread holding its mouth closed as it finally dropped its hand from the door.

Panne ducked to the side, not even sure why she was before she realised that the Risen had moved, throwing itself forward faster than she could see. It turned slowly, twin black daggers twirling in its grip, regarding her with inscrutable eyes and smiling that damn smile as she beat down two more that came for her, crushing them with her claws.

The maskless Risen’s head snapped up as Cherche and Virion skidded around the corner behind Panne, the wyvern riding woman barely hesitating before readying her axe and charging the horde of Risen assassins while the archer shot arrow after arrow, both amusingly enough still in their pyjamas as they distracted the rest of the Risen.

The Risen leader snorted, his cocky grin turning to a frown as it once again lunged for the princess’ door.

“No!” Panne cried, doing the only thing she could think of to stop the creature and throwing herself forward, knocking it flat beneath her claws.

It let out another irritated snort, squirming and stabbing upwards into the Taguel’s chest from beneath as she raked her claw across its front.

Fire exploded in Panne’s chest, an involuntary scream echoing through the corridor as the creature plunged its other dagger in with the first, twisting them both.

*

Robin glanced up, panting and dripping with sweat as shouts and the sounds of battle began to echo from the direction Simia was stopping him from going.

“You have improved,” she repeated as the tactician crouched low, his dagger held at the ready the way Gaius had taught him.

“Get out of my way already,” Robin growled, moving to throw himself back into their duel but stopping at the last second.

An arc of purple lighting and a ball of dark energy raced past his head, blowing his hair all over the place and making Simia jump back. Robin took the opportunity, dashing forward and past her as she rallied.

“You two deal with this bitch!” Robin called over his shoulder as he rounded the corner.

Simia made to chase after him, stopping short when another blast of Dark Magic from a flux spell exploded in front of her.

“I’ve never seen one without the mask,” Henry said, grinning like a maniac as he held his own dagger out, magic lightning still dancing across his fingertips. “Think this one’ll bleed for me?”

“One way to find out,” Tharja deadpanned, readying another spell.

Robin resisted the urge to grin as he caught sight of Simia’s outraged face while he escaped, leaving her to the two Dark Mages that apparently had very good timing. He wasn’t far off now, and he needed to help the others protect the defenceless younger Lucina.

He rounded the last bend, almost skidding to a halt as he saw the level of the battle playing out before him; Panne had obviously torn right through the Risen ranks in an attempt to reach young Lucina’s room first, and was now squaring off with another unmasked Risen, no doubt just as strong as Simia was. He watched the creature’s gaze flick around when Virion and Cherche charged into the hallway from the other end before making a lunge for the door.

Panne shouted, throwing herself forward and bringing the Risen down in a delaying suicide move. The Taguel got a good hit in, but screamed when the Risen brought both daggers up.

Both daggers made from the same cursed metal as Simia’s sword.

“Panne!” Robin cried desperately as the other unmasked Risen tossed her aside, the Taguel reverting to her human form as she fell to the ground, curling up and attempting to stem the flow of blood from her wounds.

The Risen looked up at Robin’s shout, readying itself for his charge.

The tactician went berserk, all thoughts of defence gone as he saw his friend curled up and dying on the floor.

Roaring all his rage at once, the tactician threw himself through the air, bringing his dagger down with all his strength on the Risen. It dodged, and Robin turned his leap into a roll, coming up and kicking out blind. His booted foot caught the edge of the Risen’s leg, staggering it slightly. The creature still managed to bring its daggers down, tearing a hole in Robin’s pant leg while he drew it back from his kick. Both of its blades were low, so Robin brought his in at mid height to keep them there, smashing down in much the same way that he had brought Simia down back in Chon’sin. The blow caught the Risen’s shoulder, making it drop one of its daggers with an angry hiss as its arm went limp, pain blossoming in Robin’s hand from his broken knuckles, the burning of the amulet now forgotten.

Their daggers flashed almost faster than Robin could see, evenly matched as the tactician threw caution to the wind and struck again and again as fast and hard as he could, spinning and kicking, punching and striking with elbows now that the Risen was partially disarmed. With an irritated clicking sound the Risen jumped back, an arrow sticking fast in the wall behind where its head had just been.

Glaring balefully at Robin the entire time the creature backed away, disappearing into the shadows down the hallway he had just come out of, the last Robin saw of it being the twin burning embers of its eyes as it faded to black.

“We’ve got this one, tend to Panne!” Virion shouted, sprinting past him with Cherche in tow.

“We’ll find Lissa!” the pink haired wyvern rider added. “Try and staunch the bleeding!”

Robin didn’t need to be told twice, throwing his dagger aside as he skidded to his knees next to the Taguel, curled up in the foetal position and gripping her wounds tightly, a pained look on her face.

“Panne?” Robin asked, gently trying to move her into a position he could easily tend to her wounds.

“Panne!?” he repeated when he found her completely limp.

“Panne!”


	51. Chapter 51

Porcus silently cursed as he fled through the shadows, resisting the urge to growl as he held his tattered armour together with his wounded arm, his dagger clenched tightly in his other fist.

That damned Taguel had actually stopped him… him, darkness incarnate, from carrying out his objective. He was a weapon, one he took great pride in having never missed his target. He had never failed his master before, not like this.

For the first time in his centuries of Grima’s service Porcus finally felt shame, and it infuriated him.

He slowed as he came upon another battle, crouching low and letting the shadows envelop him as he watched Simia dancing between two Dark Mages. Bolts of darkness crackled between the two as they shared their power, obviously incredibly close and proficient at working together. Simia let out a low hiss as she leapt forward, only to be forced back by the spellcasters yet again while Porcus watched on.

The Deadlord let out a soft snort through his nose, lips turning upwards ever so slightly. His Risen had been wiped out by the Ylisseans, but as long as Simia was still fighting there was still a distraction. He could still escape, bide his time, call more servants to his side and strike again while his enemy was still reeling. All he had to do was get out of the city and wait for the next nightfall. Simia glanced up, the swordswoman’s eyes narrowing as her enhanced senses, another gift of their master’s, caught the movement of Porcus slipping by her battle, powerless to stop him as she struggled to defend herself.

Porcus found himself musing that together the two mages would probably even give Gallus or Ovis a run for their money as he slipped by them, ignoring Simia’s plight.

The woman mage, a true Plegian beauty with porcelain skin and ebony hair, glanced up, her glare penetrating directly through Porcus shroud of shadows. Fortunately for him, Simia chose that moment to renew her attack, and the mages were pushed back on the defensive.

Porcus frowned, the threads holding his mouth closed beginning to come loose from all the movement that day. First the Taguel manages to fight him to a standstill; then, the Tactician beat him practically into the ground; now the Dark Mage could _see_ him!?

What manner of creatures were these Ylisseans? Validar was right; they needed to be dealt with before they could properly oppose the master, and quickly.

Set on his course, Porcus picked up his pace, dashing through the empty palace hallways. Twice an unfortunate servant, rushing to see what all the commotion was, was cut down in the darkness as Porcus raced by, barely even slowing but railing at the waste of perfectly good flesh. He was almost tempted to leave them be, but his frustration was so great that he simply had to kill something.

The Deadlord stopped at the top of the stairs, crouching in the shadows cast as a sound caught his attention. In a flash he changed his direction, bolting further back into the upper floor and dashing for the staircase to the atrium he’d spotted during his initial reconnoitrer. Once he got there he could get out through the great windows, scale the wall and escape into the town.

Dashing down the empty hallways Porcus was so confident in his plan that it wasn’t until he was almost at the atrium’s entrance that he heard another sound, still the same distance behind him. The Deadlord skidded to a halt, gripping his dagger tight as he crouched in a recessed doorway, waiting for his pursuer to show himself and glaring back the way he had come.

He waited, watching, eyes narrowed as the seconds turned to minutes. Rising slowly the Risen began backing towards the atrium again, eyes never leaving the direction the sound had come from and…

With a muffled gasp Porcus fell forwards a few steps, hand clutching at the new hole that had just been torn in his chest.

“You’re good,” a voice whispered from behind him. “It’s been a while since I’ve had to bring my A-game.”

The Deadlord turned, eyes wide with disbelief and bringing his dagger up. His pursuer caught Porcus’ weapon hand by the wrist, yanking it down and shoving his face within inches of the Risen’s.

“But that was my wife back there, you son of a bitch,” Gaius growled, mercilessly plunging his dagger into the Risen’s black heart.

Porcus let out a surprised gasp, the thread holding his mouth closed finally snapping once more.

Gaius stared down at the surprised look on the Risen’s face as its glowing red eyes finally faded, its open mouth showing nothing but the inky void of pure darkness within. The thief sniffed once, before bringing his heel down with all his might on the creature’s neck for good measure, causing an explosion of ashes and dust that heralded the end of one of the Deadlords.

*

Simia’s head snapped up as she heard the psychic death-cry of her companion, eliciting a fresh snarl from her lips as the two mages closed in again before backing off a little in the face of her rage.

The female of the two was faring better than her male counterpart, magic fairly radiating off of her as she stared down the Deadlord, her companion hanging back slightly as he attempted to catch his breath.

Simia saw her chance, reasoning that if she died here it would be worse than not returning to her master to attempt this mission again, and dashed forward, slashing low at the woman’s legs. The woman leapt back, retaliating with a rushed fire spell. Simia ignored the weak fireball that singed her clothes and burned her armour as she barrelled past the white-haired man, striking him hard in the face with the pommel of her sword as she passed to move him from her path. She raced to the end of the hallway and without a second thought went crashing through the plate glass window, ignoring the gashes to her face and arms as she fell to a roll in the grounds. A few more fireballs followed her, singing the ground where she had been standing, but she was already in motion again, pushing her inhuman muscles to their limits and racing for the palace gates and her escape.

Tharja stood watching the creature’s progress from the broken window, clicking her tongue in annoyance as she extinguished the magical fire she had just been about to throw; from this distance it would be pointless. The Risen moved fast compared to its mindless brethren…

“Is she bleeding!? Did you see!? Is she bleeding!?” Henry asked desperately as he held his head back, attempting to stop the blood running from his shattered nose as he stumbled around the hallway.

Tharja rolled her eyes. “No, but you are.”

“I know I am! I don’t care about me, what colour is her blood!? Aw, come on, I have to know! Tell me you saw it!”

*

“No,” Robin repeated over and over as he tried to stop the bleeding on Panne’s wounds, his hands slipping on her wet leather vest.

“No… no, no no no no no no no no no! No! Panne! Come on, Panne, wake up! Don’t die on me! You can’t die!”

The Taguel was unresponsive as he pressed his hands to her wounds, now as slick and coated with her blood as the floor around them.

“Dammit! Healer!” Robin roared down the empty hallway, his voice breaking as tears rose to his eyes. “What’s taking so long!? Someone!”

“C’mon Panne,” he pleaded, giving up on staunching the bleeding and lifting her by the shoulders, holding her close to his chest. “Don’t die. I promised no one else would die… you… you’ll miss the grandchildren… the family reunions… you can’t die now…”

“If you don’t stop shaking me… man-spawn… I will die…”

Robin’s eyes went wide as the Taguel moaned softly, opening her eyes slightly.

“Panne! Don’t try to talk, just… stay awake!”

“I was serious,” she groaned as Robin inadvertently shook her again. “Please… put me back down.”

“Sorry,” he chuckled, doing his best to calm himself and pressing his hands back down to her wounds as gently as he could, drawing a pained hiss from the woman.

Pounding footfalls came from behind him, at least four pairs of feet running either barefoot or in slippers. Sumia let out a panicked shriek when she saw the amount of blood and discarded Risen weapons on the floor, instantly flying for her daughter’s door, Chrom hot on her heels.

“Robin, let me see,” Lissa said gently yet firmly as she came up behind him and knelt down on the Taguel’s opposite side, not hesitating as she gently probed at the woman’s wounds.

The Ylissean princess held her staff above Panne’s midsection, channelling her magic and closing her eyes for a few seconds. As Robin watched some of the smaller wounds on Panne’s sides and arms closed, but the two deep punctures in her chest remained open and leaking vitae at an alarming rate.

“It… must’ve been another cursed blade,” Robin said in a small voice. “Lissa, can you do something about this!?”

“Of course I can, I’m a cleric after all,” the woman answered him with a reassuring grin, throwing her useless staff to one side and tearing off the long sleeves of her yellow nightgown. “I might not be as good as Libra is, but I’m still fully qualified!”

“Ah… she’s lost a lot of blood. I’ll need to work fast. Robin, I’m going to need you to help me; I need you to start by cutting her vest off. Can you do that?”

The tactician nodded, internally apologizing to the Taguel that was starting to breath in short, shallow gasps while Lissa leaned over her. He quickly grabbed his dagger, working the razor-sharp weapon as quickly and carefully as he could, slicing through the tough leather straps of her jerkin. The second Robin was done Lissa’s hands were in the gap, pulling the blood-soaked leather away and properly revealing her wounds.

“Sorry Panne, this is going to hurt,” Lissa apologized in a whisper, reassuringly stroking the other woman’s face as she gazed up at them with glazed eyes. “Robin, grab her shoulders and hold her down; the last thing we need is for her to make it worse by moving.”

Without warning Lissa quickly jammed her fingers into first one of the wounds, then the other, feeling around as quickly as she could and making Panne cry out in pain again. The tactician had barely gotten his hands on Panne’s now bare shoulders before she tried to reflexively jerk up and he had to exert all his effort to keep her on the ground, her own hands wrapping around his wrists in weak resistance.

Lissa let out a relieved sigh as her hands retreated again before gently pressing one of her torn sleeves to the wounds.

“We’re in luck. It doesn’t look like her lungs, heart or any major arteries were hit. One in her shoulder took a little nick, but if I can cauterize the artery now we can stitch her up and hopefully she’ll make it. Lon’qu, Virion, help me get her onto a bed. Cherche, go and get my bag from my room and the biggest candle you can find. Quickly!”

“What about me?” Robin asked, scooting back as the two other men moved to help Lissa.

“You’ve done enough, Robin,” Lissa said reassuringly as she placed the tattered leather vest back over Panne’s chest to preserve a little of her modesty. “Lucina, why don’t you take Robin and get him cleaned up?”

“No, I can still-”

“Do you know anything about conventional healing?” Lissa asked, cutting him off mid-protest, her voice suddenly containing an edge of steel.

“N-no…”

“Then go and get some rest, Robin,” Lissa said, returning to her gentle tone. “You’ve done all you can. Leave the rest to me. You can trust me.”

Robin stepped back, Virion giving him an encouraging nod as they carried Panne to one of the closest rooms, leaving Robin staring blankly at the space they had been occupying seconds before. A soft hand touched Robin’s shoulder, making him jump and spin, the dagger still in his hand coming up reflexively. Lucina caught his wrist in her waiting hand, gently holding it in place until Robin realised who he was looking down at.

“Come on,” he said suddenly, brushing past her with a firm set to his features as a thought occurred to him. “That thing’s still in here and we-”

“Don’t bother,” a voice said from up the hall as Gaius quickly stepped into it, stopping when he was in front of Robin. “I took care of it.”

The thief handed Robin the Risen’s other dagger without another word, silently hurrying after the trio that had taken his wife and giving off puffs of purple ashes with every step he took. Palace guards were starting to swarm the halls now, torches being lit as they went, Cullen barking out orders at their head. Cherche rushed past him, having traded her axe for the medical bag she was clutching to her chest as she ran. Robin was only half aware of everything going on around him, caught enraptured by the black-bladed weapon clenched in his blood-soaked hands.

“Robin,” Lucina said gently, taking him by the arm. “Come here a moment.”

She pulled him a few steps further up the hall, stopping before the open door to her younger self’s room. Robin glanced up, watching as a tearful Sumia held a wailing baby Lucina, repeatedly thanking every deity she could think of as Chrom wrapped his arms around both of them, holding his wife and daughter to his chest.

Robin felt some of the tension leave him as he watched the family revel in their daughter’s safety, a soft sigh escaping him as he felt his shoulders relax a little. The older Lucina reached up, brushing his shoulder so softly he barely felt it through his coat. Robin went to grip her hand, hesitating as he realised his hands were still coated in Panne’s blood.

“I would very much like to wash my hands,” he said, feeling his gorge rise and holding it, determined not to make more of a mess on the carpets as he tucked the Risen’s dagger into his belt.

*

“Are you alright?” Lucina asked with evident concern.

Robin nodded, scrubbing his hands in the cold bucket of water the servants had brought for him.

“I’m not wounded,” he said distractedly, wincing as he dunked his hands in and the entire contents of the bucket turned red.

“That’s not what I meant,” Lucina said gently, coming up behind him.

Chrom had noticed them standing outside of Lucina’s room, telling Robin to go and clean himself up and prepare for an emergency staff meeting. Robin hadn’t said a word, allowing Lucina to lead him back to his room, still shell-shocked from the ordeal with Panne’s wounds.

Usually injuries were treated relatively quickly, or else there was so much going on that Robin didn’t get the chance to fixate on them. But the way Panne had been lying there, struggling to breathe and barely alive in his arms had affected him rather deeply. He’d never seen something like that, never watched the life fading from someone he’d been talking to only minutes ago. He’d mercifully been spared watching Gregor’s sacrifice, the big man saying farewell with a smile on his face, but Panne…

_She’s not going to die_ , Robin forcibly told himself. _She’s stronger than that. She has a family now… gods,_ I’m _part her family if Morgan and Yarne have anything to say about it. She’ll pull through. I know she will. And then she’ll mock me for worrying about her so much._

The tactician mentally rallied, steeling himself; he could go to pieces later, but right now he needed his head to be clear. He needed to come up with a response.

“I’ll be fine,” Robin told her, shaking his hands dry and shrugging off his coat. “I’m sorry I went to pieces like that. But I… er, have to change now, so…”

Lucina raised a brow in response.

“Okay, fine, I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Robin said, rolling his eyes and tugging his bloodstained shirt over his head.

Lucina let out a small gasp, prompting Robin to glance down at his chest.

“What? What, did I take a hit?”

“I don’t know,” she said, moving the golden amulet aside to brush her fingers over the new burns on the tactician’s chest.

Robin cursed, rubbing his own fingers along the burns and wincing.

“Damn. Tharja did warn me it would get hot, but…”

“The amulet?” Lucina asked, glancing up at Robin.

“Yeah. It’s why Panne and I were running through the palace earlier; we were trying to find Tharja.”

Lucina nodded, taking this in stride. Of course they had spoken at length about Robin’s curse and his berserk losses of control prior to the assault on Steiger during their war with the Imperial Valm forces, so she knew as much about the curse Tharja was still working to identify as he did; including his secret shame, the Grimleal brand on his right hand that he kept hidden with a fingerless glove. So far only Morgan, Tharja and Lucina knew about it.

“Perhaps it also reacts to the presence of Risen?” she said hopefully as Robin pulled a fresh shirt over his head, shaking his hair out and pulling his coat back on, moving to begin bandaging his hand until Lissa could look at it. That had been the very first thing he’d done when they’d arrived back in Regna Ferox; he’d bought ten new shirts, just so he wouldn’t run out again.

“Maybe,” Robin said. “Hopefully. It would be nice to know I’m not about to go all psycho-killer again, in truth.”

Before they could continue their conversation the room’s door slammed open, making them both reflexively reach for their weapons.

“Dad! Are you okay!?” Morgan shouted, rushing into her father’s room with Yarne on her heels.

Robin relaxed where he was standing next to his table with Lucina as the princess returned to binding his injured hand, blinking a few times in mild surprise as Morgan plowed into his chest and forced Robin’s hand out of her grip.

“I was okay until you tackled me,” he chuckled weakly.

“Robin…” Yarne said, his voice small as he hesitated in the middle of the room, looking utterly lost. “My mother… is she…”

“I don’t know. Last I saw her Lissa was taking her somewhere for treatment.”

The half-Taguel nodded mutely. Morgan shot up again, wrapping him in a tight hug this time and burying her face in the tall boy’s chest as Lucina finished wrapping Robin’s hand.

“She’ll be fine,” Morgan soothed, Yarne nodding reflexively.

“We’re just about to go and meet with Chrom,” Robin offered as he stood, crossing the room and clapping a reassuring hand on Yarne’s shoulder. “Why don’t you come with us?”

The boy nodded, prompting Morgan to step back, wrapping her fingers around his hand and squeeze a little.

“Thanks,” he said to them both in a low voice. “It would be nice to have the distraction right about now.”

*

“This is an outrage!” Chrom shouted, pacing back and forth in his study. “This will not stand! These creatures have crossed the line! I will personally start leading Risen hunts through the forests and southlands and eradicate these monsters wherever they’re hiding!”

“Chrom, we don’t have time for that,” Robin sighed, holding his bandaged hand to his brow. “Think rationally here; they failed. Even the Risen aren’t stupid enough to try pulling this stunt again. This doesn’t change anything.”

“This changes everything!” the Exalt roared, rounding on Robin in his anger. “They attacked my family, Robin! My daughter! Half of my guards are dead and at least ten of my servants are, too! If you and Panne hadn’t shown up when you did-”

“Chrom, they’re my family now too, as you are so oft to remind me,” Robin reasoned in a level tone. “Take a breath. Listen to reason. We don’t have the manpower to start combing the countryside for a threat we don’t even know exists. When was the last time roaming Risen were reported? Before we left for Valm.”

“I know that,” Chrom growled, turning away from Robin and laying his hands flat on his desk.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Robin repeated. “We stick to the plan we’ve already got. Just… bump it up a little. It’s our best course of action, and you know it, although I would like to make a few subtle tweaks to it.”

Chrom turned to face him again, leaning back against his desk. Along with the two leaders Lucina, Morgan and Yarne were standing around the periphery of the room, the Princess watching everything with the eyes of a hawk while Morgan scribbled notes on everything being said, and Yarne listened intently, wincing every time Chrom’s voice rose.

“Curse your infinite logic. Let’s hear it,” the Exalt sighed, finally beginning to calm down.

“We leave the army, the entire army, here,” Robin said, already running numbers in his head. “We go back to running with only the Shepherds for now; we can move faster and we’re more than a match for just about anything that Grima can throw at us at this point. Plus that way, if we put the men into a state of high alert, tonight’s events won’t ever be repeated.”

Chrom nodded, and Robin took a deep breath, preparing to deliver the hardest part of his new plan to say.

“I also want to leave some of us behind,” he said at length.

“What?” Morgan asked, perking up so fast she dropped her quill.

“Robin, are you serious?” Lucina asked in shock.

“Who?” Chrom asked, obviously considering the option.

“The non-combatants; Jake, Olivia, Anna. A few of the younger Shepherds, like Ricken and Lissa. I don’t know yet, I’ll have to think about it properly first, make some lists and run some scenarios.”

“What about the future children?” Chrom asked.

“This is their fight, and they came a long way to fight it,” Robin shrugged. “Do you honestly think any of them would stay behind, even if we ordered them to?”

“Not a chance,” Yarne said forcefully, speaking for the first time since they had arrived.

“That’s a good attitude to have,” Lissa chuckled as she stepped into the room, Lon’qu and Virion behind her and looking around at the others as their gazes snapped to her. “I think we’ll all need a little bit of that fire for what’s coming.”

“Lissa! Is Panne…?” Robin asked, standing up again.

“Is my mother…?” Yarne asked, trailing off.

The blonde Ylissean princess, still wearing her blood-stained nightgown, let out a sigh, her head hanging.

“I’ve done everything I could,” she explained. “She’s stable, but she lost a lot of blood. It’s up to her now. Your father and Cherche are tending to her as we speak. Why don’t you go and see her? Lon’qu, honey, can you show Yarne to the room his mother’s in?”

The stoic swordsman nodded, indicating that Yarne should follow him.

“Thank you, milady,” Yarne said, bowing low and hurrying off with Lon’qu.

“I’ll leave the rosters up to you,” Chrom said, turning back to Robin. “But I’m still having Frederick send out riders to find Sable first thing in the morning. I want to be ready to move at a moment’s notice by noon tomorrow. Understood?”

“Alright, I’ll be ready by dawn,” Robin promised, making for the door until two sets of hands, one on each arm, stopped him.

“No, you’re going to get proper rest tonight, even if I have to sit there all night and make sure you do,” Lucina warned, glowering up at him.

“A tactician puts everyone at risk when they work tired,” Morgan added. “That’s one of the first things you taught me, remember?”

Chrom gave a soft chuckle. “I guess you’ll start working on it first thing in the morning?”

“I guess so,” Robin sighed, rolling his eyes.

“After breakfast,” Morgan said, releasing her grip on him at the same time Lucina did. “A tactician can’t think on an empty stomach, right?”

“Geez, how am I meant to argue with me?” Robin laughed, ruffling his daughter’s hair. “Fine; sleep, food, and then work. In that order. That okay with you?”

*

Aversa strode confidently through the Outer Sanctum of Grima in the Dragon’s Table temple, casting off her filthy travelling cloak as she went. One of the surviving acolytes would pick it up and tend to the garment, cleaning and repairing it before returning it to her room, the way they always did. That there were far fewer acolytes now than before didn’t bother her in the least; the thought of not having her cloak back again when she needed it was more bothersome than the lives of some measly mage-apprentices and Grima-adherents.

Footsteps from her side reminded her once again that she wasn’t alone, nor had she been through her entire journey. The silent, enigmatic Deadlord named Bovis had said perhaps three words in the weeks that they had been travelling together, speaking only when absolutely necessary and flat-out ignoring any of Aversa’s attempts at conversation.

Twice they had been beset by bandits, half-starved wretches forced to eke out an existence by harassing travellers and stealing what they could in the economic depression that Plegia had been left in in the wake of Gangrel’s ill-conceived war with Ylisse, and twice Bovis had calmly, silently and methodically slaughtered the entire bands with his bow and his sword without ever dismounting his nightmarish black horse or even removing his hood.

She had given up trying to speak to the silent creature after the first week, simply communicating by barking orders at him. She found the Deadlord to be wholly irritating, but unfortunately he was also incredibly useful.

They had spent the better part of two months riding the width and breadth of Plegia as Aversa tended to her master’s orders, carrying out her task and not once stopping to think about the effect that it would have once her role was complete.

As she walked, thinking only of delivering news of her success and the warm, relaxing bath that would come afterwards, she noticed Bovis had stopped, and was staring off towards the east.

“What is it?” Aversa snapped, not expecting a reply beyond the creature hastening to follow her.

“Porcus…” Bovis whispered in a deep, rich voice.

“What?” Aversa asked, genuinely curious now.

Bovis shook his head silently, taking off at a brisk jog past her and towards the Inner Sanctum.

“Hey!” Aversa called after him, frowning and breaking into a run to keep up; hardly the dignified entrance she had been going for, but she would be damned if she was going to let the Risen beat her there and steal her credit.

The outer sanctum was a circular room, arguably the size of the great hall of the Plegian Castle except wrapped around the magnificent Inner Sanctum. She had only been inside the Inner Sanctum itself three times so far; it was a sacred and holy place, a place of power so great it was where her master could gather his strength through meditation, or with the aid of a sacrifice he could summon servants as mighty as the Deadlords to do his bidding, filled to bursting with ancient relics and holy icons of Grima.

As Aversa rushed into the Inner Sanctum behind Bovis she heard an enraged shout and the sound of splintering timber.

She emerged into the central altar room to find Validar standing with the leader of the Deadlords, Mus, the first among their number wearing armour blacker than night, snarling through his neatly-trimmed beard as he hefted his lance from destroying one of the many pews in the room.

“Heresy!” Mus roared. “We come to do the will of the mighty Grima and this is how we are rewarded!? By being slaughtered!? Never before has a Deadlord fallen! Never!”

With another wordless shout of frustration the Deadlord struck out again, his ornate silver lance flashing as the black-bladed tip reduced another of the pews to kindling.

Validar looked on as emotionlessly as Bovis, leaving only Aversa to wonder at what happened. Breathing heavily now, the Risen leader straightened, tapping his lance on the stone floor twice.

“Validar, this is too far,” he growled, red eyes glinting dangerously.

Of all the Deadlords it seemed to Aversa that only Mus had the ability to speak as a human would, which somehow managed to make the hulking creature even more intimidating. Cruel glowing red eyes stared out of a handsome, angular face, long black hair kept swept away from his face and trimmed beard quivering with his twitching jaw. If not for his pale grey skin and glowing eyes Mus could have passed for a rather handsome human of middle years.

“Say something!” Mus thundered, looming over Validar.

“Are you just about done throwing your tantrum now?” the sorcerer snapped, glaring up at the Risen.

Bovis twitched beneath his travelling cloak, his hand no doubt moving to grip his sword. Aversa held no doubts that Validar had this well in hand, but just to be safe her own hand drifted to her spellbook. It obviously didn’t matter to Validar that Mus could break his neck with little more than a flick of his wrist; the tall Plegian simply stared up at the Risen with a look of contempt on his face.

“You forget yourself, human,” Mus warned. “You may be the master’s current pet, but you are nothing compared to the might of a Deadlord.”

“And yet the Ylissean dogs managed to slay Porcus,” Validar sneered, his face never changing expression. “Spare me the idle threats, Mus. We have more important things to think on.”

The huge Risen stood there, eying Validar for a moment before letting out a breath and backing down.

“Good,” Validar said. “You know what part you are to play in the next stage of our show. See to it.”

Mus growled and spat on the stone floor before storming out of the room, lance bouncing angrily against his pauldron as Bovis silently followed him after casting one final glance at Aversa.

“Is your task complete?” Validar asked her without preamble, stepping over the remains of one of the pews to go further into the sanctum.

“Yes, Lord Validar,” Aversa said with a slight bow. “The wards and circles are all in place. Algol and the Plegian Royal Guard are also awaiting your arrival at the Palace at your soonest convenience.”

“Good. Then everything is going as planned. You have something else to say. Out with it.”

Aversa started, unnerved as always by how the man could tell when she was holding something back.

“I am hesitant to involve the weaker bloodlines of the average citizens in this, Lord,” she admitted, tensing for the reprisal she had no doubt was coming. “They aren’t worthy.”

To her surprise Validar let out a soft laugh. “Unfortunately we no longer have the luxury of time, girl. We will do what we must to ensure our Lord’s plans succeed, no matter how hesitant you are. Now make ready to travel to the capital with me. Immediately.”

With that cold dismissal Aversa bowed again, backing a respectful distance away before turning and hurrying from the sanctum, thoughts awhirl wondering just what was capable of killing one of the Deadlords.

She supposed that it didn’t matter. There were still eleven more of them, and Porcus had been the youngest and weakest of their number. She still had eleven monstrous warriors and a legion of Risen to craft her strategies around.

A cold smile reached her lips as she thought of finally getting to face Robin on the field, tactics against tactics. He wouldn’t stand a chance, not now that she had grown so much mentally, and had so much to throw against him.

“My cloak had better be ready!” she shouted expectantly as she exited both of the Sanctums into the church proper.

The Dark Mage frowned. Her bath would have to wait a little longer, it seemed.

*

Robin let out a loud yawn as he shuffled into the palace’s huge kitchen the next morning. It was still early, and the majority of the staff was all still too frightened to leave their quarters, meaning that the cavernous space was almost empty of other people. Sitting comfortably at the large servant’s table in the corner and both eating oats out of the rough clay bowls the servants used were Morgan and Say’ri, talking quietly about the plans Morgan had evidently come up with for the next stage of the campaign against Grima.

“Mornin’ dad!” Morgan called chirpily when she spotted Robin.

“Yes, good morning, Robin,” Say’ri said brightly as the tactician filled a bowl for himself from the large pot sitting near the cooking fire. “I have heard from the others of your exploits last night. You are still as impressive a warrior as always, it seems.”

“Er… thanks?” he said cautiously, leaning his hip against the table next to Morgan.

“So when’re we leaving?” Morgan asked excitedly, stealing his attention back from the perplexing sight of Say’ri smiling casually in his direction. “Frederick and the other knights left this morning before first light, and I’m itching to get moving, too! I’ve been up since before dawn with them working on strategies, and I can’t wait to start putting them into action!”

“I haven’t finished my rosters yet, though,” Robin chuckled. “I haven’t even started them yet.”

“That’s okay, I’ve been making them adaptable enough for just about any circumstances!” Morgan assured him. “And they’re just rosters; I know how fast you power through them!”

“It’s good to see your energy’s back,” Robin chuckled before sobering a little. “How’s Yarne holding up?”

Morgan let out a little squeak, standing up quickly.

“Oh no! I forgot I was meant to be getting breakfast for Yarne and Gaius!” she cried, practically jumping the table to get to the pot. “They haven’t left Panne’s side since last night, so I offered to get them breakfast but then I ran into mom and I started talking to her and got distracted and-”

“Take a breath, child,” Say’ri laughed as Morgan cut off, gasping for air.

“I’ll be back in a minute!” she promised, dashing out of the kitchen and carrying two more clay bowls with spoons sticking out of them.

“Hold on, I’ll go with you,” Robin said, following after her. “I wanted to check in on Panne anyway.”

_And being alone with Say’ri may not end well_ , Robin added, recalling her behaviour aboard the ship back from Valm.

“I will see you both at the Staff Meeting, then,” Say’ri called after them just as pleasantly as before, making Robin turn and glance at her curiously before hurrying after his daughter.

“Man, what is up with that woman?” Robin muttered as he caught up with Morgan.

“What do you mean?” she asked, balancing three bowls as she rushed through the halls.

“I mean that she was warming back up to me in Valm after I got back, right? And then she went all ‘ice queen’ on the boat to the point where we couldn’t even sit in the same room together for four months. Now she’s back to being nice to me? I just… I don’t get it. Why must she torture me so!?”

Morgan snorted with laughter as they ascended the great staircase, dodging past a troupe of armed guards on a patrol.

“Dad, she was cranky on the boat because she’s afraid of water,” Morgan explained. “Like… terrified. I spent all that time playing checkers with her because I was trying to distract her. You’re not the only one she was moody towards, trust me. And that’s why Chrom offered her your cabin; it had the smallest window. Didn’t he explain any of that to you?”

“Oh are you kidding me!?” Robin actually shouted, coming to a stop mid-staircase. “She’s been acting like she hated me for four months because she was afraid of a little water!?”

Morgan glanced back at her father, a wry grin on her face. “Come on dad. No one hates you. Mom just… isn’t great with her words, apparently. And I happen to know for a fact she’s not the only one with a little hydrophobia.”

“Yeah, be grateful you inherited my verbal eloquence,” the tactician deadpanned as they started walking again, ignoring his daughter’s jab.

They proceeded in silence, Robin hesitating as he passed the open door to Virion and Cherche’s room.

“You go on ahead,” he said, stopping. “I’ll catch up.”

Morgan shrugged before continuing on, not being distracted with her goal so close at hand as Robin stepped into the room. Virion was standing in the middle of the floor alone, his hand on his chin as he gazed thoughtfully out the window into the garden.

“Copper for your thoughts?” Robin asked, leaning back against the man’s desk on one side of the room and proceeding to continue his breakfast.

The archer looked up distractedly, brushing a lock of hair from his face.

“Ah, Robin, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Because you left your door open,” the tactician said around a mouthful of oats.

Virion looked back to the open door, letting out a tired chuckle. “So I did. What can I do for you on this finest of mornings?”

Robin shrugged.

“You looked all thinky. That’s my bit. I came to put a stop to it. What’s on your mind that’s got you staring out the window like Gaius eyeing my dessert rations?”

Virion went silent, his gaze faltering again before he spoke, looking away from the tactician.

“Cherche will not be joining us on our quest,” he said at length.

“Is she okay?” Robin asked quickly, breakfast forgotten. “Was she wounded last night? Dammit, Virion, you should have said something-”

“Calm yourself, friend,” the archer laughed. “She is with Libra as we speak, but she is not wounded. She is… that is to say…”

Virion took a deep breath, looking up at Robin with a beaming smile on his face.

“I am to be a father.”

Robin’s jaw dropped, his mind instantly going blank. Out of the hundreds of thoughts vying for supremacy in his head, one rose unbidden to the fore.

“And you let her fight last night anyway!?” the tactician shouted after opening and closing his mouth a few times.

Virion stopped and blinked at Robin before bursting into laughter so hard he had to use the tactician’s shoulder to hold himself up. Robin grunted, unimpressed, and crossed his arms waiting for the archer to finish laughing.

“Ah, truly you have a gift for comedy my friend,” Virion chuckled, holding his sides.

“It was a perfectly valid question,” Robin pointed out.

“Then let me ask you this,” Virion propositioned. “In our lives is there a single woman that would ever do something we told them to do?”

“No,” Robin answered immediately, hanging his head and eliciting further laughter from the other man.

“Well, I guess congratulations are in order,” Robin said, finally letting the grin he’d been holding back break free. “We’ll have to celebrate once I get a moment of peace.”

“Pish-posh,” Virion said. “You and I both know you have better uses of your precious free time. Such as now; were you not on your way to see the most heroic of Taguel before your good nature distracted you?”

“Erk. Damn. You’re right,” Robin said, hurrying out of the room and shouting over his shoulder. “I’m telling Morgan that you’re the one that distracted me!”

“Be my guest!” Virion called after him. “I’ve got two children to hide behind now! Tell her to do her worst! Wait! You left your breakfast behind! Curse you, Robin; I’m not cleaning up after you! Get back here!”

*

There was a loud clap of a closing tome in the Royal Ylissean Library followed very closely by a satisfied groan as a pair of hands, one wearing a fingerless black glove, stretched above the pile of books on the desk.

“All done,” Robin sighed as he finished stretching.

It had only taken about an hour, but his rosters were complete. Now all he had to do was bring them to Chrom and wait for one of the riders Frederick had sent out to return with news.

Gathering up his reports Robin glanced out the window at the position of the sun; it was still at least another hour until his noon deadline, but he didn’t doubt that Chrom would want to hold the meeting as soon as possible.

The tactician sighed again, resting his hands behind his head and staring up at the library’s high ceiling in contemplation, recalling the visit he’d paid to Panne that morning. She had still been unconscious, her skin pale as Gaius sat by her bedside, gently holding one of her hands and looking lost. Yarne had been there as well, trying to convince his father to eat something while Morgan offered silent moral support for the boy. Robin’s heart had ached for the family, the feeling of guilt weighing heavily on him as he had spoken a little with Gaius about her progress. He couldn’t help but keep remembering the way he’d ordered her down the other path, straight to the Princess’ room while he’d dashed off to check on his friends, leaving her alone…

_Stop it,_ Robin told himself sternly, standing and grabbing the sheaf of papers. _She’s a soldier and this is a war. She’d hate knowing that you’re beating yourself up over this, and she’s far too stubborn to die like that anyway, so there’s nothing to worry about._

He passed Miriel on his way out of the library, busily researching whatever it was she was currently fascinated by as her husband did sit ups on the ground at her feet.

Vaike offered him a lazy wave as he passed, one Robin returned with little enthusiasm.

_They’re not going to like this,_ he thought with another sigh, clutching the rosters tightly to his side.

*

“Now that we’re all here, we can begin,” Chrom said, standing at the head of the long meeting table as Frederick strode into the room.

“Forgive my tardiness, my lord,” Frederick said with a light bow as he crossed the room to his seat. “I had some last minute orders to give.”

Robin gave the Knight Commander a wink and a grin as he sat down opposite the tactician, basking in the fact he had beaten the punctual man somewhere for a change, earning a stern frown in response. The majority of the others were already there; every Shepherd that could still move was in attendance, crammed into the small room along with Cullen and a few of the more senior City Guard and Army officers. Robin resisted the urge to wince as his eyes fell on Gaius and Panne’s empty seats.

“I’ll start by saying I’ve received news from Libra in the barracks,” Chrom said sadly. “Donnel was attacked by Risen on the road last night and wounded.”

Shouts of disbelief echoed around the room as Robin hung his head; he’d been there an hour early, after all, which had been early enough to bear witness to the outraged Chrom breaking one of the wooden chairs in his frustration.

“What happened?” Cordelia asked above the murmuring that had broken out. “Is he going to be alright?”

“The reports state that some travellers found him after he fought the creatures off,” Robin answered for Chrom. “He’s going to be benched for this mission, but he’ll recover fully with the proper magical rehabilitation.”

“And what of the heroic Lady Panne?” Virion asked curiously.

“She’s stable,” Lissa supplied. “But she’s still unconscious. I’m not sure when or even if she’s going to wake up.”

Yarne made a depressed whine that went unnoticed by all but Morgan, who gripped his hand comfortingly beneath the table.

“We’ve also received news from Themis this morning,” Chrom ground out. “Maribelle and Kellam were attacked in their villa last night, too. Neither of them are wounded, but Duke Roark is insisting that they remain in the city for their protection and to help lead the Themis forces.”

“So, naturally, Maribelle is already halfway here,” Robin added, earning more than a few chuckles from around the room, everyone being well aware of just how headstrong the young noblewoman could be.

“We’ve already sent messengers to Jagen to ensure their safety; no word has yet reached us of any attacks on the people in the east, but we know how fast that can change,” Chrom went on. “Robin’s finished working on some rosters; I’m not going to sugar-coat it, people. Once we know where we’re going, we’ll be back to operating solely as the Shepherds rather than with the army, but even then not all of us are going on this mission.”

Some dissatisfied murmuring broke out at this statement, silenced almost immediately when Frederick cleared his throat, casting his signature ‘death-glare’ around the room.

“I’ll let him go over the details,” Chrom said, indicating the tactician take the floor as he sat back down.

“Sure, make me do the dirty-work,” Robin grumbled as he stood, earning more laughter and another scowl from Frederick.

“I know not all of you are going to agree with this plan,” Robin began, becoming serious. “However given our current situation and resources it’s the best one we’ve got. Sumia and Lissa will be remaining behind to lead the people of Yli-”

“No way!” Lissa burst out, cutting Robin off. “You’re not leaving me out now!”

“Lissa, please,” Chrom interjected. “Let him finish. Then everyone can yell at him at once.”

Robin rolled his eyes as more laughter broke out in the room, mostly centralised around Vaike’s general area as the young blonde woman sat back down with a dissatisfied glare at her brother.

_At least spirits are high_ , Robin thought as he looked back down to his sheets of paper and the laughter died down.

“As I was saying, with word of the Risen attack on what was supposed to be the most secure place in Ylisse we need to present a strong Royal presence to pacify the populace and stop a panic from ensuing. Chrom’s needed on the field, and if the citizens can’t have their Exalt, then they’ll at least need to see their Queen and Princess taking care of matters at home. Understand?”

Lissa nodded dejectedly, looking very unhappy.

“So who’s staying here with us?” Sumia asked, nodding in agreement of Robin’s explanation.

“I have a list here,” Robin said, holding up the paper. “But I want to talk about who’s going on the mission team, first.”

“Fair enough,” Sumia said.

“Chrom, obviously you’ll be leading the team,” Robin explained, reaching for another sheet. “I’ve organised detailed rosters and tactics for the other dismounted Shepherds for you with the members of the team in mind that even an ape could understand; you’ll have Frederick and Cordelia to lead the Knights and the fliers, minus of course Cherche; congratulations, by the way.”

A smattering of applause broke out as Cherche blushed and looked down, Virion holding his head up high and beaming.

“Libra will be in charge of the healers, who at this point are Brady and, apparently, Maribelle. Tharja, you’ll be in charge of Henry and Laurent on the field; keep them on a short leash.”

The dark haired woman blinked a few times, a mystified look appearing on her face.

“Morgan will be in charge of the other basic stuff; camp rosters, guard rotations, that kind of thing. Any questions before I move on?”

“I have one,” Morgan said, raising her hand with a confused look on her face. “Why are you talking like you’re not going to be there?”

Robin blinked a few times before shrugging.

“Because I’m not.”

The room erupted into disbelieving shouts and denials as half of the occupants rose to their feet.

“Yer kiddin, right!?”

“No way! We can’t do this without you!”

“Why in Naga’s name are you abandoning us now?”

“Enough!” Frederick bellowed, rising to his feet and slamming his hands down on the table.

The entire room grew silent as they stared at Robin, waiting for an explanation.

“You were all there when Chrom put me in charge of the army,” Robin addressed the room. “The army’s staying here. I can’t be in charge of the army if I’m not with it, and I know you all heard about Morgan being appointed Tactician of the Shepherds. Why is that such a big deal?”

“You’re serious,” Sully muttered in the ensuing silence.

“I’m against this course of action,” Chrom said from his seat, not in the least surprised by Robin’s statement. “I was hoping that everyone might be able to collectively talk some sense into him where I failed.”

“Look, Morgan’s every bit the tactician, if not a superior one, that I am-” Robin started.

“It’s not about that,” Cordelia interjected. “Morgan’s a fine Tactician and every bit your equal indeed, but you’ve been leading us from the very beginning. You should be the one to see this through to its end.”

“This is your fight as much as anyone else’s, Robin,” Stahl urged.

“I’m not hearing any complaints from the children,” Robin snapped, looking for support.

“Hey, you’re the tactician,” Severa huffed. “Whether we agree with you or not shouldn’t matter. Which I don’t, by the way.”

“You’re… the hero-tactician, though,” Cynthia muttered, looking like a kicked puppy beside Owain, who was obviously physically restraining himself.

“Master you can’t possibly-”

“Enough,” Lucina interrupted, nodding at Robin. “I trust Robin’s judgement. His reasoning is sound, loathe as I am to admit it. We will follow Morgan.”

_Thank Naga someone still has my back_ , Robin thought, smiling at Lucina.

“I’m not going.”

Every pair of eyes in the room turned to look at Morgan, sitting with her shoulders hunched and her fists clenched in her lap as she stared at the tabletop.

“I said I’m not going!” she repeated, her unwavering gaze meeting Robin’s.

“Morgan this isn’t a matter of ‘going’ or ‘not going’,” Robin sighed. “If I could I’d be the first one out the gates, but the army needs me here.”

“I’ll lead them,” Morgan declared. “You all know I can; I already have! You said yourself that I’m practically your equal, so there shouldn’t be any problems, right?”

“Morgan…” Robin said.

“She has a point,” Frederick muttered.

“Are you kidding me?” Robin asked, glaring at the Knight Commander that usually looked for any tiny flaw in Robin’s logic he could point out.

“I agree with my Knight Commander,” Chrom said, crossing his arms. “Wing Commander? What say you to leaving Morgan in Charge of the army?”

“Aye,” Cordelia answered with an apologetic smile in Robin’s direction.

“Come on guys, this isn’t-” Robin tried to say.

“Lord Cullen? What say you?” Chrom continued, ignoring Robin’s protests.

“If she’s every bit as good as you all say she is, then on behalf of the Ylissean Armed Forces I say aye,” the older man grunted.

“Then in my authority as Exalt of Ylisse I hereby confer upon Tactician Morgan the title of Grandmaster of the Ylissean Armed Forces and all the authority that goes with it, to act in whatever way she deems fit in the defence of the realm in the absence of myself and her father.”

“It’s settled, then,” Morgan said happily, smiling at her father across the table as he sunk back into his chair.

“What’s the point of having a tactician when no one listens to him anyway?” Robin groaned.

*

Robin sighed and rubbed his temples as he sunk into the chair in his room, resting his elbows on his knees and seething. It wasn’t so much that everyone had been upset about his decision; he’d been expecting that. He wasn’t even upset about being forced to lead the mission team with Chrom; that’s what he’d wanted to do in the first place. All the work he’d already done on the Army organization would go to Morgan, so it wasn’t being wasted. Hell, he was even proud of the girl for taking a stand like that and arguing with authority for what she thought was right.

But Robin would have been lying if he’d said he wasn’t pissed off at having his authority undermined like that.

The tactician let out another angrier sigh as he jumped to his feet, deciding that he may as well prepare his things for travel again. He would travel light this time; one spare set of clothes, his tactical manual and his weapons. Food could come from the supply wagon; sleeping wasn’t an issue seeing as he had his coat and it was late spring; everything he needed would either go on his person or be left behind. There were a few more things he’d need to do before he left, chief among them talk to Morgan again, but right now he was too angry.

Robin picked up his tactical manual, sliding it into the pouch with his spellbook as a flash of blue cloth as a small pile of tomes fell off his desk. Robin bent to retrieve the blue cloth-bound book he’d taken from an abandoned house in the middle of a Plegian desert nearly two years ago now, blowing a year’s worth of dust off of it as he sank back into the chair, looking at the book in his hands.

“A beginner’s Guide to Battlefield Tactics,” Robin read, the title of the book bringing a small smile to his face.

The sensation of distant memories that he couldn’t recall, something he hadn’t dwelt on for quite some time came back to him as he brushed his fingers across the worn cover. He was surprised to find that his magical sense had improved in a year of fighting, the tactician picking up a weak resonance from the book that seemed oddly familiar.

Blinking a few times he set the book down on his lap, placing both hands squarely on the thick cover, concentrating.

After a few seconds he let out a sigh. The resonance was familiar, but that’s all he could tell. It made him feel young, though; the sense making him think that maybe he had had something to do with the original owner as a child.

_Not that it matters when I can’t remember it_ , Robin thought, carelessly tossing the book onto the table with a soft thud.

A few moments passed before Robin rolled his eyes, getting up with a sigh and putting the book in his pouch with his spellbook and manual.

“Damn my sentimentality,” Robin muttered as he grabbed the thin, flat wooden box he’d been lugging around since Chon’sin and left the room.

*

A knock on her door made Morgan glance up from where she was re-inking her spells in her spellbook, a common piece of maintenance that any mage not willing to put up with lugging around the cheap disposable spell tomes had to put up with.

“Yes?” she called, setting down her quill and quickly ensuring her hair was neat.

The door opened, her father stepping through carrying a small box she’d seen him carrying a few times before they’d boarded the ship from Valm.

“Hey, kiddo,” Robin greeted. “Busy?”

“No, just killing time,” she said, looking a little awkward as Robin stepped into the room.

“I have something for y-”

“I’m so sorry I opposed you at the meeting!” Morgan burst out, jumping to her feet. “I… I didn’t mean to disrespect you, but the Shepherds trust you and…”

Robin chuckled, putting down the box he was holding and pulling his daughter into a hug, cutting her off mid-apology.

“Stop talking,” Robin said as they separated. “I don’t care, I didn’t want to stay in Ylisstol anyway. I’m proud of you for sticking to your opinion like that.”

Morgan breathed a sigh of relief as they both sunk into chairs at the small table in her new room. It already had a distinct ‘Morgan’ feel to it; a few tapestries Say’ri had given to her daughter were hanging on the walls, as well as a beautiful set of Chon’sin armour sitting on a rack in one corner that Robin didn’t recall seeing get packed onto the ship. Books were strewn about with sheafs of loose paper, and Robin’s old breastplate that Morgan had claimed while he’d been ‘dead’ sat atop the biggest pile with her sword leaning against it.

“What’s up, then?” she asked curiously. “Did you just come to check out my spiffy new room? Or are you just here to make sure I’m not canoodling with Yarne?”

“Ignoring that crack about you and Yarne that I really didn’t want to think about, I’m pretty sure I’m going to miss your actual birthday while we’re on this mission,” Robin said as he reached for the box. “So I thought I’d give you your present early. No cake, though; I don’t want to spoil your dinner.”

Morgan let out a delighted squeal as she opened the box, her eyes widening as she reached into it.

“Dad…” she whispered. “This… this is…”

“You’re an amnesiac, just like me,” Robin said with a soft smile. “When I saw that you didn’t take any mementos from the Hot Spring town in Chon’sin I thought you might like a souvenir of your first vacation with your father.”

Morgan nodded mutely as she pulled the beautiful yukata she had rented from Anna-two in the town out of the box, running the intricately patterned fabric over her fingers a few times before looking back up at her father.

“But these cost a fortune!” Morgan said, shocked.

Robin chuckled and shrugged.

“Don’t worry; apparently dying in battle gets you a huge bonus from the Ylissean Royalty, so I thought I’d put that to good use.”

Morgan nodded happily, carefully putting the garment back into the box.

“Thank you dad,” she said, sniffling a few times before stopping, her eyes widening as a thought occurred to her.

“Oh crap!” She cried. “I’m going to miss your birthday and I didn’t get anything for you!”

Robin burst out laughing so hard he almost fell off his chair.

“Don’t worry about it, ‘Grandmaster’ Morgan,” Robin laughed. “Getting me out of all the paperwork you’re about to be buried under was more than enough of a present.”


	52. Chapter 52

_“Robin? What are you doing?” a woman giggled, making the young tactician-in-training glance up from his book._

_“I wanna finish this chapter,” the boy said excitedly from beneath a mop of messy dark hair._

_A tall, lean woman with long straight hair walked over, lovingly ruffling his hair before grabbing him in a tight hug._

_“What did I tell you?” she asked over the boy’s laughter. “You can only squeeze so much into your head in a day before it can’t take any more. Take a break, come have some dinner. We’re all waiting for you. A tactician can’t think on an empty stomach, right?”_

_“Right, mom!” Robin said excitedly, leaping up and following his mother out of the room, clinging to the cuff of her long black coat as they went._

_But… as Robin walked he realised something was wrong._

_The boy looked up, directly into his mother’s face, but he couldn’t make it out._

_All he could see was glowing red eyes and needle-sharp teeth._

_“Robin? What’s the matter?” she asked as he stopped, staring aghast at her and backing away._

_“M-mom…” the boy muttered, terrified._

_“Mom…?”_

*

“Mom!” Robin shouted, throwing himself forward in his bed, his bare chest glistening with sweat and his amulet swinging wildly around his neck.

“Er… no. It’s… Olivia,” a timid voice said from his side, making him glance up.

Olivia was standing there, looking away and blushing furiously.

“I… uh, F-Frederick sent me t-to… that is… I mean…” she stammered.

Robin blinked a few times before pulling his blanket up to cover his bare torso.

“I’m covered now,” he chuckled, running a hand through his damp hair and pushing it back from his face.

“News came in,” Olivia said, sneaking a glance at the tactician but still beet-red. “Chrom’s called another meeting. At… at the barracks this time. I’msorryIdidn’tmeantowatchyousleeping!”

With that perplexing, shouted apology the timid pink-haired dancer fled the room, leaving Robin alone and laughing at the spectacle. He calmed, his tired mind going back to the dream he’d just been having.

_Was that a memory, or my imagination?_ He wondered, looking over to his coat hanging from the hook on the wall next to Sol. _I thought I didn’t have any memories from childhood. Must’ve just been a bad dream._

He stood, yawning and stretching before lightly scratching at the rapidly healing burns on his chest beneath the little amulet. He stole a quick glance at himself in the mirror hanging near his coat, wincing when he saw the horrible rat’s nest that was his snow-white hair.

“I cannot let Tiki see me like this,” he thought with a shudder, dragging his fingers through the mess in a vain attempt to neaten it, his dream already being forgotten as he began tugging at his hair.

“Wait,” Robin wondered out loud, stopping. “Why are we meeting in the barracks?”

*

Chrom sat in one of the chairs around the small table in the old Shepherd barracks, looking up with a fond smile at the carving Robin had made in the rafters as he turned a small shield-shaped trinket over in his hands a few times.

The Fire Emblem, the treasure of House Ylisse and the key to stopping Grima’s resurrection also known as the ‘Shield of Seals’, was deceptively small for something so powerful and important, only the size of an average shield. The Emblem’s burnished surface gleamed with the four gemstones they had already recovered as Chrom held it up and looked at it in the light; Argent, Gules, Azure, and Vert. He was proficient at fighting with sword and shield, although he did prefer the power and control he got from wielding Falchion with two hands.

“Ooh, fancy,” Robin said, stepping into the barracks. “Now I can see why everyone wanted to get their hands on it. Imagine how pretty Gangrel would have looked wearing that with his… yellow… ruffles.”

The tactician snorted with laughter before calming.

“Sorry, I couldn’t say that with a straight face,” he said, crossing the room and sitting down across from Chrom.

“Yes, Gangrel would have looked quite odd wearing this,” Chrom chuckled, looking back down at the shield and running his fingers over the empty socket that Sable would sit in.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to use it in battle, though?” Robin asked, glancing at the priceless artefact.

“It’s what it was made for,” Chrom explained. “It’s no different from using Falchion in battle.”

“Which you have done a lot lately,” Robin snickered, leaning back in his chair.

Chrom nodded agreement, looking back down at the shield in his hands and letting out a soft sigh.

“Ah, I know that face...” Robin grinned. “’Duelling with unpleasant thoughts’, are we? I thought that was my bit.”

Chrom let out another, quieter laugh.

“You know me well, Robin.”

“Well you don’t follow a man around for the entirety of your memory, organizing his troops, running his army and doing all his dirty work for him without getting to know him a little. Ah, with all due respect milord.”

“You meant absolutely no respect in that statement and you know it,” Chrom laughed, joined quickly by Robin.

“No, but it’s not generally a good idea to irritate your ruler.”

“You know I’m just Chrom to you.”

“Sure,” Robin shrugged. “But we both know you can’t be ‘just Chrom’ in front of the men. Or the citizens. And I can’t be ‘just Robin’ anymore because of you, thank you very much.”

“Are the perks really not worth it?” Chrom asked with a raised brow.

“Well… I get to sleep in your castle, eat your fancy food and… I’m not going to finish that thought in case I get punched, but I’m sure you know where I was going with that one. So I guess yeah, yeah it is worth it.”

Chrom burst out in laughter again before quieting, staring wistfully up at the carving Robin had made. The pause dragged on, making Robin decide to take a different approach.

“Hey,” Robin said, getting Chrom’s attention again. “Remember when Lissa first brought me here? When I met all the Shepherds? And Sumia fell flat on her face right in front of me? Gods I thought she’d killed herself!”

“I do remember,” Chrom said with a distant smile. “Although I will admit I was a little preoccupied at the time.”

“You know,” Robin said in a softer tone. “Apart from waking up in a field and being marched across the countryside by a trio of armed total strangers, in a way that was my first memory. It’s definitely my first good memory.”

Chrom let out a small laugh. “If only all of our memories had been so joyful.”

“I know...” Robin sighed, leaning back again. “So much needless bloodshed. So many days of pain and doubt and fighting. But there was good in it all, for all of us. We’ve all done so much, grown so much. We would have never made it without you there to guide us, you know.”

“Funny,” Chrom drolled. “I was just about to say the same thing to you.”

“Okay, so I wanted to say ‘without me to guide us’ as well, but I thought a little humility might be called for right about now,” Robin shrugged.

“You truly are an ass,” Chrom laughed, giving Robin’s arm a light punch. “But humility does not suit you in the least.”

“I guess we’re just doomed to drag this world kicking and screaming to a peaceful future together, huh?” Robin asked.

“Of course,” Chrom agreed, clapping a hand on the tactician’s shoulder. “And I can’t do it without you.”

“I know,” Robin said, growing silent for a few moments before glancing up at Chrom mischievously. “You’re not about to propose to me, are you? Because you have a wife, and I don’t share.”

“You are such an ass!” Chrom repeated, punching the tactician again as they both burst into laughter.

“It won’t be long now,” Chrom sighed once they stopped laughing. “One of Frederick’s scouts returned with news already; we’re just waiting for the Commander to finish his debriefing. And I've been reading more about the Awakening ritual.”

“Wow, things must really be getting serious if you’re doing your own research,” Robin snickered.

“Didn’t you just say something about not irritating your ruler?” Chrom chuckled before growing serious again. “It seems that whoever attempts the rite must brave Naga's fire in a literal sense. If both body and spirit survive the agony, they are blessed with the dragon's power. Otherwise, the candidate… dies.”

“Eh, dying’s not that bad,” Robin said offhandly, his joke being drowned out by another voice coming from the stable’s doorway.

“What?! No! Er, that is... Father, must you attempt this?” Lucina asked sheepishly as she stepped into the barracks.

“Eavesdropping, young lady?” Chrom asked with an amused smirk.

“Forgive me, Father,” Lucina said, wilting a little. “I didn't intend to... I came to speak with you, but I couldn't find the right moment and…”

“Then I beat you here,” Robin said with a wink when she trailed off.

“It's all right, Lucina,” Chrom assured her. “And yes, I'll be all right, too. I will withstand Naga's fire. I'm sure of it.”

“Are you kidding?” Robin laughed. “The amount of times you’ve been set on fire in the last couple of years you should be used to it by now!”

“Yes, and who’s fault were most of those times?” Chrom deadpanned, glaring at the tactician.

Robin cleared his throat, squirming a little in his chair.

“That pot attacked me and you know it,” he mumbled. “It wasn’t my fault you were standing so close to the cooking fire. Or that your cape caught fire. I helped you put it out, let it go already. You set me on fire with that grill the next evening anyway.”

“And that,” Chrom said, glancing up at his daughter, “Is why Robin and I are no longer allowed near the mess tent while the others are cooking.”

A moment of silence passed before the Exalt and tactician burst into laughter again, Lucina looking on mystified as both men practically fell out of their chairs.

*

“King Validar has extended an invitation,” Frederick reported. “One of my riders was flagged down near the Plegian-Ylissean border and given this news. He says Plegia has been guarding Sable, and now he wishes to return it to you.”

“Trap,” Robin stated once the Knight Commander finished.

“Trap,” Morgan echoed, sharing a smile with her father.

Chrom let out a sigh, running a hand down his face. “Anything else?”

“They sent word to me, specifically, milord,” Frederick answered. “They must have caught wind of my search, and I don’t like that... In any case, Validar asks that you visit him in person, that he might formally present it. Perhaps needless to say, milord, but I am inclined to agree with our tacticians on this matter. It is most definitely a trap.”

“Wow,” Robin muttered to Virion. “Twice in one lifetime. I’m shocked.”

The archer snickered, earning a dirty look from his wife.

The Shepherds were all gathered, those that were present in the capital and could still walk, anyway. Panne had been moved to a special room set aside in the palace with Donnel, where they were both recovering under Lissa’s watchful eye, Gaius never once having left his wife’s side for a moment. Kellam was still holding down the fort in Themis, even if Maribelle had arrived in Ylisstol alone and irate the previous evening. The rest of the Shepherds were leaning, sitting or standing around the barracks, crammed into the small space and listening to Frederick’s report.

“As do I, Frederick the Wary. As do I,” Chrom sighed. “At best, it's selfish political manoeuvring at a time when the world can ill afford it. At worst, our run-in with those Risen last visit was no accident... And then there’s these… ‘Deadlord’ creatures that have attacked us twice now. But we will meet with him. Send word at once.”

“Milord, are you...certain that's wise?” Frederick asked uncertainly.

“Trap?” Robin repeated, waving his hands in the air for emphasis. “Trap?”

“No, Frederick, but we haven't time to be certain,” Chrom said. “And yes, Robin, I know it’s probably a trap.”

“Then allow me to get a pre-emptive ‘I told you so’ in while I prepare some reactionary strategies,” the tactician sighed.

“My sister never refused a diplomatic gesture, no matter how foul smelling,” Chrom declared. “If he doesn't give us the stone, he may at least reveal where it is.”

“And if he does have it?” Robin asked.

“We take it,” Chrom said with a shrug.

“And if he doesn’t want to share?” Robin persisted.

Chrom answered by raising his eyebrow at Robin, earning a couple of laughs as the tactician sighed again.

“I still do not like this, milord,” Frederick repeated himself.

“Don't worry, Frederick,” Chrom chuckled. “I'm not walking into this blindly. I’ll have more than half of the Shepherds at my back, and we will make certain everyone is armed to the teeth.”

“Then the Fire Emblem, milord - you ought at least leave it behind,” Frederick urged him.

“Yeah, I can’t believe I’m actually agreeing with him, but Frederick’s right,” Robin added.

“We can protect it here no problem!” Morgan piped up. “I’ve already got the Royal Guard running double shifts, so the castle’s not getting much more secure.”

“Unless that's what Validar expects,” Chrom pointed out. “And he comes to steal it with my best men away. No, it's safest with me, for now. We'll learn the truth of Validar's motive soon enough.”

“Yes, when he gets up on his soapbox and starts giving us the evil ‘give me the Fire Emblem’ speech like everyone else seems to do everywhere we go,” Robin said with resignation in his voice. “I would like to go on record as stating I am against this.”

“Noted,” Chrom chuckled. “Anyone else? No? Then make your preparations and assemble before the city gates; we march within the hour.”

*

“Virion,” Robin called out, stopping the archer as they walked out of the barracks and back towards the palace.

The archer glanced over his shoulder curiously, stopping when Robin indicated they move out of the path of the others.

“Yes?” Virion asked when they reached the shadow of one of the armouries for the regular army. “I have much to prepare if we are to leave within the hour.”

“You’re not coming with us, either,” Robin said, cutting straight to the point.

“I… what?” Virion asked, befuddled. “I was under the assumption I was on the mission team, though.”

“You are,” Robin explained. “But I have a much, much more important mission for you, and with everything that’s been going on lately you’re the only one I trust to do it. Do you understand?”

Virion nodded automatically. “Of course, Robin. I’ll do anything you need.”

“Good,” Robin said, taking the gaudy ring he’d taken from Excellus in Valm off of his finger and handing it to the archer. “Now take this and listen very, very carefully, because believe me when I say you don’t want to get this wrong.”

*

The sun was setting in the Plegian capital by the time Validar and Aversa arrived; not that they had travelled in the traditional sense, but teleporting in using the tool that their master had fashioned for Validar to appear inside the Palace's main hall.

Aversa resisted the urge to retch, her stomach roiling from the teleportation spell while Validar merely lowered his hand, the ring carved from a fragment of bone taken directly from the great corpse the castle was built upon still glowing a little with excess energy as the magic circles around the duo faded.

"Algol!" Validar shouted, ignoring Aversa's discomfort. "Attend me this instant!"

The captain of the guards, resplendent in his shining black armour and wine-red cape, approached quickly, flanked by two armed guards to form the King's honour guard. Captain Algol was an older man, his short brown hair receding from his brow and his face split by a wicked scar across his right eye. He frowned at being disrespectfully spoken to; even Gangrel had known that in reality it was Algol that controlled the palace, not the King.

"Yes, your highness?" he said stiffly, bowing to Validar as his two guards fell in behind the King and his servant.

"You are to make ready to receive the Ylissean Prince," Validar stated, already moving towards the private quarters he'd set up down in the cellars.

"Of course milord," Algol replied distastefully, falling into step with him.

"I meant now, Captain," Validar ground out, leaving Algol to stand and glare at the King's back as he strode off. "No survivors, if your men can handle it."

"That disrespectful, arrogant…" Algol growled under his breath as he began walking for the guardhouse and his men's quarters.

The King had made his intentions quite clear in his earlier correspondence through the Lady Aversa; the Ylisseans were still the nation of Plegia's enemy, and their Prince was the enemy's leader. It didn't sit well with Algol, luring a proud warrior like the Prince into a trap like this, but his King had given a command and he was honour-bound to follow it.

"Algol," a deep baritone voice called quietly, making the Guard Captain hesitate as he stepped into the covered walkway between the castle and the guardhouse.

"Mustafa?" the Captain asked curiously. "What… what are you doing here? You should be at your posting in the Midmire."

"As far as the rest of the army is concerned, I still am," the big man said, stepping forward into the light from the torches and taking his hood off of a bald head, still as imposing as ever as he favoured his old friend with a sad smile.

"But I had great need to speak to you," he added, a sad smile appearing on his face.

"About what?" Algol asked suspiciously.

"Not here," the General said, conspiratorially.

Algol was left to roll his eyes when his old friend didn't explain himself.

"Very well," the Captain relented. "But we can't go to the Guardhouse. I assume since you're here in secret you won't want the other guards to see you. Follow me."

The Guard Captain led the other man off the walkway and through the Castle gardens that had long since dried up and died, bringing them to the shack that the old gardeners had lived in before being relocated to the Dragon's Table like the rest of the majority of the palace staff.

"In here," Algol whispered, ushering the bigger man in.

He stepped in without hesitation, having to duck low beneath the door frame to enter before Algol followed, closing the door behind them and leaving them in almost pitch black, a few lines of light from the torches outside entering cracks in the walls and providing an ethereal feel to the clandestine meeting.

"What's the meaning of this, Mustafa?" Algol asked again. "You know deserting your post is punishable by death. We could get away with this kind of thing when we were young, but we're not any more. There are consequences now."

"None of us are young anymore," Mustafa said wistfully before growing serious again. "The King is here, is he not?"

"Aye," Algol ground out, still smarting at being treated so disrespectfully by the sorcerer. "And the Ylissean Prince is due to arrive in the next couple of days. What of it?"

"Then I'm not too late," he said hopefully.

"Algol, listen to me," Mustafa added seriously, gripping the smaller man by the shoulders.

"We cannot follow Validar's orders any longer. He means to drive Plegia and the very world to ruin, and he means to use all of us to do it."

"You speak of sedition," Algol said slowly, frowning as he batted the larger man's hands off his shoulders and stepped back. "Of betraying our oaths to serve the realm."

"Algol," Mustafa urged. "You know I wouldn't come to you to make this warning lightly. But all the signs are there; all the evidence points to the King being a monster that will use this nation and grind it to the dust beneath his boot unless we unite the forces still willing to fight for our freedom."

"Spare me your metaphors, Mustafa!" Algol snapped. "You were always the one for theatrics and over-exaggeration. What proof do you have?"

"Well, we've been destroying them as we find them," Mustafa said hesitantly.

Algol let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head.

"Magic wards and spell circles," Mustafa tried to explain in a low voice. "Parts of a larger spell, a powerful curse, one designed to-"

"Enough," Algol growled, cutting the other man off. "Enough of this madness. Leave the capital and return to your posting, Mustafa. For the bond we once held I will overlook this… this temporary lapse in judgement, but I serve the Throne of Plegia, no matter who sits on it, and nothing will make me forsake my oath."

The Guard Captain threw the door to the shack open, stepping out into the night and glancing back at the man, shadows dancing in the recesses of his face and giving him a sinister countenance before turning and striding back to the Guardhouse.

His men needed a leader, and he wouldn't shirk his duties. Not now. Not ever.

Back in the shack Mustafa brought a hand to his brow, letting out a sad sigh.

"Yet another blinded by their oaths to a chair," the General muttered.

"Dammit, Algol," Mustafa groaned. "Why couldn't you listen to reason? That man will be the death of us all."

*

The harsh desert sun beat down mercilessly on Robin’s head, making the tactician pine for the frozen forests of Regna Ferox again, something he had sworn would never happen after so long wandering around them. They had been travelling for nearly a week, taking into the account the brief break they had taken in Themis to gather supplies and argue with Roark about Maribelle coming with them before setting out again. Now they were nearing the Plegian capital, thankfully travelling by the road through the desert this time rather than sneaking through the badlands.

The group had separated not that long ago into a ‘vanguard’ and ‘rearguard’ formation that Robin had come up with during the march; he, Chrom, Lucina, Frederick, Cordelia and Libra were the vanguards meeting with Validar in the palace while Lon’qu led the rest of the team, consisting of Sully, Vaike, Stahl, Maribelle, Henry, Tharja and the remainder of the future children with the exception of Morgan, in the rapid-response rearguard.

Much to Robin’s chagrin he had been forced to allow Tharja to place a scrying hex on him so she could keep them in sight and decide whether or not the vanguards needed rescuing. At which point Lon’qu and the others would storm the palace.

Robin scratched irritably at the small welt on his arm, a side-effect of the hex.

“This is a bad idea,” Robin groaned for the hundredth time, glancing at the Fire Emblem strapped to Chrom’s off-hand.

“Give it a rest already,” Chrom chuckled over his shoulder.

“This was your plan, after all,” Cordelia added.

The Wing Commander had left her pegasus in Cynthia’s care while Frederick had left his warhorse with Lon’qu, both proceeding on foot with the others.

“Well you said we couldn’t go in loud,” Robin grumbled as the six Shepherds strode heedlessly towards the palace above Grima’s colossal skeleton.

“Is that thing creeping anyone else out?” Robin asked, eyeing the giant skull staring at them with six empty eye-sockets. “Because that thing’s creeping me out.”

“Try not to look at it,” Libra advised, his tone as calm and melodious as ever as he smiled and shifted his grip on his axe.

“Or better yet, stop talking for five minutes,” Frederick grunted from the front of the group with Chrom.

“That’s harsh, man,” Robin called to the Knight Commander as he matched his pace with Lucina at the back of the procession.

The Princess was silently staring at the skull, much the same way Robin had been her hand tightening on the Parallel Falchion’s hilt.

“What’s up?” Robin asked curiously.

“That great skull,” she explained. “I saw it once before, when my Aunt Emmeryn was sentenced to die. Even then it reminded me of... him...”

“You mean…”

“Yes,” Lucina sighed, finally looking away from the skull. “Grima, the fell dragon. A cataclysmic war ushered his return... It's said he fed on the souls of the fallen before turning upon the living... Whether these are his true bones or just an effigy, I cannot say. But I know this: we cannot let that monster come back to life.”

Robin looked back at the skull, feeling a weak pulse of heat in the amulet around his neck that he attributed to the desert heat and an over-active imagination as he stared into the empty eye-sockets.

“We'll stop him, Lucina,” Robin assured her, putting a comforting hand around her shoulders. “I promise. The future can be changed. You've proven it already. And with all of us together, we can turn the course of history. Besides, you know how seriously I take my promises. He’s as good as dust.”

“I want to believe that, Robin,” she muttered, reaching up and gripping his hand in her own as they walked. “I truly do.”

They walked along like this for a time, drifting a little further back from the others as their pace slowed, simply enjoying the fleeting moment of contact. After four months with little else to do but spend all day, every day in each other’s company out of the necessity borne from being confined to such a small ship (not that either of them had complained) Robin had been a little shocked when he’d been thrust head-first back into the world of planning and research that had apparently consumed his life before Valm.

It was immediately disheartening to the tactician that they couldn’t spend as much time together.

Robin had wound up practically slapping himself when he’d thought about just how nervous Lucina must have been now that they were coming up to the final confrontation with Plegia to avert her dire future. Even then, though, he’d still been buried under rosters and reports, and while they were on the road they hadn’t had a moment’s privacy.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy lately,” he apologised, suddenly deciding now was as good a time as any.

Lucina glanced up at him curiously as his grip about her shoulders tightened.

“I’ve just been thinking,” Robin went on. “We haven’t spent any time together, and I feel like I’m neglecting you a little.”

Lucina snickered a little, wrapping her other arm around Robin’s waist.

“You worry too much, Robin,” she told him. “I know how busy you’ve been of late. Just knowing I’m in your thoughts is enough for now.”

Robin smiled, placing a light kiss on the side of her head.

“You know we could spend more time together if you helped out a little like Morgan and Virion do,” he suggested.

Lucina burst into laughter, breaking away from their embrace and practically doubling over as her shoulders heaved.

“Nice try, but I would rather wait,” she chuckled as they hurried to catch up with the others, now looking back at them curiously.

“Damn,” the tactician sighed theatrically and eliciting more laughter from the Princess. “So close to offloading more paperwork.”

*

Robin resisted the urge to laugh out loud as they were led through the Plegian Castle, first through the lavish entry-hall and then through the high-ceilinged Great Hall, doing his best not to look at the horribly hidden armed guards or make faces at them just to be spiteful. They were obviously trying hard, and Robin didn’t particularly want to make them any madder if things went as far south as he expected them to. But it was really hard for him not to, and he liked to think a testament to his willpower that he managed to abstain from so much as a chuckle.

The guard that was guiding them ushered him, Chrom and Lucina into a large meeting room not far from the entrance, just off the back of the main hall and down a hallway while Frederick, Libra and Cordelia were waiting out in the main hall. The silent guard bowed, excusing himself and leaving the three Ylisseans alone in the room to wait.

Now that they were alone again Robin let out a quiet snicker he could no longer contain, covering his mouth with his hands in a vain attempt to muffle the laugh.

“Trouble?” Chrom asked under his breath.

“What, you didn’t see all those guards trying to hide behind curtains and in dark rooms?” Robin muttered back with a huge grin on his face.

“So it is a trap,” Lucina whispered, her hand going to Falchion’s hilt while she glanced around warily.

“Don’t freak out and tip our hand just yet,” Robin told her. “Oh, and Chrom?”

“Yes?”

“I told you so.”

“You don’t get two!” the Exalt whispered, swatting at his tactician as the two men tried to desperately hush their laughter in the face of the footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Lucina merely rolled her eyes at their childish behaviour as both men cleared their throats and straightened their clothes. Chrom was back to wearing his lighter training gear, Robin had left his breastplate, the only actual armour he had, in Ylisse with Morgan, and Lucina had foregone her delicate silver armour as well. If they were attacked by the entire Plegian Royal Guard, Frederick, Libra and Cordelia would be stuck taking the brunt of the assault until the others arrived.

Validar and Aversa stepped into the room, the sensation of familiarity instantly blossoming in Robin’s mind before he quashed it, focusing instead on glaring at the tall, rake-thin man smiling deceivingly at them and the buxom dark beauty behind him.

“Well met, milords,” Aversa said, her voice thick like honey as she bowed.

“Ah, Prince Chrom!” Validar said jovially, throwing his arms wide welcomingly as he stepped into the room behind the woman. “It is so good to see you well after your victory in Valm! Stories have already reached us of your army’s exploits, and I must admit to being impressed.”

_I can’t tell why, but for some reason I know he’s full of crap_ , Robin thought, watching the Plegian man’s entrance. To anyone else it would have seemed genuine, but to Robin it just seemed like an act.

“It’s actually ‘Exalt’ Chrom now,” the blue haired man corrected the Plegian King.

“Ah, so it is,” Validar said with a toothy smile, recovering quickly after being thrown off a little. “Then we must celebrate! Please, sit! Drink with us!”

“I’m sorry, King Validar, but I am in a hurry,” Chrom said in a neutral tone. “I believe there was something you were looking to give to me.”

“My, my! No time for courtesy, milord?” Validar chuckled, picking up a wine glass and holding it out for Aversa to fill.

“Such impatience...” he went on after taking a long sip of the rich, blood-red liquid. “I had thought to make a celebration out of it, a coming together of our two great nations! Do you really want it that badly? This concerns me. The Gemstones and the Fire Emblem can be...treacherous artefacts. A fact Plegia and the Grimleal sadly know all too well.”

“Sadly?” Lucina repeated, stepping forward and speaking for the first time. “You speak ill of when the first exalt used them against the fell dragon?”

Validar’s eyes widened for a moment when he finally seemed to register Lucina’s presence before his mask dropped, his smile turning icy as his eyes hardened and he set the glass he was holding back down on the table, smiling coldly at Lucina.

“Yes I do, intruder,” he spat viciously.

“Intruder?” Lucina echoed, taken aback by Validar’s abrupt change in personality.

Chrom blinked a few times too, but Robin suddenly felt more at ease, crossing his arms, sinking to a hip and glaring at the two Plegians.

_Yup_ , he thought. _This seems more familiar._

“You are not supposed to be here, girl,” the Plegian king hissed dangerously, taking a few steps towards the Princess. “You must be destroyed!”

“Watch your tone, Validar,” Chrom growled, stepping between his daughter and the Plegian king and putting a restraining hand on the taller man’s shoulder. “I will not have a member of the Ylissean Royalty spoken to in such a fashion, not even by you.”

Aversa gave Robin a cold smile and a wink, and suddenly the tactician knew without knowing that things were about to get messy.

“Give me the Fire Emblem...” Validar growled, shoving Chrom back a few steps with one hand to his chest in a surprising show of strength. “Give it to me!”

“You’re mad!” Lucina shouted, drawing the Parallel Falchion. “This is a declaration of war!”

“I will only ask one last time,” Validar warned in a low tone, stepping backwards out of range of the Ylisseans’ swords. “Give me the Emblem. Now!”

“Never,” Chrom swore, his own hand dropping to the sword at his hip.

Robin took a few steps back, presenting a united front with the two Royals.

“Then it is to be war!” Validar roared, throwing his hands out wide again. “Guards! Kill them and bring me the Emblem from their corpses!”

“Just as we thought,” Chrom growled, drawing Falchion as the two Plegians retreated further.

Aversa and Validar eyed the door behind them expectantly as booted feet began running up the hallway outside, Robin’s eyes meeting the cool grey orbs of the woman standing behind the obviously-insane Plegian king. This time it was he that gave her a little grin and a wink.

The door behind the Ylisseans flew open, revealing…

“Robin! Lord Chrom! We have to go now, follow me!” Cordelia shouted, levelling her lance at Aversa and Validar who looked on, utterly shocked.

From the hallway Robin could hear the sound of Frederick doing what he did best alongside Libra, smashing their way through any and all opposition with nothing but sword and axe, shouting war-cries of “For Ylisse!” or “In Naga’s name!” with every second swing.

Robin stuck out his tongue and threw a couple of rude hand gestures at Aversa as he stepped backwards out the door, not entirely sure why he was provoking the seething woman, but feeling like it was the natural thing to do given the circumstances.

“Robin, focus!” Chrom shouted from up the hallway with Lucina, already halfway to Frederick. “Gloat later! We have to escape!”

“Yeah, right,” the tactician mumbled, breaking into a run with Cordelia as he drew Sol from over his shoulder.

“Just like old times, eh?” Cordelia asked as they rounded the corner, running past the carnage Frederick had already wreaked amongst the guards.

“Yes, this is starting to seem distressingly familiar,” Robin laughed as they finally caught up with the others just behind the door to the main hall.

“If you two are just about done chatting,” Frederick grunted disapprovingly.

“By all means, lead on,” Robin suggested.

Frederick shook his head as he and Chrom burst through the door together, the six Ylisseans dashing out into the main hall and directly into a squad of Plegian Guards running the other way without slowing. With a lusty roar Frederick barrelled into them, scattering the men and proceeding, Robin looking to Chrom for direction while Frederick continued down the hall unfazed, the Exalt shrugging before taking off after the Knight again.

“Make for the exit!” Chrom shouted. “Don’t get separated! Get out and get to the others!”

Robin caught a flash of movement from the great doors to the entry-hall, silently cursing as he saw the glinting of black armour.

“Down!” he shouted suddenly, throwing himself and Cordelia behind one of the pillars lining the hall as a hail of arrows landed where the group had been running.

“Thanks,” she muttered as Robin climbed off of her.

“No problem,” he grinned back, glancing around the side of the pillar to make sure the others were safe.

“Any time now, Robin!” Chrom shouted from a few pillars ahead where he and Libra were ducking, the majority of the arrows flying in their direction.

“Yeah, yeah,” Robin chuckled under his breath, reaching for his spellbook.

He slipped back behind the pillar, flipping through the pages until he found the spell he was looking for, one of the few in the book he didn’t know by memory, and started casting, muttering the chants under his breath and channelling the mana in the air. Blazing white wards appeared around Robin’s hand as he made complicated and delicate lines in the air, mana beginning to pool.

“What’s taking so long!?” Frederick shouted, making Robin wince a little as his hold on the complex spell slipped a little.

“Er… Robin?” Cordelia asked anxiously.

“Remember that big flashy ice spell I used the last time we were here? The one I wasn’t finished working on yet?” he asked with a grin, clapping his book closed and raising his gloved hand as the wards he had been drawing became rings of power, dancing around it in faster and faster circles.

“I finally finished it. I call it ‘Fimbulvetr’.”

Slipping his spellbook back into his pouch as he moved, Robin spun and positioned himself back out in the hall, raising his hands and gesturing at the Guards up the other end of the hall. There was a sound of crackling in the air as light-blue shards of ice formed and flew towards the black-armoured Plegians, propelled by an icy wind with the same speed and force as an arrow shot from a longbow. The shards embedded themselves along the hall as well as the Plegians, a lot more missing than Robin would have liked but still forcing them back into cover.

The tactician blinked a few times when his spell was finished, patting himself down quickly and making ice crystals fly off his coat.

“Huh. That’s the first time I’ve used that spell and not been dying.”

“Congratulations, now move before the Guards decide to change that!” Cordelia urged him, grabbing his arm and dragging him forwards as the Shepherds started running again.

They ran past the still reeling bowmen lying in cover in fear of Robin’s spell, the six Ylisseans glaring discouragingly at the men as they passed. Except for Robin, who was still grinning like a madman at the success of his spell; he’d exhausted his mana more than once trying to perfect that particular spell with Miriel and Ricken on the way back from Valm, and it looked like all that work of shooting ice-arrows into the ocean and creating miniature icebergs had paid off.

The small group pounded into the entry hall, skidding to a halt when the great double-doors behind them slammed closed with a flick of Robin’s hand and a small wind spell. For good measurement Robin sent a lightning bolt into the closest pillar, bringing the heavy stone down before the door.

_That’ll slow em down for a while_ , he thought with satisfaction, turning and walking into Chrom’s back.

“Trap?” Chrom asked breathlessly, breathing heavily.

“Ylisseans!” a balding man in a cape and ornate black armour, obviously the Guard Captain or someone similar, shouted from his position barring the gate with at least twenty other men. “Surrender and your ends will be quick and painless!”

“Trap,” Robin sighed, glancing around the Ylissean Exalt and cracking his knuckles.

_He knew I’d box us in like this…_ Robin thought, re-evaluating Validar’s cunning.

“Can you use that spell again?” Chrom asked under his breath as the two groups squared off, waiting to see who would make the first move.

Robin took a deep breath, calming his mind and mentally taking stock of what he still could or couldn’t do before shaking his head slowly.

“Not if I want to cast any other spells. We should probably hold off unless absolutely necessary. Just in case.”

Chrom nodded. “So it’s the old fashioned way, then?”

“I guess so,” Robin shrugged, holding Sol up challengingly in one hand.

“Counter-proposal!” Robin shouted back to the Plegians, conjuring a small flame above his opposite hand for emphasis. “Get out of our way, and we don’t raze your castle to the ground!”

“We weren’t going to anyway,” Chrom hissed.

“They don’t need to know that!” Robin whispered back.

The Plegians began whispering amongst themselves, falling silent when the Guard Captain strode forward, unclasping his cape and letting it fall to the ground as he adopted a ready-stance, axe held low.

“I think we’ll take our chances!” he called back as the other Guards fell in at his side.

“So much for diplomacy,” Robin sighed, throwing the fireball he’d conjured at one of the guards on the periphery, setting the man’s clothes alight and effectively removing him from the battle as he stumbled around, screaming and desperately patting at the flames enveloping him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Chrom said. “Everyone stick close and form up; arrow formation. Frederick-”

“Take the tip,” the Knight said, stepping forward. “I know how this works by now, milord. Stay behind me.”

“He’s getting mouthy,” Robin pointed out as he stepped to Frederick’s side, Chrom opposite him and Lucina behind him.

“I’ll berate him later,” Chrom laughed. “Shepherds! Forward!”

Frederick shot forward like a hound loosed from its chain, bellowing a challenge and swinging his sword in wide arcs to intimidate the guards in his path. A few actually stepped back, fear of the charging warriors that had just returned from a great victory in a far-off land getting the better of them. The Captain stood firm, though, stopping Frederick’s charge by meeting the Knight’s sword with his axe and forcing the other six to spread out and crash into the rest of the guards.

“I am Algol, Captain of the Plegian Guard!” the balding man roared as he traded blows with Frederick. “On my honour none shall leave this place alive!”

Robin resisted the urge to toss a quip in the man’s direction, spinning and slashing with Sol with a grace he hadn’t possessed even before he’d been injured in Valm. The other Shepherds, too, fought with a new ferocity, making short work of the Plegians while Frederick cut down their Captain.

Algol fell backwards, the guard’s gleaming black chest-plate cloven almost in two by Frederick’s mighty strikes, landing on the ground with a wet thud and coughing violently.

“Forget him! Move!” Chrom called, urging the others on to the exit again. “The exit’s right there! Go!”

They all dashed towards their freedom again, Robin hesitating after only a few steps as a familiar sensation prickled in the back of his mind.

“Stop!” he shouted, just in time for Chrom to skid to a halt at his friend’s warning on the edge of a bright magic circle on the floor, the talisman around the tactician’s neck suddenly searing flesh and fabric alike.

Validar stepped out of the teleportation spell, smiling confidently as he raised his hand and sent a bolt of dark magic directly into Chrom’s chest. Thanks to Robin’s warning the Exalt managed to dodge to the side in time, taking the hit on his shoulder but still being knocked to the ground.

“Run all you like,” Validar taunted. “You can’t escape fate!”

Validar raised his other hand, indicating at the other Shepherds and scattering them; Cordelia, Lucina, Libra and Frederick each ducking behind whatever cover they could as dark spells exploded around them, shards of wood and stone flying around the room at Validar’s display of destructive power.

But in the middle of the maelstrom Robin stood frozen, unable to move as the shards bounced harmlessly off his coat, smoke beginning to rise from his chest as the trinket Tharja had given him burned hotter than it ever had before.

“Father! Robin!” Lucina called desperately, Validar lazily tossing another spell at the pillar she was hiding behind, forcing her to duck away again.

“The Fire Emblem,” Validar repeated, stepping towards Chrom. “Give it freely, or it will be taken.”

“Just try it,” the Exalt snarled, holding his injured arm close to his chest as he pointed Falchion at Validar, kicking away from the sorcerer and back towards Robin.

The tactician stood, still frozen and unable to even speak as he struggled against the invisible chains holding him.

Validar let out a harsh laugh, his gaze falling on Robin.

“I don’t have to do anything. Do I, Robin?”

_Take it. Take the Emblem. Take it now._

_What? No!_

_Do it. It’s your destiny. You know it._

_Suck a lemon, nut-job. Do your own dirty work._

_Oh… where did this defiance come from? Did I not plant the seed of greatness in your mind before Valm? You should be begging me to allow you to ascend!_

_That was you!? I knew I wasn’t crazy! You’re just as nuts as everyone else we’ve fought!_

_How did you manage to overcome the curse, I wonder? I suppose it doesn’t matter anyway; you will cease to be, all the same._

_Yeah, good luck with that. Not so easy, is it?_

_Take. The. Emblem. Now!_

Robin let out a strangled groan as the pressure inside his head nearly tripled, his whole body convulsing as blood started leaking from his nose, the conversation taking place inside his head at lightning speed.

Validar chuckled, reaching towards Robin’s throat and pulling the little amulet out of his shirt by the leather cord.

_Trinkets won’t stop me,_ Validar laughed in his mind, yanking the amulet off of Robin’s neck and tossing the little thing away, untroubled by the thing’s searing heat.

The tactician was instantly hit by a new wave of nausea and pain as he felt his resistance begin to crack.

_I’ve tried to help you once already, boy, and you’ve thrown that back in my face. I’m done playing._

_If that was helping, then I can’t wait to see you try to kill me._

_We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Take the Emblem._

_No. I already told you no! Here’s a thought, why don’t you go ahead and suck my-_

_DO IT! TAKE IT NOW!_

Chrom looked up as Robin doubled over, clutching at his head and screaming in agony as invisible needles pierced his mind from every angle.

“Robin!” Cordelia shrieked, attempting to get to the two men and being forced behind cover again by Validar’s magic again, the sorcerer clicking his tongue irritably as watermelon-sized chunk of stone exploded next to Cordelia’s head.

_I’m not asking you, son. I’m telling you._

Robin reeled as the word ‘son’ echoed around his head, his tenuous control of his body snapping and his mind shattering.

With a surprised shout Chrom’s head snapped to the side as Robin drove his booted foot into it, the room going silent as Robin stumbled to the side and fell to the ground next to the Exalt, blood leaking from his face in alarming quantities now.

_The Emblem…_ Validar purred in Robin’s mind, forcing the tactician back to his feet and shuffling over to the fallen Chrom, clutching at his broken nose.

“C-Chrom…” Robin groaned through clenched teeth. “I… I can’t… stop it… Please… stop… me…”

The Exalt looked up again as Robin fell to his knees, bringing his fist down on his friend’s jaw with all of the unnatural strength afforded by whatever darkness Validar was pouring into him.

“Robin, what are you doing!?” Lucina cried, ignoring Validar and stepping out of cover.

The sorcerer ignored her, though, smiling at Robin expectantly as the tactician began undoing the clasps keeping the Emblem secured to Chrom’s arm.

“Robin,” the Exalt murmured in confusion, silenced when Robin’s fist descended again, a sickening crack following the blow.

_Stop!_ Robin pleaded in his mind as cruel laughter began to echo around the inside of his head. _I’m begging you! Don’t do this! You’re condemning the entire world to death!_

“I know,” Validar said as Robin rose jerkily back to a standing position, shuffling over to the man.

The others watched on horrified as the tactician handed their salvation over to Validar.

“Well done, my child,” Validar announced. “At last, the Fire Emblem belongs to me. And with my Gemstone, it will be complete!”

Robin let out a low growl, struggling to regain control.

“Now, to set the Table and perform the rite,” Validar muttered, completely forgetting Robin was there as he turned away and took a few steps.

“Va-li-dar…” Robin groaned, his muscles straining against invisible bonds with unimaginable mental fortitude, almost pushing himself to ruin in doing so.

The sorcerer looked back curiously, one brow arched at his son’s defiance.

“Give… give it back…” Robin ground out, fighting the pain surging through his entire body with each word. “G-give it… back. Or… y-you’ll… regret… it…”

The Plegian King let out a cold laugh, gesturing at Robin with one hand.

“Oh, I highly doubt that, son,” he chuckled.

Robin fell to his knees, released from the spell as Validar teleported away in a bright flash, circles fading as the room erupted into motion again.

“What… have I done?” Robin whispered as his consciousness ebbed, collapsing backwards with a thud next to Chrom.

*

“Father!” Lucina cried, skidding on her knees next to the Exalt.

Her hands danced over Chrom’s face and neck, blood coating much of his lower face from his broken nose and split lip. Libra appeared at her side, already holding a compact healing staff over the Exalt and channelling white magic as Lucina watched. Behind them the sound of boots coming to a stop rang out twice.

“Step away from the tactician, Cordelia,” Frederick growled.

Lucina looked up at the back of the Knight Commander in shock; he was standing between the bodies of Robin and Chrom, sword drawn and angled at Robin. In his path was Cordelia, her arms outstretched and a firm set to her beautiful features.

“It wasn’t his fault!” Cordelia said.

“He attacked the Exalt and may well have doomed us all!” Frederick snapped. “He’s a traitor! Stand aside and let justice be done!”

“His mind was not his own!” Cordelia urged, not moving an inch from her husband’s path. “This has happened before! He was not at fault!”

“It has happened before, and you know how that turned out! He almost killed us all! And you would take that chance again!?” Frederick shouted. “You would choose him over me!?”

Lucina watched, completely at a loss as the two highest military authorities in Ylisse glared at each other, Cordelia not budging from what she thought was right as Frederick stalwartly prepared to carry out what he saw as his duty.

And Lucina could only watch, torn between the conflicting emotions she felt.

She loved him… but he had just given away their only hope of victory…

Before the red-headed Knight could answer the accusing question a loud slamming sound came from the door Robin had barricaded. Lucina rose to her feet, looking back at the doors.

“We’re out of time,” Libra said, his usually calm voice hard and cold. “Frederick, take Chrom. Cordelia, take Robin. We’ll sort all of this out once we’re safe. Until then, move!”

The doors at the back of the hall splintered, the tops coming away from the stonework as black-bladed weapons began breaking through the thick wood. Glowing red eyes appeared in the breach for a moment, accompanied by an animalistic growl before the smashing continued, more and more of the door being torn away.

Cordelia bent down without any hesitation, lifting Robin and draping him across her shoulders, grabbing his sword and taking off for the open gate. Frederick did much the same with Chrom, hesitating only long enough to glare at Robin one last time.

“Lucina, we must go,” Libra urged, snapping her out of her reverie.

She nodded, and they ran as fast as they could into the night.


	53. Chapter 53

A huge, heavy axe hit the door again and again, wearing it down and cutting deep through the thick wood with each blow. The axe’s wielder, an imposing, bearded Risen snarling and growling with every blow howled in success as he finally broke through the door, moving to see where his quarry had gotten to.

Grinning, Tigris resumed his assault on the blocked door, snarling and slavering as he caught sight of his prey.

The Plegian guards shied away from the Deadlord singlehandedly beating down a door that ten of them hadn’t been able to move an inch, eyeing the Risen with undisguised terror.

“Cowards!” Aversa spat as she stepped through them, shoving a few of the cowering men out of her path. “Get out of my way! Move, damn you!”

_Curse that smug bastard Robin,_ she growled in her head, standing a small way back from the Risen still tearing through the door at an alarming rate.

_He may have amnesia, but that doesn’t stop him from rubbing his superiority in my face, does it? He’ll pay for that, I swear it._

The dark-skinned woman ground her teeth, fists clenching as she waited for Tigris to finish his attack on the door.

Validar had teleported off without her, and was already no doubt on his way to the Dragon’s Table while she was still standing here, surrounded by simpering morons and unstable Risen obsessed with destruction.

She considered simply killing the Guards for their incompetence, the way Validar would have, but a sound from behind her caught her attention and made her turn, forestalling that thought. One of the guards was lying on the floor, whimpering pathetically as he clutched at what looked like a foot-long shard of glass or ice sticking out of his mid-section, the men around him desperately trying to administer first aid before he bled out. Aversa had read that stomach wounds, unless healed magically, were often fatal. The guard didn’t stand much chance, considering all of the royal priests were dark mages, and already at the Dragon’s Table to boot.

He gave a pitiful shriek as one of the other men yanked the shard from his stomach, bunching up a rag and trying to stop the bleeding with it.

“Hey, eyes on me!” the guard said forcefully as the man suffering on the ground began to gasp, his gaze becoming unfocused. “Stay with me! You’ll be fine, you just have to stay awake, you understand me? Stay with me!”

The wounded guard nodded, breathing in short gasps and trying to remain calm. That was about all that Aversa could stomach. Drawing her dagger she began stomping over to the small knot of men, all of them looking up in shock and backing away when she loomed over the two on the ground.

“You,” she said to the man that had been administering first aid. “Move.”

He did so reluctantly, shuffling to the side as Aversa sunk down to take his place.

“You, hold still,” she told the wounded man in the same tone of voice as he began quaking in fear.

Without warning her dagger flashed out, cutting a small gash in the unwounded man’s arm and making him recoil, hissing in pain. Casting a small hex she honestly hadn’t used since learning so many years ago, Aversa drew the life energy from the unwounded man and used it to heal the other’s stomach wound, roughly placing her hand over the puncture in his stomach. It was a simple twist on the common Nosferatu spell, nothing special, but the way that the eyes of the Guards widened again one would think she had just grown a second head.

“Get him out of here,” she spat once she was finished, rising back to her feet and wiping her hand and dagger clean on the unwounded man’s shoulder.

“My… my lady, thank you,” the wounded Guard muttered as his friends lifted him and carried him out of the hall; he would be exhausted and still sore for a while, but his life was no longer in danger.

Aversa resisted the urge to sneer at the guards as they carried the other man away. She had just been sick of listening to him whine; that was all. Plegia was experiencing a shortage of man-power, so of course she hadn’t killed him. It would have been a waste.

Aversa’s hand darted out, grabbing the shoulder of one of the slower guards.

“Go to the stables,” she ordered him. “Tell the riders to prepare to give chase.”

“Y-yes, milady,” he stammered before darting off in the opposite direction.

“The rest of you form up on me! As soon as that door’s down we’re going through it and killing anything not wearing black on the other side!” she ordered, the other Guards milling about snapping to attention and moving to follow her orders.

The woman’s head snapped up as rough laughter reached her ears, her gaze narrowing as Tigris guffawed at her show of weakness in healing the wounded Guard.

“Didn’t I order you to break down that door!?” Aversa snapped, her mouth a hard line on her beautiful face. “Get to it before I take that shard and stick it in you, instead!”

Tigris grunted, swinging his axe a few more times, and they were through.

Aversa realised as she clambered over the fallen pillar that she was too late, though; apart from the corpses of Algol and his guards the hall was empty. The Guard Captain let out a weak groan as Aversa drew closer and she sighed, drawing her dagger and preparing her Nosferatu spell again.

_Waste not, want not,_ as the saying went, and Algol was worth quite a bit more than some nameless guard.

With an irritated sigh Aversa knelt down next to the Captain, indicating one of the other Guards come over and assist her.

She glanced up as the terrified man shuffled over, glaring at Tigris.

“Send word to Equus and the others,” Aversa practically spat out. “Run the Ylisseans down. No survivors. I want Robin’s head on a platter.”

The hulking Risen chuckled again before bounding off into the night, leaving Aversa to play cleric while Robin escaped her once again.

*

Tigris slowed as he entered the darkened stable, none of the lamps or torches lit as a matter of taste for the Deadlords within. Tigris slowed in front of three mounted forms, bunched closely together and sitting astride horses as black as midnight with the same glowing red eyes as their masters.

Equus, the Deadlord second only to Mus in power that Tigris had been sent to find glanced over lazily as the axe-wielding Risen waltzed into his domain, clicking his forked tongue in annoyance.

He didn’t need to know what Tigris wanted; he already did. Of course the useless humans had allowed the master’s target to escape; the noble horseman had expected no less. Tigris merely pointed in the direction that the target had fled in, and Equus nodded.

Bovis, the mounted bowman, and Anguilla, the sage of horses, looked to their leader expectantly.

Bovis looked as passive as he always did, calmly waiting beneath his dark grey traveller’s coat, a longbow slung over his mount’s saddle and his curved, single-edged sword strapped to his hip. Anguilla, however, had opted to dress more in line with the current trends among mages, having appropriated a local gold-edged black cloak from somewhere. His light steel armour beneath it made him look more than intimidating to the humans, but the constant cruel sneer his face presented was what truly froze hearts upon seeing him.

With an expectant smirk Equus dug his heels into his mount’s sides, the cry it let out akin to the death-knell of mortal men as the trio sped out of the stables faster than any mortal creatures ever could, the six sets of glowing red eyes becoming blurred lines in the dark. As they went more forms materialised out of the darkness, pounding hooves multiplying until a legion of masked-ones were following the Three Riders as they burned across the sands.

Tigris watched them go with envy, debating trying to run after them, but deciding against it when he heard a sniffling sound from behind him. Turning the Deadlord beheld the Guard that the master’s pet’s pet had dispatched to order the three riders to make ready. Judging from the state of the man grovelling on the ground and trying to hold his insides actually inside of him, blood running from empty eye-sockets as he shuffled about the ground weakly, Equus hadn’t taken well to being ordered around by a human.

With a grin and a dark chuckle Tigris set upon the man, finishing what his brother had started and basking in the terrified screams of agony as he fed.

*

Lucina pumped her legs, willing herself to simply focus on the task of running and escape from the Plegian castle; fortunately it was built separate from the capital, a vast stretch of desert between the two, so the Shepherds weren’t being forced to dodge civilians. However this also raised the issue of not having any cover to use, so they had to keep running.

_Just keep running_ , Lucina told herself, looking back and forth between her unconscious father bouncing on Frederick’s shoulder like a sack of grain and her unconscious lover laid across Cordelia’s shoulders in a ‘fire-man’ carry.

_Don’t think about it. Keep running. There’ll be time enough to throw around blame later. Keep running._

“Where the hell are the others!?” Frederick shouted as they sped through the desert. “What was the point of the hex if they don’t know we need help!?”

“I don’t know!” Libra answered, doing his best to heal Chrom’s wounds and keep running at the same time.

Lucina glanced over her shoulder back at the Castle, silently cursing as a column of dust rising into the night sky announced the fact that they were being pursued.

“We’re being followed!” she shouted in warning.

Frederick glanced back, cursing much louder than Lucina had.

“There’s a lot more than we can handle, even if the others catch up!” he said, his pace increasing.

“That’s not true!” Libra said, giving up on healing and readying his axe instead. “Tharja, Laurent and Henry can keep them off us and we can escape! Do not give up hope yet!”

“I am far from giving up, priest,” Frederick growled. “I am just being pragmatic.”

Libra shook his head as they all ran, hanging back with Lucina so that the two were between the pursuers and the two Knights carrying the wounded men.

“If it comes to it we may have to slow them down, Princess,” the priest said. “Can I count on you to fight with a clear head?”

Lucina cast the priest a sidelong glance; his features were unusually hard as he ran alongside her, his soft smile and easy, approachable bearing that had made him so popular as a preacher during the war were gone, replaced by the cold warrior he became when the need arose.

“I will manage,” she said tersely, looking away from the man.

It wasn’t a lie; she could push her emotions down if the need arose and become a warrior. She had done so numerous times in the past. It was a life skill that had become a necessity in her forsaken future; one couldn’t go to pieces when a comrade fell to the Risen, or else they would often soon follow.

Libra nodded his understanding, glancing over his shoulder again. The Risen were gaining fast; they could already make out the individual riders, and the three figures leading the mounted legion.

“Are those… Deadlords?” Lucina asked, a rare quaver in her voice.

“I pray to Naga we don’t find out,” the priest muttered as the four Shepherds picked up their pace.

*

Equus grinned savagely as he pushed his mount faster and faster, the beast practically frothing at the mouth as he whipped it into a frenzy. They were gaining of the Ylisseans, but that was to be expected when he gave chase to something; there was nothing in the world that could out-run Equus.

He could see them panicking; he could see the Knights carrying the unconscious two pumping their legs as hard as they could, trying to outrun the inevitable; he watched the other, unburdened two looking back, weapons ready and judging when would be the best time to stop to make their last stand.

It would do them no good, though. Equus had summoned the majority of the masked ones, Risen that had proven adept at handling the shadow steeds their master conjured up for them, their faces hidden by either dark leather masks or full-faced helms; a thousand riders bearing a multitude of different weapons, not to mention the other two Deadlords riding at his back.

He wouldn’t stop with these paltry four, though; he would continue to ride, to run down the other Ylisseans that thought they were so cleverly hidden over the ridge to their south, and then they would continue on to the Ylissean homeland, killing everything in their path.

It would be glorious, and Equus’ victory started now.

He raised his lance, pale moonlight reflecting off of the black tip as he closed with the blue-haired woman, preparing to bring his lance down and flying through the air.

The Deadlord had to stop and think.

Flying through the air? That wasn’t how this usually went. There was supposed to have been the slight resistance of his lance, his beloved Gungnir, cutting through weak flesh and bouncing along bone, not this emptiness that he was feeling.

At once his confusion turned to rage as he fell into the sand, hard enough to crack his armour plates. Equus stood, roaring in outrage at having been unseated, the denial dying on his black lips as he beheld the power of a god at work.

Lighting and fire fell from the sky, torrents of green wind tearing his Riders apart as he watched. Golden bolts of power crashed to the desert sands, scattering his Risen as flames licked at those still mounted, their speed doing nothing to save them.

He had been thrown clear, but as he watched he spotted his mount writhing in agony as flames ate away at it, finally dissolving into the dust they all came from as its pain ceased.

Equus looked around for the source of such magnificent destruction, expecting to see an entire army of mages; surely none but an army of spellcasters could pull this off to such a degree!

There, up on the ridge, Equus spotted someone.

A lone woman, wearing the robes of a Dark Mage similar to the ones Anguilla wore, was standing with her hand outstretched, obviously muttering words of power as her ebon hair and cloak were blown about in the backdraft. A he watched, two more mages joined her, pooling their power and all-but annihilating his force single-handedly.

Equus’ burning eyes met those of the Dark Mage, a cold smile appearing on the woman’s face before she turned and disappeared in a flourish of black cape, leaving only dust and discarded weapons in her wake as the other two followed, leaving Equus to issue commands to regroup.

His great charge would have to wait.

He had to kill the woman first.

*

_“Hah!” the young girl crowed. “I win again!”_

_“Yeah,” Robin sulked. “But you’re mean to your men.”_

_“Father says some losses are acceptable,” the girl sneered, a superior smirk on her face as they reset the board._

_“Mother says that all life is important, and that no one should have to die,” Robin argued. “That’s our job as tacticians, to make sure everyone gets home safe!”_

_Robin looked up, on the verge of frustrated tears._

_“Mother, tell her…” he pleaded to the woman watching them play._

_The older woman shook her head kindly. Robin started as he realised he still couldn’t make out her face. The girl sitting across from him in mage apprentice robes was clear as day and infuriatingly familiar, but he couldn’t see his mother’s face no matter how hard he tried or what angle he looked at her from._

_“You’re both right,” the older woman said. “Some losses are unavoidable during war.”_

_“Hah! See?” the younger girl laughed triumphantly._

_“But you were still wrong too, (why can’t I hear her name?),” Robin’s mother said, almost sadly._

_“Toldja so!” Robin said excitedly._

_“As tacticians we balance life and death in our hands,” she said, picking up the Robin’s commander and (I know who she is, why can’t I recognize her!?)’s commander pieces. “We have to admit to ourselves that not everyone is going to get home. But we have to make sure as many as possible do. Do you both understand me?”_

_Robin and (argh, this is driving me nuts!) both nodded as the older woman placed the pieces back on the board, lovingly ruffling both child’s hair._

_“Now play again,” she instructed. “Robin, be a little braver. Aversa, show a little more restraint.”_

_“Aversa?” Robin repeated, looking up at the girl across from him with wide eyes._

_“What?” she asked, a frown on her face. “Are you going to make the first move or are you too scared to?”_

_Robin blinked at the girl, at least ten years younger but still possessing the same furrow in her brow when she frowned, and the same colour hair, the same cruel glint in her eyes…_

_He glanced up at his mother, unable to make out her features but still sure she was smiling._

_The young tactician glanced down at the board, blinking another few times as the pieces shifted and changed, becoming oddly familiar figures…_

_The leader of his Pegasus Knights suddenly had red hair…_

_His axeman wasn’t wearing a shirt…_

_His commander was a man with dark blue hair, now…_

_Robin shook his head, carefully reaching out and making his first move, pushing a green-armoured cavalryman forward._

_“I’m not going to lose,” Robin promised, looking up at Aversa defiantly._

*

“Get him on the bed,” Maribelle ordered, already rolling up her sleeves as Cordelia stepped into the well-lit tent.

The Wing Commander did as she was bid; laying the still-unresponsive body of the tactician down on the cot that Maribelle had set out as gently as she could.

As soon as their mysterious saviour had dealt with the Risen chasing them Libra had raced ahead to prepare separate healing spaces for both Robin and Chrom, Lucina sticking with them until they arrived at the quickly unfolding Shepherd camp in the shade of the ridge the old mage had attacked from. The Princess had stood, lost and confused as Robin and Chrom were brought to separate tents; Libra had surmised it would be better to separate them until some answers were gleaned, and Cordelia had silently agreed with the priest.

She was a little worried about Lucina; there’s no way that this would be easy for the girl, but Robin needed her attention more, right now. As a Pegasus Knight she had the same training as a low-level cleric, and could even use a healing staff if she had to; she could be of assistance to Maribelle while Brady was helping Libra with Chrom, who for all intents and purposes was a higher-level priority than the tactician.

Cordelia resisted the urge to sigh as she began to scrub her own hands next to Maribelle; her defiance in the face of what her husband thought their duty was would no doubt be an issue later, but it could wait until Robin was safe. There was no way she would have been able to just stand there and watch Frederick strike a defenceless man down for any reason; the fact that he was apparently capable of such a senseless act sent chills down Cordelia’s spine, but she pushed all that aside to focus on helping Robin for now.

Looking down at the tactician Cordelia involuntarily winced. He was a mess, coated in blood to the point that his white shirt had been dyed red, all of it his own. Red liquid was still seeping from his nose and ears, and when Maribelle checked his pupils his eyes had been bloodshot to the point of matching his shirt. He hadn’t made a sound, not even a groan, as she’d carried him across her armoured shoulders, which bode ill of his state considering how he reacted from simple hugs.

“We need to get his coat off and check for wounds,” Maribelle said, picking Robin up slightly. “Take his coat off; we’ll just cut the shirt away.”

Cordelia stepped forward, doing as she was told and pulling the coat from his back, then using Robin’s own dagger to cut his shirt down the middle and expose his torso.

The dagger clattered to the ground, Cordelia gasping as she stepped back.

“What in Naga’s name…?” Maribelle whispered, carefully pulling the torn shirt away from his flesh.

All across Robin’s chest and stomach, and no doubt spreading up to his shoulders and back, circles and lines like something out of a spellbook pulsated under his skin, dark purple lines like corrupt veins criss-crossing his flesh and pulsating as if alive. Cordelia felt sick just looking at them; there was something utterly wrong about the symbols, and it made her want to look away, to run from the tent and get Frederick, letting him have his way and ending the tactician, even though she knew it was just her mind playing tricks on her.

Robin was a kind and gentle man; this… filth was some kind of spell. It wasn’t his fault.

As she watched the lines squirmed and moved, wriggling across Robin’s chest into a different configuration, the unconscious man letting out a low moan as they did.

“What happened to him?” Maribelle asked urgently, having a similar reaction to Cordelia before stepping back forward. “I can’t treat him unless you tell me what happened! What did this to him!?”

“It is the fell-dragon’s power given physical form, and I would not touch it were I you,” a familiar voice said as the tent-flaps were drawn back again.

Tharja strode in, covered in dust from their rescue of the others on the ridge and obviously exhausted to the point of dropping, but holding herself up on sheer willpower and moving to Robin’s side.

“Explain this,” Maribelle ordered. “And more importantly, explain how you know this-”

“Not important,” the Dark Mage muttered, shooing her away. “But if it really bothers you my tutelage in the Dark Artes was very… thorough. And this is ancient magic. The best I can hope to do is seal it before it consumes him. They tried and failed to do it subtly once already; this is… this is a mess. It’s almost insulting to a mage to have to look at this travesty.”

“What do you mean?” Cordelia asked as Maribelle seethed at being so abruptly dismissed.

“I need you to go to my tent,” Tharja said without looking up, fingers lingering on the burns on Robin’s chest. “Noire should be near there. Tell her I need my hexing kit and my tools. She’ll know where they are.”

Cordelia blinked a few times, glancing first at Maribelle and then at Tharja before back to Robin. None of them looked like they had any idea what was going on, so she hesitated.

“There’s nothing you can do for him now except get my tools!” Tharja snapped, still looking down at Robin.

Cordelia started, dashing out of the tent and calling for Noire, silently praying that the Dark Mage could actually save their friend.

*

_Robin panted, wiping sweat out of his eyes as he stared at the board. He was actually physically exhausted from the beating he was taking, Aversa calmly and coldly obliterating his forces, completely un-fazed by the losses she was taking. At this point all Robin had left was a few motley pieces; his commander, some knights, a few warriors wielding various weapons… all his infantry were gone, all his cavalry were tied up on the opposite side of the board, and all his pieces were in danger._

_“Not so good at this now, are you?” she taunted as Robin’s mother watched on silently. “You look tired, dear brother. Why don’t you rest? It would be for the best. You may be able to put up some paltry resistance if your mind were fresh.”_

_The journeyman tactician sagged. He was defeated. There was no way out of this mess he’d gotten himself into. His sister was right. She was always right, and he could never beat her anyway. His breathing slowed as his vision began to narrow, endless darkness reaching out for him, silently promising peace if he just closed his eyes and…_

_Robin shook the doubts from his head, a promise he couldn’t recall spurring him on. He couldn’t remember it, but he knew it was important, and he knew that it hadn’t been fulfilled yet._

_A tactician never gave up; a tactician never admitted defeat; there was always a way out, a strategic retreat, or a flanking manoeuvre._

_“That’s right, honey,” Robin’s mother cooed. “Don’t give up yet. You can still come back.”_

_“He’s lost!” Aversa snarled, twin pinpricks of red light appearing in her pupils. “He lost before he even started! It’s his fate!”_

_Robin’s head snapped up at the familiar words, a spell around him coming undone and peeling away layer by layer like sheets of gauze. He was no longer the child, sitting there with his mother and his sister, playing a strategic game in the cosy study._

_He was a man now; a full-grown man that had experienced all life had to offer in only a few short years._

_He wasn’t in the study anymore; he stood atop a great fortress wall, surrounded by red-armoured wraiths and staring down his foe, empty handed atop the site of his greatest victory and his most bitter defeat at Fortress Steiger in Valm._

_He no longer faced his ‘sister’, but rather Validar, his father. He faced his father as he truly was now, with blazing red eyes, dead grey skin and fangs almost as long as Robin’s fingers protruding from his mouth._

_“You are lost, boy,” Validar sneered, repeating what Aversa had said to him. “Accept your fate.”_

_He was right. Robin should just kneel. He should just sleep, let it be done. He’d worked so hard lately, now he’d earned a rest._

_A deep, grinding laugh from somewhere behind Robin startled him, making his eyes go wide and causing him to wonder just what in the world he had been thinking!?_

_Robin’s fists tightened, his gaze dropping before snapping back up, his dagger suddenly in his hand._

_It was an endless cycle. He could fight it all he wanted, but as long as he or Validar yet lived, the latter could control him. Robin’s hand tightened to the point his knuckles went white, drawing himself up to his full height, holding himself proudly._

_“I am Robin of Ylisse!” he cried at the top of his lungs. “I denounce you, father, and your precious destiny! I defy you!”_

_With all his strength he plunged the dagger into his own heart as Validar watched, a look of utter astonishment crossing the sorcerer’s twisted features._

_“I challenge my fate!” Robin roared, falling to his knees. “I will not be controlled by you, or by anyone! My life is my own!”_

_Validar let out a wordless, enraged scream of frustration as Robin fell. As he hit the stones, he glanced up, catching a glimpse of an older woman in a black coat, smiling proudly at him as a great fanged maw closed around her._

_*_

With a pained gasp Robin opened his eyes, immediately coughing as he felt liquid in his throat.

“Easy,” someone soothed, helping him roll onto his side so he could spit the blood out of his mouth. “Easy, Robin. You had us worried there.”

The tactician’s vision began to clear as he was lowered back onto the cot, blinking a few times and making out the faces of Maribelle, Cordelia and Tharja looking down at him.

“I’m… getting kinda s-sick of waking up with people looking down… down at me,” he managed to rasp, grinning a little when the anxious faces all faded from the women’s countenances.

“Welcome back,” Tharja said softly, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Someone wanna explain to me… what happened?” Robin asked, wincing as he tried to sit up.

“Don’t move just yet,” Tharja said in a tired voice. “Just sit and recover. Your mind was fragmented; there was hardly anything left. I have done what I can, but it will take time for what was left to come back to you.”

“Who…?” Robin asked, looking around and catching a glimpse of Noire in the corner as well.

“It’s just us,” Cordelia said softly and reassuringly.

Before Robin could ask further questions Maribelle was above him, holding his eyes wide and checking his mouth and nose.

“You are unbelievable,” she growled under her breath as she yanked on his ear to turn his head and look inside of it. “That you, a mere commoner, would deign to make me worry so… Six hours we’ve slaved over your carcass, and not a word of thanks!”

“Ow! Geez, Maribelle, work on your bedside manner!” Robin groaned, weakly trying to swat her away. “Thank you already, thank you! Wait. Did you say six… hours…?”

As his hand passed his field of vision he froze, his eyes widening.

His glove was off, but the Grimleal mark wasn’t alone on his hand. Dark lines went all the way up his arm, as far as his restricted vision would allow him to see.

“Robin, we need you to remain calm,” Cordelia said, laying her own hand on the shoulder opposite the one Tharja’s was still resting on as Robin’s head snapped around, looking himself over as he began to hyperventilate.

The tactician looked down, a terrified cry rising and dying on his lips as he beheld the magic circles on his flesh.

“What…?” he went to ask, stopping as the memories began flooding back to him.

He had fallen under Validar’s control and attacked Chrom, giving up the Fire Emblem to the servant of the dark dragon they were trying to destroy. Nothing more, nothing less. He had doomed them all, all because he had been too weak to stop his father’s control.

_Damn,_ Robin thought. _He really is my father, isn’t he?_

The tactician fell back, going limp.

“How’s Chrom?” he asked in a toneless voice, staring up vacantly.

“He’s… fine…” Cordelia said awkwardly.

“A serious concussion, a shattered jaw and a fractured skull, from what Brady says,” Tharja said mercilessly. “He’s already on the mend and was trying to beat down the tent to see you while we were working earlier.”

_Yeah, I wonder why,_ Robin thought fatalistically.

Maribelle and Cordelia both looked about ready to throttle the Dark Mage, but Robin let out a sigh, forestalling them.

“And the others?”

“Nothing serious,” Tharja reported. “From what I saw I’m surprised you all fared so well. I… already removed the scrying hex.”

“Thank you,” Robin said in a small voice.

“We also had to relocate,” Tharja went on. “We’re closer to the border now, a safe distance away from the Plegian Capital. We haven’t seen any sign of any pursuit yet, but the Knights are reconnoitring by land and air to make sure we have plenty of warning if they do come after us.”

_Why would they bother when they already have what they want?_ Robin thought fatalistically.

“Looks like someone’s been paying attention,” he chuckled dryly instead, making the Dark Mage blush and look down.

“I-I-I just did wh-what you or Virion would have… done,” she said shyly, once again making Robin wonder why he was the only one that could get a rise out of her like that.

“So what happens n-” Robin began, being cut off from the sound of shouting outside the tent.

“I can hear him! I know he’s awake and I know they’re done! Dammit, Frederick, get off of me! I need to see if he’s okay!”

“Milord, he tried to kill you! He gave the Fire Emblem to our enemy!”

“Damn you, Frederick, as your Exalt I order you to get the hell off of me and shut your damn mouth!”

Robin looked up at the women leaning over him as they exchanged glances.

“I will stall them until you get dressed,” Cordelia said, a hard edge to her voice as she moved to the tent’s entrance.

“I’ll go with you,” Noire offered shakily, apparently in a hurry to be anywhere else, stepping to the tent entrance with the Wing Commander.

“Those two could be the best of friends if they just mellowed out a little,” Robin chuckled, sitting up slowly and taking a good look at his torso.

During the two other times the marks had shown up he hadn’t really gotten a good look at them; he’d been out in the dark the first time, and the marks had faded almost immediately afterwards. The second time he’d been a little too pre-occupied with rescuing Lucina to even notice when they’d faded, but this time it didn’t look like they were going anywhere.

“Don’t worry, they’ll fade eventually,” Tharja muttered from above him. “But it may take a little while this time. A couple of days at worst. His hold on you isn’t quite that strong yet.”

“Are you reading my mind now, too?” Robin asked, the question coming out a little harsher than he’d intended.

Tharja shook her head sadly. Maribelle was busying herself cleaning up the small tent, which included, apparently, a lot of Robin’s blood everywhere.

“No, but you’re staring down at your chest. It wasn’t hard to guess.”

Robin grunted noncommittally, running a hand over his chest and stopping when he found the new amulet around his neck.

“You lost the other one,” Tharja explained. “I had to make you a new one. This one should be more powerful, but I would prefer it if we didn’t have to test it.”

“How do you know all of this?” Robin asked in a tired voice.

“Yes, I am curious about that as well,” Maribelle said over her shoulder.

Tharja shuffled awkwardly, looking around the tent a little as if looking for an escape before sighing.

“My family is-” she began.

They all looked up as voices raised outside of the tent again, Chrom shouting something and Frederick shouting even louder, the noise all blending together as Robin struggled to get his sluggish thoughts into motion again.

“I can’t deal with this right now,” Robin groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I don’t even know what’s going on in my own head! How am I…?”

_Cordelia’s supporting me here, but… Gods, I kicked Chrom in the face! He trusted me and I attacked him like that. I stole the Fire Emblem and gave it to… How can I face him now? And Lucina… gods she must think me a monster now. Maybe I am._

The Dark Mage placed a hand on the stricken tactician’s shoulder, interrupting his self-loathing and indicating the bare canvas at the back of the tent with a nod, before nodding to the dagger on the belt hanging up with his coat, and finally winking before turning to Maribelle.

Tharja waggled her fingers a little, and Maribelle froze in place.

“Did you just hex our healer?” Robin asked, glancing up at Tharja.

“Yes, and she can still hear everything we’re saying,” the Dark Mage said, her voice strained. “If you’re going to go, do it now. She’s… surprisingly resistant to my spells.”

*

Cynthia let out a loud yawn as she walked through the rough camp that they had thrown up the previous night, glancing around as she blinked bleary, sleep deprived eyes trying to make out what was going on over by the medical tents. It looked like her father and a few of the others were arguing right outside of Robin’s tent.

That was no good; he’d been wounded, and their shouting was probably disturbing his rest.

So far everyone had been tight-lipped about what had happened in the Plegian Castle; all that she knew for certain was that the Fire Emblem had been stolen and that her father and Robin had returned on the verge of death.

Her father had been tended to quickly, much to her relief, and had been up and about not long after they initially regrouped, but Robin had still been out like a light when they’d picked up camp and relocated to a more secure location, Lady Cordelia carrying him across her saddle as they fled through the desert. A few times Lon’qu had led small groups to fight off the sporadic Plegian and Risen pursuers, but apart from that they’d escaped without incident.

Lucina had barely said a word once they’d set up camp, hardly acknowledging her questions before slinking off somewhere with a look of death on her face, making Cynthia even more worried.

“What-ho, cousin!” Owain shouted cheerily, coming up behind her. “Why would one of my fated companions have such a look of dismay on her face? We have yet to taste the bitterness of defeat! There is still hope! The mighty hero-tactician shall awaken and we will march upon Plegia and save the world! I know it, for the Justice Cabal marches with him!”

Cynthia snickered. Owain had been pacing relentlessly in worry of his ‘master’, constantly sneaking looks into Robin’s tent to see if he’d woken or not before Lady Tharja had noticed him and threatened to curse him to never be able to speak again; the blonde boy’s words were probably more to assuage his own fears than hers.

“You’re right, Owain,” she said with much more conviction than she felt.

“Although I’m worried about Luce,” he admitted, his theatrical manner slipping as he sagged a little.

Cynthia quirked a brow in his direction; he only dropped the weird way he spoke when he was really worried or really depressed about something. Not that Cynthia wasn’t worried about her sister, either, but seeing Owain like this, her little cousin a year younger than she was that had always followed her around like a lost puppy when they were kids, always made her want to cheer him up.

“Okay, so where is she?” Cynthia said excitedly, forcing herself to perk up a little for his sake. “We’ll find her, debrief her on behalf of the Justice Cabal, and then put a plan into motion!”

Owain blinked a few times before grinning a little, his spark reigniting.

“Yes! I last spotted our most Exalted cousin in the command tent! Let us be off! Operation Hellswrath Revenge awaits!”

They crossed the small camp quickly, dodging about other Shepherds going about duties or simply milling about, trying to kill time until their leaders returned to duty; Lon’qu had organized some semblance of a quick guard roster, but a lot of the others were just sitting on their hands while their entire command structure was tied up. The other Knights were out patrolling, and so were Gerome and Nah, but somehow Cynthia had been overlooked, making it obvious that Robin hadn’t done the roster this time.

The command tent had been left a mess once Lon’qu and Tharja had finished in it, and that hadn’t changed much as the two Ylissean royals entered. The only difference now was Lucina, going over the maps and reports like a woman possessed, tossing them to one side once she was finished with them and moving on to more.

“Hey, Lucy!” Cynthia called cheerily as they entered. “Watcha up to?”

Lucina glanced up for a moment, her eyes hollow with bags beneath them as she regarded her sister and cousin.

“I am attempting to figure out the first step we should take in retaking the Fire Emblem,” she said quietly, her voice devoid of emotion as she looked back down at the maps. “Validar would have gone directly to the Dragon’s Table. I am trying to find the best way to approach it.”

“Isn’t that… something you should leave for Robin?” Cynthia asked cautiously.

Their relationship was no secret, not any more thanks to a cramped boat and bored soldiers with little else to talk about, but the way Lucina physically flinched and accidently bunched up the maps in her hands made Cynthia’s disquiet grow.

She and Owain shared a glance, the blonde boy shrugging.

“So… what have you got?” he asked hesitantly, shuffling over to glance at the maps.

“I don’t know,” Lucina said at length. “I… I’ve been staring at these maps all night and I… I just…”

“Lucy, what’s wrong?” Cynthia asked, her anxiety growing further as she reached out and put a comforting hand on her sister’s arm.

Owain remained silent, choosing to put a comforting hand on the older girl’s shoulder, too.

The Princess looked up at the other two, a pained expression on her face before she took a deep breath, the mask sliding back into place.

“Tell me,” she asked, her voice carefully level. “Do either of you remember anything about Robin? I mean the Robin from our time, not the… man here with us now.”

Cynthia blinked a few times at the unexpected question, exchanging another glance with Owain before clearing her throat.

“I don’t really remember much of him at all,” she admitted. “We were young and he was one of the first… to die. Along with Father. I remember him being a constant presence, though. He was always there, and he really did love us like an uncle.”

“Even if he never smiled,” Owain added with a chuckle. “The way he constantly glowered you would think he was being held prisoner.”

Lucina nodded, her shoulders sagging a little.

“Mother told me stories,” Owain added quietly. “She used to tell me about the great and grumpy hero-tactician, who would do anything to make sure that his allies made it home alive and complain about it to them the entire way.”

“He really was a hero,” Cynthia said, leaning back against the table. “He did whatever it took to see victory. He never let anything stop him; nothing. He was almost ruthless, but that’s what we needed at the time, right? That’s the Robin I remember from when we were kids. But Lucy, what happened in Plegia? No one’s saying anything. What did that to him?”

Lucina nodded slowly.

“He did it to himself,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“Thank you both,” she added, her voice strong again as she stood straight, apparently coming to a decision as she picked up Falchion from where it rested against the side of the table and strapping it back to her hip.

“I know what path I must take now. I will trust the two of you in finding our path to the Dragon’s Table. Make it… suitably heroic.”

Cynthia’s eyes shined as she looked up at her sister.

“Of course, Lucy!” she cried as Lucina departed the tent. “We’ll make sure we look like the greatest heroes the world’s ever seen! Right, Owain!?”

She looked over to her cousin, staring after Lucina as she left.

“Owain?”

The blonde man glanced up, a worried expression on his face.

“Why would she need her sword in camp?” he asked seriously. “I mean, even I don’t carry any of mine around with me in camp. Anymore, that is.”

Cynthia thought for a moment, forcing herself to remain serious as the memory of Chrom berating his nephew for carrying six swords around camp with him all the time rose to her mind.

“Well, it is Falchion,” she reasoned. “Maybe she just wanted to take it back to her tent.”

“I hope that’s it,” Owain muttered, looking at the papers spread out over the large table for a few seconds before scratching the back of his head.

“Uh… do you know how to read a map?” he asked.

Cynthia started, eyes widening a little.

“Kinda?” she said unsurely, picking up one of the maps and holding it up, tilting it in various directions. “We always had Roark or Lucina to do it for us before… how hard can it be? I’m sure between the two of us we can figure it out!”

*

Robin panted, doubling over and resting his hands on his knees as he stopped in the middle of a field, an old tree not far from him. They really were close to the border again; long, dry grass reached up past his knees, and in the near distance he could see the mountains that separated Themis and Ylisse from Plegia.

He sighed, straightening and running a hand over his bare chest, the dark purple marks still now, but not having faded yet.

He had escaped from the tent with barely a backwards glance, stopping only long enough to cut a hole in the back with his dagger and grab his coat, intending to just find someplace to sort himself out. He just needed time to think before everyone was on top of him again, even if running made him look guilty.

Besides; he was guilty.

There were no ifs, ands or buts about it. He’d handed the Fire Emblem over, and even if he hadn’t been under his own power it had still been his hands that had committed that betrayal. He wore his sins plain to see, all over his bare chest in the form of the dark Grimleal marks covering his body.

How hard had he struggled against his father’s mental control, all for a headache and one hell of a nosebleed?

Robin thanked Naga that he’d been facing away from Lucina at the time. He didn’t think he’d be able to cope with the look of betrayal that had no doubt been on her face.

_Oh gods,_ he lamented, sinking to sit on a rock and burying his face in his hands. _What have I done?_

He should have been able to see the signs. By Naga, why hadn’t he paid more attention!?

The dream he’d been having when Chrom and Lissa had found him made perfect sense now. Even the dagger looked familiar in his gloved hand, glinting softly in the pre-dawn light as he turned it over.

It had been staring him in the face this entire time and Robin had simply been too absorbed in himself to face the truth. The Grimleal mark on his hand that appeared whenever he had used dark magic; the fact that a magical arte that took years of dedicated training to learn even the basics for came so unnervingly easy to him; the insane losses of control, the lust for violence during the war for Valm.

It all hinted at the bigger picture Robin had been too afraid to see.

_I’m the reason the world ends_ , he thought, a low moan escaping his throat. _I’m the reason Grima returns. I’m the reason that Lucina and the others have suffered so much. I have to be. It makes too much sense._

Robin realised he would probably be doing the world a great favour if he took the knife and stuck it in his chest, just like in his dream. There wouldn’t even be any resistance; Jake may not seem like it, but the scruffy blacksmith was a master artisan, and the dagger was sharp enough for the tactician to shave with. Stabbing himself in the heart would be as simple as cutting through warm butter.

He had sworn that nobody else would die. He’d sworn to protect them all, but he couldn’t protect them from himself when his mind wasn’t even his own. He couldn’t protect anyone from Validar if he could control Robin’s mind.

_What if he makes me hurt Lucina?_ Robin wondered, shuddering at the thought. _Or Morgan? Gods, what if he can control Morgan, too!?_

The thought of his daughter with the same markings covering her body as his, writing in pain as she struggled to resist the maniac torturing her from inside her own head made his knuckles tighten on the hilt of his dagger. Experimentally he prodded the weapon against his bare flesh, his hand always stopping him before he could break the skin, a weak flare of familiar magical resonance tickling his sixth sense every time he prodded.

_Dammit, Tharja,_ Robin thought bitterly. _You would curse me to not be able to kill myself._

A sound from behind him made the tactician spin, his hand holding the dagger dropping and moving behind his back a little as he relaxed.

“Lucina,” he said, moving to face her.

The blue-haired woman he had sworn to protect with his last breath stopped, staring at his open coat with wide eyes. Robin didn’t try to hide the marks still on his skin; there was no point. She’d seen what he’d done. This was part of his penance.

“As you can see, there are some… side effects to my little episode in the Castle,” Robin said sadly, waving his free hand in front of his chest.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked quietly.

“Sitting,” Robin shrugged. “Thinking. I’m… thinking.”

“With your dagger in your hand?” Lucina asked, glancing at the knife sitting on Robin’s lap.

Robin let out a weak chuckle.

“You know I come up with my best ideas on the battlefield.”

Lucina was quiet for a moment, ignoring the tactician’s weak joke before moving to stand directly in front of him.

“What happened back there?” she asked seriously.

“That?” Robin asked, looking up at her. “That’s what I was talking about. In Valm, something similar happened in Steiger, but I couldn’t resist it. I’m starting to be able to fight it, build up a resistance but… Not fast enough, it appears.”

Lucina nodded slowly.

“And Validar?” she asked.

“Most definitely my father,” Robin sighed, running a hand over his face.

When the sorcerer had been in his head it had felt oddly familiar at first, stirring more memories Robin couldn’t actually recall. It had felt like something that had happened often in the past, Validar’s mind actually showing a little parental pride when he’d fought so hard against his control, an emotion that Robin only recognized from feeling it himself when he looked at Morgan. There wasn’t any doubt about his heritage any more. More of the gaps in his past were being filled in, and Robin found the answers he was finding to be less than the happy memories he’d been hoping for.

_Gods, I have a sister, too,_ he realized with a sigh.

“Robin?” Lucina asked, making him look up.

“Sorry, kinda started drifting there,” he muttered without standing. “Thinking about… family I apparently have. Not pleasant thoughts.”

Lucina was quiet a moment, looking down at the tactician with a slight frown. The moment stretched out, until Robin had enough of being stared at.

“Sorry, did you need something?” Robin asked with a little more venom than he intended to, glancing up at the Princess.

Lucina’s brow quirked a little.

“Could he do it again?” she asked.

“Huh?” Robin asked, his tired mind beginning to grow irritated.

“Validar,” Lucina repeated. “Could he control you again?”

“Probably,” Robin sighed.

“And he could make you do just about anything?”

“He could probably even make me kill Morgan, if that’s what you’re asking. Or you. Or… Chrom. Well. Shit.”

Robin burst into laughter, Lucina taking a sharp breath as all the pieces fell into place in the tactician’s mind.

“Seriously!?” Robin laughed, almost falling off the rock he was perched on as he held his sides, the dagger falling away forgotten and landing in the dirt. “Are you kidding me!? I kill Chrom!? That’s… that’s… freaking hilarious!”

He’d already come to that conclusion before, but hearing him admit it from his own mouth and having Lucina all but confirm it… It was just too funny.

“This is not a laughing matter!” Lucina roared, drawing Falchion.

“No, think about it,” Robing chuckled, standing and holding his hands up placatingly. “The Exalt’s time-travelling daughter falls in love with what not only turns out to be the Plegian Crown Prince, but a sleeper-agent that’s been lying dormant for nearly half a decade to boot! It’s… it’s like something out of one of Cordelia’s tacky romance stories!”

“Robin, this is serious!” Lucina pleaded, her grip tightening around Falchion’s hilt to the point it creaked. “How can we trust you now? How can _I_ trust you!?”

“You know how those stories usually end, right?” the tactician asked, pointedly ignoring the pleading look on the woman’s face. “Tragedy makes for better endings, after all.”

“Robin…” Lucina growled. “Answer my questions. Please. Show me we can still trust you. Show me that I don’t have to… to…”

The rest of her plea went unspoken as they both glanced down at the sword in her fist. Robin held up his hands apologetically.

“Unless someone sticks an arrow in Validar’s head in the near future, I don’t think you can trust me,” he said honestly. “I don’t know how far his ‘control range’ is. Besides, he has one of those fancy teleporting rings, so he could strike at any time. We both know what has to happen now, right?”

Lucina looked down, trembling a little, a quaver in her voice when she spoke next.

“How can you be so calm about this?” she asked. “You… you end the world. It’s by your hand that my future comes to ruin! You, the man I love, will destroy everything I hold dear. How can you just laugh that off!?”

“Because if I wasn’t laughing, I’d be curled up on the ground weeping,” Robin answered her, waving the dagger around as his voice rose. “You saw what I was trying to do before you got here. Some nosy Dark Mage cursed me so that I couldn’t. You think I want to kill my best friend!? It won’t just be him this time, either! Validar will make me go _through all of you to get to him and he will laugh as I die inside doing it_!”

Lucina glared up at him.

“I can’t keep fighting it, Lucina,” Robin said, his tone softening, the tactician struggling against the urge to embrace her. “I’m tired. I can’t keep taking all these mental beatings. My mind is starting to fragment, as if I wasn’t air-headed enough before. I can feel it. He’s broken me twice now. I don’t think I’ll be able to fight it a third time.”

Lucina nodded sadly, her features set in a frown.

“Then my course is clear,” she said quietly, raising Falchion and pointing it at Robin’s chest where three of the dark lines criss-crossing him met over his heart.

“Took you long enough,” Robin snorted, shaking his head. “I thought I might have to hold up a sign that said ‘please kill me’ to get your attention. Just as dense as your father… And he’s a dumb as a stone, so that’s really saying something.”

“Robin…” Lucina said in a warning tone, but the tactician went on heedless.

“I guess it’s not surprising with your parents,” he said casually, every word like acid on his tongue. “With your air-headed mother and your dense-as-a-brick father I’m surprised you managed to do so well in the future. Congratulations, princess. You beat genetics. Too bad your sister and cousin didn’t.”

“Are you trying to make me angry!?” Lucina roared, snapping and stepping in close to Robin, holding Falchion at his throat now as she bunched his collar in one fist. “You doom us to oblivion and still you joke!? Still you mock my father!? My family!? The heroes that stood beside me when all others fled!?”

“I thought it might be easier for you if I pissed you off,” Robin admitted with a slight grin on his face, the exalted sword pressing against his neck a little harder as he closed his eyes. “Looks like it worked. I love you, Lucina. Make it quick.”

After a few seconds Robin realised he was still alive.

“Er… Lucina? Any day now,” he said, keeping his eyes closed. “C’mon, sweet-heart, before I kill everyone you love, please.”

The sword pressed against his throat started to tremble, making Robin sigh as he opened one eye.

“Dammit, woman, do I have to try to stab you before you… you…”

He trailed off and opened both eyes, looking at the tormented expression on Lucina’s face as she grit her teeth, struggling between her heart and duty, streaks from tears marring her beautiful face.

“I… I know I should…” she whispered, hiccupping as she fought back a sob. “I know you… don’t mean what you say… But… You… kill everyone. Everything… but you… you’re not the you that does that…”

“Stop grasping at straws and do it,” Robin said gently.

“I c-can’t…”

“Please, Lucina,” Robin begged.

“I can’t!” she cried, throwing the sword aside. “I love you, damn it!”

Robin felt his resistance crumble as he surged forward, taking her in his arms and holding the distraught woman as she sobbed. Robin stepped back when Lucina quieted after a few moments, shaking his head and bending to retrieve his dagger.

“I can’t force you to do this. I won’t. But I’m begging you, Lucina. Don’t let me hurt you again.”

Lucina continued to tremble as Robin walked over and wrapped his arms around her, burying her head in his shoulder again.

“You won’t,” she whispered. “I know you won’t. I trust you.”

Robin stepped back, shaking his head sadly.

“But I don’t trust me,” he said, holding up his dagger for her. “Please, Lucina.”

Lucina gulped and nodded shakily, reaching out a tentative hand for the weapon.

A rough hand grabbed Robin’s wrist before Lucina could reach the dagger, yanking the knife down and taking both of them by surprise as Chrom stepped right up into the tactician’s face between them, tearing the weapon from his grip in the process.

“I’d hit you, but that just never seems to get the point across,” the Exalt growled, glaring down at his friend.

“Father!?” Lucina cried in surprise.

Robin stared up at Chrom wordlessly, looking into eyes that held endless, depthless compassion as he stared disappointedly at him.

“What was this supposed to accomplish?” Chrom hissed dangerously. “Was this supposed to protect us? Is that what you thought?”

The Exalt threw the beautiful dagger to the ground at Robin’s feet.

“Or are you just trying to clear your own guilty conscience?”

“Chrom, I…” Robin started, trailing off.

The Exalt surged forward, grabbing Robin by the collar and hauling him close.

“We swore!” he roared in Robin’s face, the man’s usual benevolent and easy-going countenance replaced by wrath the likes of which Robin had never seen before.

 “We swore to be two halves of a greater whole! We swore to drag this world kicking and screaming into a peaceful future! Together! Those were your words, not mine! And now you want to end it because of one mad-man’s spells!?”

Chrom pushed Robin back a few steps, staring at him with the hurt plain to see on his face.

“I can’t do this without you,” Chrom said truthfully.

“I tried to kill you!” Robin shouted in response. “He’s going to make me do it again! I’ve seen it in a vision! I am your death, Chrom!”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” the Exalt snorted. “You fought his control in Plegia. I saw it. Cordelia says you fought it the first time, too. You’ve never stopped fighting it, Robin.”

“Fighting it nearly killed me!” Robin argued. “And it didn’t amount to anything anyway! We still lost the Fire Emblem!”

“So get it back,” Chrom said.

Robin snorted. “Yeah, right. Like it’s that easy. We’ll just walk up to the Dragon’s Table, knock on the temple door and ask nicely.”

“Didn’t you come back from the dead to snatch victory out of the jaws of certain defeat?” Chrom asked him. “Wasn’t it you who, against all odds, led a motley group of soldiers and mercenaries against not just Plegia, but the entire Valmese army as well? And won?”

Robin nodded slowly.

“So where is that man!?” Chrom asked him, jabbing him in the chest with one finger. “Where’s the man the stood by my side and laughed in death’s face more times than I can count? Where is my brother in arms?”

“Where is my friend?” Chrom pleaded, his hand dropping.

“He’s…” Robin muttered, his gaze lowering and coming to rest on Lucina’s hopeful face.

_Damn their eyes,_ Robin thought, glancing down at the ground. _It’s like trying to argue with puppies. I can’t…_

“Robin…” Lucina said tentatively, stepping forward.

“He’s tired and needs a meal,” Robin sighed at last, running a hand through his hair. “And a bath. And a fresh shirt. And another vacation. Somewhere tropical this time. But before any of that he needs to see a map, a pile of reports, and a duty roster.”

Chrom nodded approvingly, silent for a moment while Robin collected himself.

“’Dumb as a stone’, am I?” the Exalt asked, crossing his arms with a slight grin on his face.

Robin winced a little. “Just how long were you listening for?”

“Long enough,” Chrom chuckled, slapping the tactician in the back of the head.

“Ow! Dammit! What happened to not hitting me!?”


	54. Chapter 54

Morgan swayed a little as she walked through the Ylissean Royal Library, catching herself and bringing her fingers to her brow in confusion as a headache blossomed out of nowhere.

A moment of panic set in as her vision blurred and she momentarily forgot what she was doing, reaching out to steady herself against one of the great bookshelves and shaking her head a few times, blinking in the candlelight to try and clear her vision.

_What the hell…?_ She wondered as the headache started to fade as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving her gasping and coated in sweat.

_Where did that come from?_ She wondered, running a hand down her face. _Maybe I should go see Lissa about that?_

It had been less than a week since her Father and the others had set out for Plegia; if she dropped dead now when things were still quiet she’d never forgive herself.

Morgan had been meticulous in her planning, the exhausted Ylissean army standing ready to move out at any moment to anywhere on the continent. She was in constant contact with Raimi in Regna Ferox, who had the Feroxi tribes in a similar state. She didn’t doubt that they would be called on eventually, but the waiting would be hard on the men, who had already suffered so much in Valm. So, considering morale to be an important factor to army cohesion the way her father had taught her, she had organized a rotation of squads to take leave a few men at a time, sending them home for a few days to relax with their families before they came back. She’d also been organizing Risen hunts with Lady Cherche and the Pegasus Knights, making sure that the countryside was clear.

All that was left to do was wait, so she’d been looking for a book in the library she’d heard Miriel talking about, one describing esoteric half-finished spells that could be used as reference material in crafting new versions of-

Morgan let out an anguished cry, falling to her knees and clutching at her head, gasping as blood started to drip from her nose.

_I’ve tried to help you once already, boy, and you’ve thrown that back in my face. I’m done playing._

_If that was helping, then I can’t wait to see you try to kill me._

_We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Take the Emblem._

_No. I already told you no! Here’s a thought, why don’t you go ahead and suck my-_

_DO IT! TAKE IT NOW!_

“Dad? What in Naga’s name…?” she groaned, wiping her face clean with her sleeve as she climbed unsteadily to her feet.

She looked around the abandoned library, searching for where the voices had been coming from. She could have sworn she’d heard her father arguing with someone, and it had sounded like he was in pain…

Not finding anyone, even after checking down all the aisles and under all the tables, Morgan let out a breath and decided not to press her luck by hanging around, creeped out at being alone in the library.

_I’m never listening to any of Vaike’s stupid ghost-stories again_ , Morgan thought, grabbing the books she’d dropped and making for the door. _Haunted library my foot. It’s just headaches and… weird hallucinations and… yeah, I’m going to go and see Lissa now._

As she walked towards the huge doors that were usually manned by Miriel and her team of attentive and over-worked staff Morgan paused, her breath catching in her throat as she heard a strange shuffling sound from outside in the hallway.

Silently cursing the fact that she had left her sword back in her room Morgan desperately tried to call a spell, any spell, to mind, terror freezing her in her tracks. The young tactician edged slowly towards the doorway wielding the large tome in her hands like a hammer, breathing in short, shallow breaths.

She let out a shriek and fell backwards as an ethereal figure dressed in a plain white dress stepped into the moonlight in the hallway, glancing at her with red eyes and-

“Morgan?” Panne asked, leaning against the great doors and holding her side. “What are you screaming about?”

The girl blinked up at the Taguel from the floor, wearing a plain white hospital robe instead of her usual leathers.

“Er… nothing,” Morgan laughed sheepishly before hiding her embarrassment by taking a stern countenance. “But what are you doing up? You’re supposed to be confined to your bed!”

“I heard screaming,” Panne deadpanned, quirking a brow at Morgan.

“Right!” Morgan said quickly. “I saw… a mouse?”

“I smell blood,” Panne said in the same tone.

“Paper cut?” Morgan said weakly.

_Why am I lying?_ She wondered, laughing awkwardly and rubbing the back of her head.

Panne looked at her strangely for a moment before sighing.

“Very well. Then I shall return to my quarters.”

Panne had been up and about pretty much since the others left, much to the continued protests of both Gaius and Lissa. She was awake again, but still weak; far weaker than someone that had only been stabbed and lost a lot of blood. Tharja had said something about a curse, but Panne had scoffed her off, claiming she was fine and proceeding to make everyone worry as she forced herself to continue trying to act like nothing was wrong. At present she looked almost like a ghost herself; she was pale and her face was drawn, the woman coated in sweat and panting from her exertions.

“Hold on, let me help you,” Morgan said, taking the obviously struggling Taguel by the arm.

Panne nodded appreciatively as the tactician led her from the library, stealing one last glance into the great room over her shoulder and blinking a few times.

For the briefest of seconds she thought she’d seen an older man, rake thin and actually rather sinister looking, glaring at her from the shadows with twin red pinpricks where his eyes were hidden by shadow.

_That’s it, no more studying after dinner_ , she told herself as she half-carried Panne back to her room. _It’s making me go crazy._

*

Morgan groaned loudly, stretching her arms above her head after finishing the latest stack of regional patrol reports that Cullen had organised for her. Letting her arms drop she leaned back, glancing out the window at the cheery sunlight falling onto the royal gardens and letting out a soft sigh, starting to regret offering to take her father’s place in Ylisstol.

“Why is there always so much paperwork?” she moaned, letting her head thump on the table as she caught sight of the stack sitting in her ‘to do’ pile.

_This was all just a ploy_ , she thought bleakly, glaring at the papers and silently willing them to spontaneously ignite. _Dad knew if he said he’d stay here we’d all freak out and I’d offer to take his place. The man is an evil genius._

Morgan couldn’t help but think at least things had been going smoothly so far. Civil obedience was steady; the populace knew that something was going on because it was impossible to keep the fact that the Shepherds were gone a secret, but the presence of Princess Lissa and Queen Sumia seemed to calm the collective citizenry’s anxiety. Lissa was doing everything she could to make her presence as public as possible while Sumia tended to the daily running of the kingdom with Morgan and the rest of the Ylissean Council. Morgan, however, also had the added duty of co-ordinating with the military leaders still in Ylisstol, not to mention maintaining contact with Roark and Kellam in Themis, as well as Seth and the young Duchess in Jagen that was apparently Commander Frederick’s younger cousin.

 Meaning, in short, that Morgan wasn’t getting a lot of ‘outside time’.

_I really don’t think that the nation will descend into anarchy if I take a quick walk around the palace grounds_ , she reasoned, grabbing her coat off the back of her chair and tugging it on as she walked out of the office Lissa had prepared for her.

The small room was supposedly meant to have been for her father, but Robin was a little more ‘eccentric’ in where he liked to work. Morgan had asked about why he didn’t use the space; it was a nice office, almost more of a den, really, with a beautiful polished oak desk and shelves with copies of any book he could possibly need to use in crafting strategies, not to mention a very comfortable sofa off to one side facing a fireplace. He had simply replied to her query with _“I like being around other people while I work. Reminds me_ why _I work.”_

_Maybe that’s why I’m feeling so melancholy_ , Morgan mused as she descended the stairs to the great entry hall, waving back at the bolder members of the palace staff that greeted her.

_I’m stuck inside, not reminding myself why I’m coming up with these plans. I’m losing touch with why I wanted to be a tactician. I need to get out a little more and reconnect with-BUNNY!_

Morgan blinked a few times as she stepped outside, her excitement turning to disappointment as she realised that, while it was a Taguel she was looking at in the garden, it wasn’t the one she’d been pining for over the last week.

“Morning, Panne!” Morgan called to the Taguel woman resting beneath one of the great oak trees in the gardens. “Feeling better today?”

Yarne’s mother glanced up, favouring Morgan with a slightly less-severe look than she gave everyone else before nodding and going back to staring into space.

The Taguel woman, who was being touted as a hero-among-heroes by the guards and soldiers that had heard tell of her efforts to protect the young princess, single-handedly holding a horde of enemies away as they tore her up, fighting very near to her last breath, let out a breath that almost sounded like a satisfied sigh as she leaned back, basking in the sun on the soft grass.

“That looks relaxing. Mind if I join you?” Morgan asked hopefully.

“Of course, child,” Panne said without looking up.

Morgan happily flopped down, far from gracefully, and sprawled out on the grass next to the older woman. They sat in silence for a time, Panne watching the plants and grasses that made up the garden, occasionally glancing at one of the palace servants or gardeners as they went about their business while Morgan stared up at the brilliant blue sky.

“You know, I’m almost disappointed that we missed winter in Ylisstol,” Morgan sighed, still staring straight up. “I mean, I don’t remember it, but I would have seen them before, right? Feels like one of those holes in my memory I need to fill.”

“Do you have many of those?” Panne asked curiously.

“At least eighteen years’ worth,” Morgan answered with a sigh.

“You are very much like your father in some ways, and in many others, very unlike him.”

Morgan finally tore her eyes away from the sky, arching a brow questioningly. When she realised Panne still wasn’t even looking at her she sighed.

“Care to elaborate on that point?” Morgan asked, sitting up.

Panne glanced over at her, an uncomprehending look on her face.

“About how I’m different from my father?” Morgan pressed.

Panne shrugged, looking back to the gardens.

“I merely meant that he no longer seems to care about his lost memories.”

Morgan scratched her head a little.

“You think so?”

Panne nodded.

“I cannot speak for him, but I feel that his life, much like my own, has vastly improved since we all came together here. Why dwell on the past, on what was lost, when we all have so much happiness here and now?”

“I’m not dwelling, I’m just curious,” Morgan muttered.

Panne snorted. “Yes, and in that matter you two are irredeemably similar.”

The Taguel cocked her head to one side, listening to something Morgan couldn’t hear.

“The loud one that constantly speaks of money is calling for you,” she said, indicating back towards the palace with a nod of her head. “From the urgency in her voice, it sounds important.”

Morgan heaved a sigh. She’d barely been relaxing for more than fifteen minutes…

“Thanks Panne,” Morgan said as she stood up, dusting the loose grass off her coat. “Don’t over-do it, okay?”

The Taguel merely nodded, continuing to gaze into the distance as Morgan walked away.

*

Robin wordlessly grumbled as he tromped along the road, attempting to blow a wet strand of hair out of his face only to have it plop back into place to irritate him further.

“You know it won’t do you any good.”  Chrom said with a wry smile on his face.

“Well you can at least let me try.”  Robin shot back. 

“They’ll all see right through it. You don’t stand a chance.”

“I disagree. It’s a tactician’s job to accomplish the unaccomplishable, right?”

“Is that even a word?”

“Stop laughing, damn you! It is now!”

“Come on, now; everyone’s just worried about you. You’re an important part of this army and-”

“And whose fault is that for making me so damn important!? Against my will and better judgement, I might add!?”

Chrom snorted, trying not to burst into laughter as they walked back into the camp. The sun had risen properly not that long ago, and they were all in desperate need of some proper rest. He was exhausted and still ached from the beating that the possessed Robin had given him, and Lucina looked like she hadn’t slept in day. Robin stank like a charnel house to the point where Chrom had begun to think to simply throw him into the river they had followed back to the camp and be done with it.

Which, he reflected as Robin pushed the sopping hair back from his face again with a scowl as his boots squelched on the road, hadn’t really improved the tactician’s mood all that much.  Even if it did leave both himself and Lucina rolling around on the bank, laughing as the tactician flailed about in the water.

“And you call me an ass?” Robin grumbled as he noticed Chrom snickering quietly to himself.

The tactician looked up a little as he saw Lucina emulating her father, glancing at him and having to fight even harder against a fit of giggles that threatened to break free. He had to admit, it was much more endearing on her than on the Exalt.

“You know neither of you make my life easy,” he sighed, preparing himself for what was no doubt about to come as some of the Shepherds on the camp periphery noticed them. “I’ll say it one last time; you should have killed me back there, ‘cause that ship has sailed now if only because I am looking forward to rubbing the biggest ‘I told you so’ of my life in both of your faces later. Now let’s get this song and dance over with so I can go to sleep already.”

“Er… maybe you should do up your coat first,” Chrom pointed out, glancing at the lines of dark magic still etched across his skin clear as day.

“They need… no, they deserve to see it,” Robin sighed. “They need to know who they’re following. I wouldn’t feel right keeping it from them.”

Chrom clapped an understanding hand on the tactician’s shoulder, smiling a little as they walked, watching the small knot of Shepherds apparently on guard duty expand to become most of the group in the time it took them to approach.

“Robin!” Tharja called out, exploding from the camp and crossing the space between the trio and it in a flash.

The tactician held his arms up a little, sighing and grinning as he waited for the hug that was no doubt coming, instead finding his head snapping to one side and his teeth rattling as Tharja punched him in the face a lot harder than he had ever expected her to be able to hit.

“What the hell!?” Robin shouted in surprise, grateful for Lucina catching him as he fell.

“I should be asking you that!” the Dark Mage shouted in his face, tears streaming down hers as she grabbed his collar. “What the hell were you thinking!? Did you really think that you dying would save anyone!? How could you even think about doing that to us!?”

Robin looked down at the distraught mage, moving to put her in a comforting embrace before a thought struck him and he clasped his hands behind his back, leaning forward slightly.

“I haven’t said a word yet,” Robin pointed out, quirking his brow. “How would you know what happened back there?”

The Dark Mage sniffled, eyes going wide and releasing the tactician, taking a meek step back as Robin’s brow quirked higher, grinning down at her and sighing.

“I would appreciate it if you removed that hex now,” he said, pulling her into a quick hug before stepping by her and making to enter the camp with Chrom and Lucina.

“Master!” Owain shouted, charging to the front of the press. “Master, are you… un… harmed?”

The blonde boy trailed off, his eyes widening like everyone else’s as he regarded the tactician standing there openly displaying such sinister markings before them all. He knew for a fact that just looking at them made people uncomfortable; how Lucina and Chrom had dealt with it on the way back to camp was honestly beyond him.

_Oh. That’s right. They threw me into a river_ , Robin thought sarcastically.

“Robin…” Stahl muttered, looking back and forth between his Exalt and the tactician. “What’s… when did you…”

“The hell’s all that shit?” Brady grunted, moving closer to inspect the markings. “Ma! Why didn’tcha mention this garbage?”

“Because I figured that Robin would want to explain it to us all,” Maribelle said, crossing her arms and glaring at him expectantly. “And why he felt the need to curse me to escape when I would have let him go had he explained his motives.”

“Er… sorry,” he mumbled, choosing to omit the fact that it had actually been Tharja that had cursed her, not him.

The tactician looked back and forth between his friends and comrades all staring at him with emotions ranging the gambit from worry to fear on their faces before taking a deep breath. He glanced back as Lucina placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, nodding encouragingly.

“Alright, I suppose I brought this on myself,” he muttered self-depreciatingly.

“There have been some questions about my parentage since, well, since I joined the Shepherds,” Robin began, standing tall and looking the other Shepherds in the eye. “I will state it plain. My name is Robin, and apparently I’m the Crown Prince of Plegia.”

Exclamations of surprise and shocked muttering met Robin’s statement as Owain burst into disbelieving laughter, stopping when his father came up and smacked him upside the head.

“Is this true?” Lon’qu asked seriously, hushing the crowd with his question and stepping past Owain.

“Tell them the rest,” Frederick demanded, stepping forward and glaring at Robin with open hostility, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

“Er… yes, I was getting there,” the tactician mumbled. “Uh, this is where it gets kinda weird, so bear with me, but apparently my father is not only the King of Plegia, but also a crazy sorcerer that can magically control my mind, er… body? I dunno, let’s stick with mind, and is hell-bent on reviving Grima and destroying the world. And he kinda… mind-controlled me into giving him the Fire Emblem. After kicking Chrom in, uh, in the face. So… yeah. That happened. The marks are some kind of side-effect. I think. I’m not really a hundred percent, but I thought full disclosure might be prudent at this point.”

The crowd was silent, staring at Chrom for confirmation.

“It’s true. But I still trust him,” the Exalt shrugged. “He can fight it; we just have to keep Validar distracted next time we face him.”

“Milord you are not being rational-” Frederick began.

“Good enough for me,” Lon’qu said over the knight, stepping forward and shoving a sheaf of papers and maps into Robin’s hands before turning on his heel and striding back into the camp. “Here. You can keep your bloody job. Too much paperwork.”

“Thanks?” Robin said, dropping half the papers and ducking to retrieve them.

“Just like that?” Sully asked, shocked. “He gives away the most important heirloom House Ylisse has and you forgive him just like that?”

Lon’qu barely slowed as he passed her, narrowing his eyes slightly as if to say ‘yes, just like that’.

“It’s just like a hero from a fairy-tale!” Cynthia squealed excitedly. “A man born a Prince, no idea of his dark heritage grows up a pauper and becomes a great hero!”

“Yes!” Owain chimed in, adopting his favourite pose with his hand before his face. “For only the scions of heroes, the Justice Cabal, would be able to tell of Owain Dark’s master’s forsaken heritage and guide him to a more righteous path! It is truly glorious!”

“Er… right,” Inigo muttered. “I think you two need to get your heads checked.”

“You in or not?” Brady grunted from his side.

“What, following Robin? Of course,” the playboy shrugged. “He’s done pretty damn well so far.”

“You… really?” Kjelle asked, just as shocked as her mother. “He may have just killed us all! And you all decide to go along with this madness!?”

“We can’t trust him,” Gerome said quietly from the back of the group.

“I do, though,” Chrom repeated as the crowd began to argue.

“As do I,” Lucina piped in, standing at Robin’s side and gripping his hand tightly.

“I still trust you, Robin,” Cordelia said with a relieved smile on her face, Frederick by her side having fallen silent, casting her a glance out of the corner of his eye.

The others began to descend into arguments and accusations almost as quickly as Robin could blink, splitting into two clearly defined factions.

_This must have been part of Validar’s plan all along; divide and conquer_ , Robin realised as he watched Stahl and Vaike almost come to blows before Chrom interposed himself between them.

“Alright, that’s enough for now!” Chrom shouted above the rising voices of the others. “Until I say otherwise, he’s still chief-tactician, and that’s a direct order! No arguments!”

“Let’s all get some rest for a few hours before moving out again,” The Exalt ordered, moving to disperse the crowd, some looking rather displeased with their Lord’s decision. “We have a lot to do. Lon’qu! I want you to organise a scouting party for us before you retire… Lon’qu? Where’d he disappear to?”

Robin shook his head, watching as his mere presence separated the Shepherds into factions the way he had been hoping it wouldn’t. However, there were a lot less people against him than he’d been expecting, mostly the knights and the dourer of the future children. Say’ri had remained silent, which had confused Robin; he’d thought for sure she’d take the opportunity to get a few barbs in, but apparently he had underestimated the Queen of Chon’sin.

_They’re nuts,_ Robin thought, shaking his head. _They’re all absolutely nuts. The evidence is right in front of them and still they choose blind faith in a man they just found out-_

“Ah!” he said, hand snatching out to grab a black-clad shoulder as it tried to slip past him. “Remove the scrying hex. Now.”

Tharja wilted unhappily in his grip, looking down at her feet.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to keep it while you can still be controlled?” she asked hopefully.

“No,” Robin told her flatly. “We’re a little bit past this game now, Tharja.”

“Very well, I will get my hexing tools and meet you at your tent,” the Dark Mage huffed, whirling and stomping off.

Robin turned as well, coming face-to-face with Frederick scowling down at him.

“You may have all of them fooled, but not me,” he growled, nose to nose with the shorter tactician. “I will be there watching you, Robin. And when you slip, for any reason at all, I will be the one to end you. Am I making myself clear?”

Robin chuckled, taking a step back.

“I know that was meant to come across as a threat, but that’s actually very reassuring. Please, Frederick, don’t let me hurt anyone else. You’re the only one… ‘fanatical’ enough about our wellbeing for me to trust with that task.”

The Knight Commander glared at Robin for a few more moments, trying to sense even a hint of sarcasm in the smaller man’s statement, before grunting and turning away, walking off into the camp.

“Forgive him,” Cordelia said tiredly as they watched her husband start barking orders at the other Shepherds. “He just has a hard time properly conveying his emotions.”

“Oh, I think he got the ‘I still don’t like you’ message across just fine,” Robin chuckled. “Sorry if all this has caused… issues between you two.”

This time it was Cordelia’s turn to chuckle softly.

“I know for a fact that cutting you down in cold blood would have haunted him for the rest of his life,” she explained. “He may not act like it, but he is really quite fond of you.”

“You don’t say,” Robin deadpanned.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked in a low tone.

“I’ll be fine,” Robin answered her. “I just need some rest.”

Cordelia nodded, giving Robin one last smile before taking off after Frederick to make sure he didn’t work anyone to death. Robin sagged a little, letting out a sigh now that he was back to being mostly ignored by the others like usual. He caught a glimpse of Say’ri turning away from watching the Knight Commander, too; no doubt wondering how she could side with him in the future against the tactician.

“Well, I’m sure that went better than you were expecting it to,” Lucina commented, coming up behind him and gently taking his hand again.

“Yeah,” he sighed, running his free hand through his hair. “Sorry about the whole… kicking your father thing.”

“Stop apologizing already,” Lucina told him with a small grin, leading him by the hand through the camp.

*

“This couldn’t possibly come at a worse time,” Cullen was saying as Morgan walked into the meeting room, Anna on her heels.

The former-Knight Commander glanced up with Cherche, Lissa and Sumia as the other two women walked in, Morgan holding her hand out expectantly. Cullen chuckled a little as he passed her the reports he was going through.

“Someone want to give me the short version?” Morgan asked, eyes already speeding over the sheets.

“Risen,” Lissa said, making the young tactician blanch and lose her place in her reading.

“What!?” Morgan cried. “I thought that Cherche was-”

“I was,” the wyvern rider cut her off. “And I still am. But I must respect my limits, and the limits of the Pegasus Knights that Cordelia’s entrusted me with. The numbers we’re facing are still unknown.”

“And Sir Virion would have a fit if he knew I was merely riding with them right now,” she added, hand brushing over her stomach.

“Sorry,” Morgan said quickly. “You just caught me off guard. Er… can someone give me a little bit longer a version than Lissa did?”

“Cherche and the Knights came across a knot of Risen sacking a farming hamlet in the north-eastern foothills,” Sumia reported. “Unfortunately they were unable to save the residents, but they managed to destroy the Risen and return here unharmed.”

“So we’re not sure if this is an isolated incident or not?” Morgan asked, looking for the hamlet in question on the map spread out on the table.

“It could be,” Cullen mused, stroking his beard. “But with the Exalt and the core of the army away we can’t afford to take that chance.”

“I agree,” Sumia added.

“Alright, I’ll start running some scenarios,” Morgan mumbled, cupping her chin in thought. “We can’t move too far, too fast, but if we increase patrols in the northern regions and start co-ordinating with Seth’s people we should be able to comb the mountain passes and contain this without alerting the civilians before we’re done.”

“I agree that public order needs to be the most important factor right now,” Lissa said.

“Is there someone we can trust to liaise with Seth’s people?” Cullen asked.

“Anna?” Morgan asked, startling the merchant at the back of the room.

“Y-yes?”

“I know it’s not exactly your usual work, but can you get to Jagen quickly and discretely?” Morgan asked.

“What kind of merchant would I be if I turned the offer to break into a foreign market down?” Anna said with a smirk after barely a second of thought.

“Technically their not ‘foreign’,” Morgan chuckled.

“Details, details,” the merchant said, waving a hand. “There’s no Anna presence there, so it counts. What do you need me to do?”

“We’re going to leave immediately to co-ordinate with Seth,” Morgan said decisively.

“’We’?” Sumia repeated.

Morgan’s response was to grin up from under her fringe as she looked down at the map, already starting to plan their route.

“We,” she repeated.

*

Robin let out an involuntary hiss as Tharja plucked one of the hairs out of his head, feeling an unfamiliar sensation of lightening as the scrying hex she’d placed on him was lifted. It was common practice in removing curses and hexes to confine them to a part of the body and remove that part; depending on how big or serious the spell was it could be as simple as yanking a couple of hairs out, or as complex as amputating a limb. It wasn’t uncommon to see Dark Mages wandering around Plegia missing fingers or sporting large scars where chunks of flesh had been cut out.

Robin was just grateful that Tharja was skilled enough to move the hex to a single hair.

“There,” she sighed, holding the long white hair up to her face. “It’s done. The hex is gone.”

“Thank you,” Robin sighed, falling backwards into his camp-chair. “That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?”

Tharja glared at him for a moment before spinning on her heel and stomping out.

“I’m keeping this hair,” she pouted over her shoulder as she went to leave the tent.

“Hold on a second!” the tactician called after her. “You and I need to have a little talk.”

Tharja hesitated, looking back over her shoulder. When she didn’t move Robin kicked the other camping chair towards her, prompting the Dark Mage to sigh and turn, but remain standing.

“How did you know all that Grima stuff?” Robin asked. “I’m not saying I don’t trust you or anything, I just… if you know anything, anything that might give me an edge over this bastard, I’d like to hear it.”

Tharja let out another sigh, her posture becoming less stiff as she visibly relaxed.

“Like I said,” she began to explain. “My training in the Dark Arts was very… thorough. From a young age we’re taught that all Dark Magic is derived from Grima’s power, and that we owe him not just our lives, but our obedience and our very souls because of it. That’s why so many of us end up either working for the King or the Grimleal.”

“Okay, so he’s not a benevolent god,” Robin said when Tharja grew silent again. “We already knew that. Is there anything else?”

Tharja nodded woodenly.

“Look, I know this is hard for you,” Robin said softly. “But any tiny little scrap of information could save my life.”

“It’s not just that it’s hard,” Tharja told him. “We’re cursed at birth to be unable to talk about it to outsiders; it’s… how our umbilical cords are cut, and it is completely irremovable. It’s a… struggle to talk about it with the Princess here.”

Lucina perked up a little where she was standing behind Robin.

“That’s hideous!” she said outraged. “What kind of depraved monster would do that to a newborn!?”

“My father,” Tharja sighed. “Robin’s father.”

“Wait… I have the curse, too?” Robin asked curiously.

Tharja nodded.

“Although it appears when you lost your memories the curse lost most of its strength. There are so many other old curses and hexes layered on you that it’s difficult to tell.”

“And you never thought to mention this why?” he asked, frowning.

“I… assumed you knew,” Tharja said, honestly surprised. “It’s something that you should have been able to feel, even without knowledge of cursing, and it’s not usually something people talk about, even among Dark Mages. It shows weakness amongst us, that we were unable to keep from being cursed in the first place.”

Robin sighed, rubbing the back of his head in frustration.

“Maybe they’ve just always been there and I don’t know what living without them feels like.”

“Robin…” Lucina said softly, reaching out to gently grip his shoulders.

“I’m fine,” he said, reaching up to cover one of her hands with his right hand. “Tharja, can you do a catalogue of the curses on me? Maybe we can find the one that lets Validar control me and we can remove it, or at the very least render it inert.”

“I will need a sample,” Tharja pointed out after a few seconds of thoughts.

“What, one hair not enough?” Robin chuckled, already reaching up to his head.

With a quick yank he tore a lock of white hair out of his head near his temple, the pain dulled by the rest of the beating he’d taken the previous day.

“Here,” Robin said, a tired grin on his face as Tharja reached out. “Keep the change. Just… no more scrying hexes.”

The Dark Mage nodded, staring enraptured at the small bundle of white hairs as she turned and left the tent, no doubt already using her innate talents to sort through the curses that had been layered on him.

Robin snickered a little as Lucina looked on, worry evident on her tired features.

“Should you be worried about that?” she asked after a moment.

Robin’s snickering turned into a full-blown laugh as his head lolled backwards.

“No, she’s just being creepy,” he chuckled. “Don’t pay her any mind.”

Robin sat silently for a few seconds before letting out an exaggerated groan and sitting back up.

“I should probably be working right now, shouldn’t I?”

Lucina raised a silent brow at him.

“Fine, bathing first,” Robin grumbled, reaching for his towel. “Then I’ll commence saving the world. They’ve set the bathing tent up, right?”

*

Robin let out a satisfied groan, rubbing his head a few more times with his towel for good measure as he walked back to his tent, his filthy clothes under one arm and his mostly clean coat sitting where it belonged on his back.

He walked slowly through the fully assembled camp, thinking that perhaps they wouldn’t be moving out as fast as Chrom had been hoping to, especially if the bathing tent was set up.

He admittedly felt a little better now, but he still had a pounding headache, and his nose had started bleeding randomly again while he’d been cleaning himself earlier, making him have to change the water in the tub. It was starting to look like the lines on his arms were fading, but he’d been staring at them almost non-stop since he’d woken up, so he couldn’t really tell.

_All in all, pretty crappy day so far_ , Robin groaned, slinging the towel around his neck as he walked.

“Pardon, Robin,” a familiar voice called out from behind Robin, making him cringe. “Could I have a word with you?”

_Aaaaaand from bad to worse,_ he thought, sagging a little as he turned.

“Say’ri, what can I do for you?” he asked, suddenly grateful for the fresh shirt covering his chest.

The last thing he felt like doing was showing his marks off any more, especially to her.

The foreign ruler stepped out of her tent, Robin committing its location and appearance to memory so he could avoid it in future, looking at him strangely.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

He shrugged.

“Er, fine I guess. I’m alive, and I have work to do. I can feel like crap later.”

She nodded, looking down to his right hand, the Mark of Grima prominently displayed on the back of it. He’d realised that there was no point trying to hide it any more.

“I have heard the others talking,” she said. “They are concerned about you. Many have voiced dissent. They trust Chrom and are willing to do as he orders, but are beginning to fear you. Many of the others are agreeing to follow you out of respect for him.”

“Gee, great pep-talk,” Robin deadpanned when she went silent. “Is this the part where you threaten to stab me if I show such much as a hint of evil-possession again? Because Frederick already beat you to that one.”

“What?” Say’ri asked, her head snapping up with a look of hurt on her face. “No! Fie, tactician, this is where I tell you I still trust you!”

Robin blinked a few times, her statement sinking in.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that? I must still have some water in my ear…”

“Is that truly so hard to believe?” Say’ri asked, rolling her eyes. “I’ve seen you fight this off once before, in Steiger. I know you can do it.”

“Steiger was… a little different.”

“Fie, it matters not,” Say’ri said dismissively. “You’ve done nothing but good for the world. Nothing. If the others have forgotten that, I have not. Neither has Lord Chrom, or Princess Lucina. Keep that in mind. You still have allies. You’re not facing this alone.”

Robin nodded as the swordswoman turned to return to her tent.

_And once again, I’ve supremely underestimated her,_ Robin realised, feeling a pang of guilt about the way he’d been thinking about her again lately.

“Hey, Say’ri,” he called after her.

She glanced back at him, a questioning look on her face.

“Thanks for the pep-talk,” Robin said, a genuine smile on his face.

*

Robin stepped into his tent, an apple being held in his mouth from the supply wagon, coming to an abrupt stop when he saw Lucina passed out asleep on his bedroll.

_Did she wait here the entire time?_ he wondered, placing the half-eaten fruit down on his table and noticing that while she’d removed her blue armour and cape she was still in the tunic she’d been wearing the previous night.

_Oh, and I needed a bath?_ Robin thought with a wry chuckle.

Smiling lightly to himself he crossed the tent and pulled the blanket he kept inside the bedroll over her, stroking her hair lightly before turning to start going over the papers Lon’qu had unceremoniously shoved into his chest earlier.

“Sorry,” Lucina mumbled, stalling Robin half-way to his table. “I did not mean to fall asleep.”

“That’s okay,” he said, moving back to crouch next to the bedroll. “I got to sleep for like six hours, apparently. Well, I was unconscious, but it’s kinda the same thing, right? Anyway, what I’m trying to say is I think you’ve earned a rest.”

Lucina sat up, blinking the sleep out of her eyes.

“No. Not while everyone else is working.”

“I’m pretty sure not everyone’s working right now.”

“Yes,” Lucina said groggily as she drew the blankets back and stood. “But I have never once seen Sir Vaike do anything even remotely resembling work off of a battlefield.”

“You’ve never seen him in a tavern, then,” Robin chuckled as he stood with her.

Lucina smiled a little before looking down, closing in on herself the way he’d seen her do when she needed to prepare for something important. Robin had spent the entire time he’d been out of the tent dwelling on his current situation; playing things out differently in his head, making himself paranoid by imagining the others planning to kill him in reprisal even after they’d said they would still follow him, winding himself up and making himself paranoid. He had no doubt in his mind Lucina had been doing something very similar; if he’d learned one thing about her in the last year or so they had been travelling together it was that they quite often thought along similar lines.

_Better nip this in the bud before it gets out of hand_ …

“Robin, I-” was as far as she got.

“Stop,” the tactician said gently, pulling her into a tight embrace. “Whatever happened back there… whatever we were planning to do, whatever we didn’t do, we’re both partly to blame. Me maybe a little more than you, but that’s beside the point. I’m not apologizing, and I won’t let you apologize. Got it?”

Lucina went stiff in his arms for a moment before relaxing and melting into him the way she usually did.

“I tried to kill you,” she said softly, self-loathing thick in her voice. “I’ve buried more friends than I can count. I gave up on anything besides surviving and sparing this world the calamity that destroyed mine; especially something I thought was as frivolous as love. I gave up my humanity to save the world. And I tried to kill the one man that makes me feel human again.”

“Er, I did kinda encourage you,” Robin pointed out, tightening his grip a little.

Lucina let out a soft sniffle, trying to bury her face deeper into Robin’s chest.

“And, in your defence,” Robin added, “the man that you love also turned out to be a sleeper agent for the evil sorcerer that brings about the end of the world, so I think your decision might have been justified under normal circumstances.”

“I don’t blame you, Robin,” she said quietly.

“And I don’t blame you,” he replied, planting a light kiss on the top of her head. “So we’re even. See? Now take a nap before you pass out.”

Lucina let out a soft chuckle before looking up at him.

“Robin, I’m so sor-”

“Ah! No!” Robin shouted, clamping a hand to her mouth. “No apologies! No! None! You’re not allowed! You’re tactician is ordering you not to for the sake of morale!”

Lucina laughed as she pried Robin’s hand off her mouth, leaning up and planting a light kiss on his lips.

“Alright, I think you’ve made your point-” she managed to say as she pulled away from Robin, letting out a surprised laugh as he pulled her back again.

“Just to make sure…” Robin muttered, leaning forward and bringing their lips together again.

*

Morgan hitched her pack further up her back as she struggled to match the punishing pace that Anna set, her legs already burning and lungs struggling to take in air as she powered after the seemingly unfazed merchant. Fortunately, she wasn’t the only one struggling, as Donnel groaned from next to her.

“The woman ain’t human,” he wheezed, clutching his own pack with one hand as his sword flapped against his hip, his other arm tightly bound in a sling. “I survived a big war an’ now I’ma drop dead from exhaustion in ma’ own yard…”

Morgan silently agreed, too exhausted to speak. They had set out that morning just after the meeting, Anna setting a punishing pace as she led them through the countryside and eventually the lower parts of the mountainous areas around Jagen. They were due to set up camp soon, but Anna was as bright and excited at the prospect of new customers as ever, and she might have forgotten…

“Alright!” Anna announced, suddenly coming to a stop in the middle of the path. “We’ll rest here tonight!”

“Oh thank Naga!” Donnel groaned as he and Morgan fell to the ground in a heap.

Anna chuckled a little, looking back at the other two.

“Sorry,” she said with a wink. “I was a travelling merchant before I joined the Shepherds. A little walk like this is nothing for me.”

“We’ve been hiking uphill for the last three hours!” Donnel cried in exasperation. “Fredrick runs me ragged an’ I’m still ‘bout to drop dead followin’ you!”

“Are we… really going to sleep… in the middle of the… road?” Morgan panted, fanning herself and wishing she’d worn lighter clothing under her coat.

“Yup!” Anna said brightly, rolling out a mat and beginning to set up shop on it. “This may be an important military mission for you, but for me it’s an important merchant mission! This is the best place for me to set up for the night, even if these roads don’t see a lot of traffic anymore!”

Anna let out a small squeal as she placed a few containers of lamp oil from her pack on the mat.

“I feel just like a journeyman merchant setting out again!” she cried, holding her face and smiling.

“I’ll start us a fire,” Donnel sighed, shrugging off his pack and climbing back to his feet.

“I guess I’ll… go and get… some water…” Morgan gasped, somehow clambering back to her feet and grabbing the almost empty waterskins in the process.

“Yup! I’ll wait for customers!” Anna said, plopping down in the middle of the mat surrounded by her wares.

Morgan couldn’t help but grin as she shuffled off towards the stream she’d seen flowing near the road earlier in the evening; according to her estimation (really more of a wild guess, but she’d never admit that), she should be able to find it a little way into the thin woods next to the road.

It was a quiet, cool evening that made Morgan almost forget about the important mission they were on. Of course Lissa and Sumia had objected, but it was the only real option; they were leaders, and they needed a leader to co-ordinate with the forces in Jagen, but neither of them could leave the city. Normally someone like Lon’qu or Cordelia would have been sent, but with the Shepherds gone and the army still spread so thin trying to cover their losses from the war with Valm they couldn’t afford to spare even a single junior officer, Morgan had been the only reasonable choice.

That was the reason she was leaving the city; not because she felt cooped up and buried under paperwork.

Nope. Not the paperwork. Not one bit.

Morgan snickered as she found the stream, recalling the way that Gaius had rolled his eyes and sighed _“This is exactly what her father would have done. Why is everyone acting so surprised?”_

Of course, Panne had demanded to go with them, possibly the only one feeling more cooped up than she was, but the Taguel was still unnaturally weak. Far too weak to put up with Anna’s relentless pace, let alone travel at an idyllic one. Donnel had wound up tagging along almost by accident; he’d been walking by when he’d heard Sumia and Lissa discussing their desire for Morgan and Anna to have some form of escort, and he hadn’t yet resumed active duty since his run-in with the Risen, so he had volunteered.

_I bet he’s regretting that decision now_ , Morgan thought, plunging the empty waterskins into the flowing creek, recalling how the soldier had been just as exhausted as she was; no doubt more-so, considering the armour he was wearing.

The young tactician – ‘Grandmaster’ now, she corrected herself – perked up when she heard Anna let out another high-pitched shriek.

_I should really hurry back and make sure she’s okay_ , Morgan thought, corking the waterskin she’d been filling and rising to her feet. _But dammit if my legs aren’t telling me ‘no’._

Contrary to what she was thinking Morgan raced back through the forest, dodging trees and ignoring the snagging branches as she ran bent low with her hands already on her sword, the way her mother had taught her to do.

She skidded to a halt on the road, taking in the scene in a heartbeat and relaxing.

“Morgan!” Anna called, waving cheerfully. “Customers! We’ve got… wait, where’s the water?”

The Grandmaster groaned, straightening and leaving one hand lingering by her sword just in case.

“I heard you yell, and I thought you were in trouble,” she said.

“Aw, look at you, glaring at me the way your father does!” Anna cooed. “That’s so cute! But we still need the water! Chop-chop!”

Morgan stole one last glance at the two cloaked and hooded men as she turned on her heel, grumbling about what a slave-driver Anna was. She ran into Donnel as he was rushing back, a bundle of firewood under his injured arm and sword in hand with the other.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked breathlessly.

“It’s just Anna squealing with delight at the thought of money,” Morgan deadpanned as she passed the young soldier.

“Aw shucks,” Donnel groaned, sheathing his sword. “I gone an’ broke Miss Lissa’s fancy sling for nuthin’.”

“Lissa taught me how to do it; I’ll make you another one,” Morgan promised as she went to retrieve the waterskins she’d abandoned.

_There’s a thought,_ Morgan internally grunted as she watched Donnel shift the firewood he’d gathered to his good arm. _Why didn’t I just take the skins back with me the first time?_

*

Morgan sat at the fire a small distance away from Anna’s mat, watching while the plucky merchant spoke at break-neck speed with the two cloaked me, obviously haggling about something or other from the fierce look on her face.

“She’s lookin like she’s havin a lotta’ fun,” Donnel muttered, cradling his arm as the younger tactician made up another sling for him. “Thought I’d be used ta’ the weird goins’ on’a the Shepherds by now. Think I spent a bit too much time with the Knights.”

Morgan couldn’t help but snicker.

“Once you’re in there’s no getting out,” she chuckled. “Once a Shepherd, always a Shepherd.”

“That ain’t my gripe,” Donnel hissed as Morgan tightened the cloth around his shoulder. “My problem’s that more’n half’a the Shepherds’re nuts.”

“A little bit of controlled insanity goes a long way,” Morgan said with a wink as she scooted back to her own seat.

The soldier grunted, flexing his arm a little to check the sling, nodding in satisfaction after a few seconds. His wound had been caused by an arrow with a head made out of the same black steel that had scarred Robin’s face and left Panne in a coma for the better part of a week, but it had just been a single arrow. The strange part was the throbbing, swollen area around the wound, almost as if he had been magically poisoned. Henry had spent almost an entire day hovering over the younger man, poking and prodding and trying every dispelling hex and curative curse in his surprisingly varied repertoire, but nothing had helped.

_“It ain’t ma sword arm,”_ Donnel had huffed when the Dark Mage had given up. _“I ain’t useless just yet.”_

Morgan grinned at the thought, turning a little to watch the two strangers talking with Anna out of the corner of her eye.

The shorter of the two, the one doing all the talking, waved almost emaciated hands around as he talked brightly with her, his black fingernails sharpened to dangerous looking points; the taller of the two sat silently by his side, still as a statue and staring straight ahead. It seemed to Morgan like he sat unnaturally still, but she was still a little spooked by the dream she’d had in the library the previous evening, so she reserved judgement on the strangers.

“Something about those two rubs me the wrong way,” she finally muttered, watching them shake hands with the merchant in turn as the trio finally stood.

“Don’t let Anna hear ya sayin that ‘bout her customers,” Donnel guffawed as he stirred the stew over the fire with his good hand. “Ya think Risen’re the scary ones? Yeesh, jus’ the thought’s makin me shiver.”

“Hey guys!” Anna said excitedly as she led the cloaked duo over. “I’ve decided to expand into the tourism industry! These two are heading to Jagen, too, so I said we’d guide them there the quick way! Make nice, now!”

With that perplexing statement and a wink she whirled, heading back to her small mat covered in goods, leaving the two travellers standing obviously just as perplexed as the two Shepherds. It wasn’t entirely uncommon to share a fire with other travellers on the road, especially if a merchant like Anna could make a quick coin out of it, but she had to know they were on an important mission here…

“Well… er… have a seat?” Donnel offered, indicating opposite the fire with the ladle in his hand.

“Thank you, sir,” the shorter of the two, the thin one, said.

The two travellers moved where the soldier had indicated, the taller of the two sitting without hesitation while the thin man remained standing.

“Beg pardon, sir, but is there a stream nearby?” he asked in a soft tone. “We’re almost out of water, see…”

“Yeah, just past those trees,” Morgan said helpfully.

“I’ll show ya,” Donnel offered, handing Morgan the ladle and standing.

The young tactician stole a glance at the stranger’s face in the firelight as Donnel led him off; his eyes were dark hollows, sinister looking beneath his great hood. His dark, thin face had a neat goatee, something that tugged at Morgan’s memories.

The young tactician started when she realised she was meant to be stirring the stew, shuffling over a little to the fire. She glanced up, catching a brief flash of light reflecting off of something under the quiet man’s hood as he angled his face downwards, piquing her curiosity.

“So…” she said at length. “I’m Morgan.”

The tall man remained silent, not even acknowledging her.

“Er… what’s your name?”

“Draco.”

She blinked, her stirring slowing as she tried to assure herself she wasn’t imagining things. His voice had sounded cold, harsh, but oddly sad in a strange sort of way.

“That’s an… interesting name,” she said, shuffling uncomfortably and desperately wishing either Anna would stop hovering over her wares or Donnel would get back already.

The silent man nodded, giving Morgan another glimpse of something reflecting firelight beneath his hood. The young tactician stole another glance at the man across the fire, realising that almost all of his skin was completely covered; what Morgan could actually see of his flesh, predominantly his chin, was a shade that made him look sickly, but he held himself the same way that Lon’qu or Virion did.

Morgan decided then that he was dangerous.

A rustling from the trees heralded the return of Donnel and the other man, and Morgan gratefully scooted back away from the silent man as the soldier resumed his position over the pot.

“Hey Morgan,” Donnel said conversationally in his trademark drawl as they all got comfortable. “Nergal ‘ere was just tellin’ me he’s a mage, too! What’re the odds, eh?”

Morgan looked up at the smaller of the two strangers at this, the man chuckling bashfully and holding up his hands.

“No, no,” he assured her. “I’m hardly anything special. I’m more a scholar than anything else.”

Morgan nodded a little. That would explain his gaunt appearance; a lot of mages tended to forget to eat while they were working if Miriel and Ricken were any indication.

“Nergal’s an interesting name,” Morgan pointed out, recalling something she’d read at some point, possibly before she’d lost her memory.

“Oh?” the thin man asked, leaning forward expectantly. “How so?”

“It was the name of a pre-Naga god,” she recalled, watching him for reaction. “Said to pre-date even the stories of Anri and Medeus. Nergal was one of a pantheon in an old polytheistic religion; their god of the underworld.”

“Yes, top marks!” the thin man said excitedly. “My parents were scholars too, and evidently they saw a little of the old myths in me as a child. But did you know Nergal was also their god of knowledge and magic?”

Morgan blinked a couple of times in surprise.

“Er… no, I didn’t.”

“Yes, not many people do,” he explained. “I was quite excited when I found that information. Signs even point to him being a sort of precursor for the Earth-Dragon tribes but… that’s mere speculation on my part. I haven’t found any concrete proof yet.”

He perked up as if he’d just remembered something.

“Oh, where are my manners!” he said reaching forward. “Nergal, travelling scholar and part-time mage. Pleased to meet you.”

Morgan nodded, tentatively taking his hand and shaking it a few times.

“Morgan. Tactician,” she answered honestly, watching Draco out of the corner of her eye.

Nergal’s hands were thin, but Morgan found them oddly warm and almost familiar.

“And I assume my companion has already introduced himself?” the thin man asked as he and Morgan returned to their seats.

The taller of the two nodded once, still looking down.

“Sorry, he’s not one for much conversation,” Nergal said. “And again, sorry, but his predisposition to silence tends to make me a little talkative. But a tactician you say? Truly that’s an interesting profession to find camping by the road these days! Another hunter of knowledge, am I correct?”

Morgan nodded and the older man smiled.

“In truth my son is a tactician,” Nergal said, his voice becoming softer.

“Really?” Morgan asked. “I… learned it from my father.”

“He must be proud of you.”

“I like to think he is.”

Morgan caught herself, mentally berating herself for relaxing so much. What was it about the man that was lulling her into a sense of security? She couldn’t even see his eyes.

“What are you doing all the way out here?” she asked, trying to steer the conversation to less personal matters.

“We were trying to find a quicker route through the mountains,” Nergal explained. “With everything that’s going on lately I was… hoping to meet with my estranged Granddaughter, to be honest.”

Morgan nodded sceptically.

_Uh-huh. Lead us into a false sense of security with a friendly appearance and a sob-story. Very believable performance, but I don’t buy it._

“It was quite lucky, to be honest, that we ran across you,” Nergal went on. “We’ve been lost in these foothills for nearly three days now and-”

Draco rose fluidly to his feet, startling the three other people around the fire as he drew an ornate longbow out from beneath his cloak, already nocking an arrow as he moved. Morgan was already on her feet, drawing her sword as she stood, but the silent man was faster, bringing his bow up and letting an arrow fly directly at her face. She shut her eyes, preparing for the familiar sensation of pain as she was pierced again, instead falling backwards as the arrow flew past her barely an inch from her face.

“Morgan!” Donnel shouted, drawing his sword one-handed and standing, stew forgotten.

“I’m fine!” she said, glancing behind her to where a Risen was collapsing, turning to ashes just inside the circle of firelight. “Anna! Get over here!”

“Oh dear,” Nergal groaned, rising to his feet and pulling a thick tome out of his cloak. “I was just about to say ‘I think we were being hunted’, as well.”


	55. Chapter 55

Morgan looked around quickly as Anna scrambled to the fireside, Nergal and Draco both looking rather nonplussed at the thought of having to fight. Or at least Nergal looked nonplussed. Draco was as unreadable as ever to the Grandmaster.

The young Grandmaster reached up, stroking her cheek lightly where the arrow had passed by it as she processed the fact she was still whole, her brain a little slow to catch up.

“Morgan!” Donnel called out, snapping her attention back to the Risen encircling them outside the ring of firelight.

“Form… form a circle around the fire!” she ordered over the grunting and moaning of the creatures. “Nergal, Draco; can you fight?”

Draco answered by letting out a low growl, pulling another arrow out from beneath his cloak and firing it into the night, rewarded with the death-scream of another of the Risen.

“I would take that as a yes,” Nergal said with a grin, flipping his spellbook open and beginning to draw complex figures in the air with barely a glance.

“Anna, stay close to Donny,” Morgan instructed, readying her own sword. “Watch each-other’s backs, okay?”

Donnel nodded, turning away from her, trusting the younger girl to watch their backs. Anna looked a little more apprehensive, eyes darting about before taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, grip tightening around her own weapon’s hilt; an ornate short-sword rather than her usual longer one, no doubt something she’d been hoping to sell.

“Here they come!” Nergal warned, the sounds of crashing in the forest all around them growing as the Risen began to charge.

Morgan grit her teeth, darting out to meet the Risen with her sword held up, trusting the others to watch her flanks. Draco’s bow beat a steady rhythm, and the sounds of small magical explosions began to ring out behind Morgan as Nergal joined the fray. Donnel shouted wordlessly as he and Anna stood their ground, the merchant desperately trying to cover the more combat-experienced soldier’s wounded side as he struck out one-handed at their attackers.

Morgan skidded to a halt, flipping her sword around above her head and bending her knees in the ‘Jodan’ stance her mother had taught her, sliding one foot forward slightly and slashing downwards, through the first of the Risen and using that momentum to spin through the pack behind it, striking out laterally and causing a miniature whirlwind of dust and purple ashes as she took out basically the whole pack around her.

_These are too weak to be an assassination party_ , Morgan thought, calming a little. _These are only on par with the wandering Risen like Cherche was talking about… nothing we can’t handle._

She turned to see Draco covering Donnel and Anna’s flank as they struggled through the Risen before them, Nergal holding his own against the Risen pressing in on his side in an impressive show of magical skill, a determined frown on his thin face.

Morgan took all this in in barely a second, deciding that Draco and the other two could hold the Risen on that side; Draco was proving adept at driving the creatures back almost as fast as they could leap out of the darkness, his dark-fletched arrows and slender hands flying almost faster than Morgan’s eyes could follow. Nergal, however, looked like he was having trouble; Dark Magic was known to be slow; powerful, but slow to cast and easy to avoid. Fortunately the Risen seemed almost mindless in their haste to descend on the travellers, and many ran directly into the path of the mage as he cast wide area of effect spells, altering simple flux spells and driving the creatures off to one side.

Morgan tore into the creatures, Nergal letting out a relieved sigh as she gave the beleaguered mage a chance to catch his breath.

She twisted and whirled through the stances her mother had taught her, combining them with Lon’qu’s signature swordplay she had learned second-hand from her father to devastating effect. Soon she was ankle-deep in swirling purple mist, trying not to trip on discarded weapons as she backpedalled.

“Morgan! Get down!” Nergal shouted, waving his hands through a complex Dark Magic circle.

“Devastation!” his voice rang out clearly. “I call to the abyss! Take these creatures to the darkness!”

The ashes that littered the ground began to swirl, a knee-high purple cloud beginning to form as Morgan watched on in pure shock.

“Jormung!” the thin mage roared, his spell complete.

Dark, luminescent forms rose up out of the ash much the same way Morgan’s Verrine spell worked, but these forms were almost shapeless and in much greater numbers than her spell had been able to create. They surrounded the five travellers, pushing the Risen horde around them to the ground and slowly, methodically dismembering the creatures while the three Shepherds watched in awe. Draco sniffed, lowering his bow impassively and seemingly unimpressed.

Nergal panted, sagging as his spell dissipated. A cool wind blew through the silent roadside, stirring up the ashes on the ground in the brief calm.

“That was… impressive…” Anna managed to murmur as Donnel eyed the two strangers with a renewed guardedness.

“Anna, Donny, pack up our gear,” Morgan said, snapping out of her shock quicker than last time. “We need to move. Draco, can you help them?”

The quiet archer nodded once, stowing his bow back beneath his cloak, giving her a glimpse of tight black leathers in the firelight as he did so, and moving to assist the others cleaning up the camp and Anna’s scattered wares.

“You said you were a Mage, not a Dark Mage,” Morgan said, rounding on the exhausted man barely standing behind her.

“I fail to see the difference,” Nergal gasped, reaching shakily for his waterskin.

“Look, it makes a difference to me,” Morgan groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. “We need to get out of here right now, but we’re not done talking about this. Understand?”

Nergal nodded mutely as the young Grandmaster turned away, moving to help the others break camp while the exhausted mage regained his composure.

*

_Robin shivered, resisting the urge to sneeze as he sat cross-legged and wearing nothing but his smallclothes on the sand of the night-time Plegian desertscape as part of his ‘training’._

_“Calm the mind,” he repeated, eyes closed and teeth chattering. “F-find my cen…centre. I can… do this…”_

_He took another shuddering breath, exhaling and creating a small cloud of vapour in front of his face. He’d been meditating for hours in the freezing northern desert, his father once again dragging him away from his books on another training excursion. It was late in the year, and according to his mother anywhere else on the continent it would be snowing. He was supposed to be learning how to cast under adverse circumstances, not freezing his butt to the rock he was sitting on…_

_Robin concentrated, feeling his mana well up and a subtle warmth starting to spread to his limbs-_

_“Argh!” he sighed as a fresh wave of shivers, closer to convulsions, struck him and he desperately hugged his chest, trying to maintain some of the warmth he’d just felt._

_It was impossible. He was going to freeze to death, all because of his father’s crazy expectations. It wasn’t fair… he’d never even managed to beat his mother at the tactical simulation game they played together…_

_A sound like a whip-crack rang out, Robin perking up but not turning. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable._

_“You’re weak!” his father spat from behind him, the sound of crunching footsteps approaching. “Concentrate! Or you_ will _die! I am not saving you this time!”_

_Robin shuddered again as the footsteps stopped just behind him, this time not from the cold._

_Another crack rang out as his father slapped his head to one side from behind, the young man’s vision blurring for a moment as he righted himself._

_“Again!” his father snarled. “You have a great destiny to live up to, boy! I won’t tolerate failure!”_

_Robin grit his teeth, concentrating again. Instead of finding his centre, though, he concentrated on the burning hate he was fostering at that moment, feeling his mana surge uncontrollably with the raw emotions before spiralling out of control and leaving him panting and still cold._

_“Again!” his father snapped. “And again and again until you get it or you freeze to death!”_

_Robin grimaced as the footfalls receded, his father no doubt returning to the warm tent he had set up, just to taunt Robin. This, too, was apparently part of his training. Mental adversity built powerful mages, apparently._

_But he didn’t want to be a mage._

_He wanted to learn swordplay and tactics from his mother. He wanted to help people the way she had, not sit in some dusty church library and transcribe ancient scrolls._

_He felt the familiar sensation of his mana warming in his chest again as he thought of time spent with his mother; discussing tactics, fencing training, studying and coming up with his own tactics while she watched over him…_

_The spell grew almost instantly, Robin sighing with relief as for a moment he was warm again. His grip on the spell slipped, however, when he realised that he couldn’t remember what his mother actually looked like._

_The young tactician, for he couldn’t think of himself as anything but, opened his eyes, a confident smirk on his face._

_He wasn’t going to give his bastard father the satisfaction of freezing to death. He would use the memories of what his mother had taught him, not his father, as the catalyst for the spell._

_He would-_

_“If the boy won’t suffice, we will merely find another. Fortunately, there_ is _another suitable candidate this time…”_

_*_

Robin snorted, jerking awake and instantly regretting it as the crink in his neck made its presence known to him.

“Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow…” he muttered, massaging his neck as he sat up at his table.

_What the hell was that dream?_ He wondered, leaning his head from side to side. _Are they usually so… vivid?_

The strange dream was already fading into his memory, but his face still hurt like he had actually been slapped. Feeling a little silly as he did so he turned, glancing around his darkened tent to make sure nobody was standing behind him. Darkness greeted him, accompanied by the sounds of the night guard, Vaike judging from the sound of the heavy footfalls, marching lazily by his tent and Lucina’s calm, gentle sleeping breaths from behind him.

Robin couldn’t help but grin as his gaze settled on her sleeping form. She had refused to leave his side, even after he had started working. Of course, she had done her best to assist him, but Robin worked so fast the best she could really do was pass him notes when he needed them; trying to understand his leaps of logic and the way his thought process worked had wound up giving her a headache. She had still done her best, though, and wound up crashing a few hours after nightfall. Robin hadn’t noticed at first, so absorbed with the work that he was.

Lon’qu had personally gone scouting, reporting that not only had Plegia lied to them about the state of their army before the Valm Campaign and rather than being in disarray it was almost as large as it had been under Gangrel’s command, but said army was also between them and the Dragon’s Table, covering every possible approach.

Robin didn’t want to risk Morgan’s safety by calling in the Ylissean Army just yet, either; not until he was sure it was absolutely necessary. Not to mention, judging from the report they had received from Ylisstol, she had her own hands full right now.

_She’ll be fine,_ Robin told himself with a small sigh. _She’s the Grandmaster now. She has the entire Army, not to mention both of the Knight Orders at her beck and call. She’s safer than I am right now. So why can’t I shake this weird feeling that something bad is happening?_

Letting out a soft yawn Robin flicked the small oil candle that had burned out, the wick lighting from his spell as he recommenced working.

_Well, I’m awake now,_ he reasoned, forcibly turning away from Lucina and the urge to simply curl up next to her.

There was, once again, a lot to do, and not a lot of time to do it in.

He could worry about weird dreams later.

*

The sound of bodies crashing through the light mountain forest broke the idyllic night time stillness as five cloaked figures hurried through it, the one in the lead forging forward with a small flame dancing above her outstretched hand.

Morgan was panting heavily when she finally called a stop in a small clearing not far from the creek that had run along the road. They had followed the creek up the mountain off of the winding road in an attempt to lose the Risen that may or may not even be following them now; Morgan didn’t care, she wasn’t taking the risk.

“What… have we gotten… ourselves dragged into…?” Nergal gasped, collapsing near the feet of the ever-stoic Draco, the archer barely even breathing heavily.

Not that she or the others were doing much better; Anna was exhausted from the fight and foolishly insisting on not abandoning her wares even after the attack, sitting on the ground hunched forward. Donnel was faring a little better, but his balance was off because of his inability to use his wounded arm, and he was evidently having a tough time adjusting.

“Donny, can you set up a small fire?” Morgan asked once they had all caught their breath.

“Yeah,” the soldier groaned, climbing back to his feet. “Yeah, no problem. Jus’ give me a sec…”

“So we’re safe here… right?” Anna asked, huddling up with her heavy pack.

Morgan shrugged.

“Safer than we would be on the road. We should still keep watch, tonight, though.”

She glanced over her shoulder at Nergal, still panting while Draco seemingly stood vigil over the man. Nergal’s hood had long since fallen back, revealing a slim and somewhat pointy face perfectly matching the rest of the skinny mage, his features seeming to have an almost stereotypical paternal quality about them; but Draco’s hood stayed perfectly in place, still covering the top half of his face in mysterious shadows. Even during the fight and their flight through the woods the hood hadn’t budged.

“What about you two?” she asked, making the panting mage glance up at her.

“Safety in numbers,” Nergal managed after a few seconds, running a hand over his dark hair. “If you would allow it, that is. Draco is good, but I don’t think even he could take all of those creatures at once if they attack again. No offense, old friend.”

The archer’s from deepened a little, but he remained silent.

“Of course we’d allow it!” Anna chirped from the ground. “You paid in advance, and I’m a merchant, not a crook. We’ll get you safely to Jagen, or I’m not an Anna!”

“Okay, so I guess that answers that. Do you two have some provisions?” Morgan asked, rolling her eyes. “We left our dinner behind and-”

“Actually,” Anna cut in, holding up the pot full of cold stew. “It was bad enough I had to leave the cooking gear behind, but… This pot was expensive. I couldn’t just leave it…”

The others looked at the red-head for a moment, before all bursting into laughter. Minus Draco, who just quirked his head a little.

“That explains why you were moving so slowly,” Morgan chuckled, wiping a tear from her eye. “Well, maybe this isn’t turning out quite as bad as I thought it was.”

*

Later that evening Morgan sat with her back to the fire in a position that had Anna and Donnel behind her, but she could still watch the majority of their surroundings and the two strangers with relative ease.

One of the sticks in the dying fire cracked, sending a small cloud of embers floating into the air and making the Grandmaster jump a little.

Morgan sighed when she realised she was just overreacting, rubbing her head and turning to stare back into the forest. She was on edge, and she wasn’t sure why; they had been expecting to be attacked, that’s why they’d avoided using the main passes through the mountains. Nergal and Draco seemed to be mostly harmless, too. So what was bothering her?

It was as if every fibre in her being screamed ‘run’ to her at the top if their lungs.

“Little jumpy, aren’t we?” a voice asked from a little way away.

Morgan glanced up, seeing Nergal lying on his side, head propped up on his elbow, looking at her curiously. She was surprised to note his skin was darker than she thought it was before, now that she got a good look at his face in the firelight.

“Yeah, I guess,” Morgan agreed quietly.

“You know, you’re pretty skilled for someone so young,” Nergal said quietly as he sat up and scooted closer to her. “It was impressive seeing the way you handled those creatures. You’re really something with that sword.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” she admitted, eyes never leaving the forest around them.

“It’s sad that someone so young could say something so cold with a straight face,” Nergal sighed.

The strange older mage perked up, leaning over to glance at Morgan.

“It’s also sad that one so young is so brutally scarred,” he added in a shocked tone.

Morgan went instantly red, pulling her coat closed around her to hide the magical burn scars on her neck and shoulder she’d gotten courtesy of the late Valmese Tactician Excellus. Usually people around her had the tact not to mention them, so she had all but forgotten about them, but suddenly her teenage-body-image complex kicked in in full force again.

“Shut up,” she growled, doing her best to remain focused on keeping watch. “Are all people where you’re from so clueless? Or are just particularly good at pressing other people’s buttons?”

“Oh, sorry,” Nergal said quickly, trailing off. “I didn’t realise… I… er… sorry…”

Morgan sighed, releasing the tight grip she had about her collar. “Forget about it. They just remind me… of a time I failed. A time I got people hurt.”

Nergal nodded sagely.

“We all bear scars like that, though, don’t we?” he asked with a sad chuckle. “You just wear yours on your flesh. Most of us wear them deeper. The Grimleal teach that we should be ashamed and proud of our scars at the same time; ashamed that we were bested, yet proud that we survived.”

The Grandmaster cast the older man a glance out of the corner of her eye.

“Sorry, pay me no mind,” he said, laughing what he’d just said off. “I’m just rambling, now.”

“You mentioned your son earlier,” she pointed out softly after a moment of indecision. “And your Granddaughter, too. I assume it has something to do with that?”

Nergal chuckled a little. “Yeah. But it’s… personal.”

“I won’t pry, then,” Morgan said.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Morgan continuing to scan the forest as the other mage stared off into space. Just as she thought he must have nodded off sitting up he spoke again.

“You remind me of my son, you know.” he said quietly.

“Not that I’m saying you’re masculine or anything,” he added quickly, laughing at his own faux-pas, “I’m just saying you carry yourself the same way he did. You have the same confidence. The same… drive. He got that from his mother, not from me. Your father is a good man to have raised such a strong young woman.”

_Yeah, not that I can remember most of him doing it_ , Morgan thought with melancholy.

“Sorry,” Nergal laughed when the girl remained silent. “I know I have a tendency to ramble. I hope I didn’t offend you, especially after you saved my hide back there with those creatures.”

“Risen,” Morgan said, making the older man quirk his head to one side curiously.

“They’re called Risen,” she elaborated. “And you didn’t offend me. I’m just… it’s been a long time since I’ve been in charge of a mission. I’m just a little on edge because my last one didn’t go so well.”

_That’s not true,_ she realised quickly, falling silent again. _Dad put me in charge at the Hot Springs, and that went fine. So… why do I feel like there are ants crawling up my spine?_

“You know, I tend to gloss over the ‘Dark Magic’ thing because it puts people off,” Nergal said in the lull in conversation. “But here you sit, still talking to a strange old coot that cast a spell that would make children run away screaming. That says a lot for you.”

“My Aunt’s a Dark Mage,” Morgan chuckled, adding “well; she’s not really my Aunt by blood, but she’s as close as family. So does that make you Plegian?”

“It does,” Nergal sighed. “Although to be honest I feel a tad disconnected from my homeland lately. Hence why I decided to try and find my family; they’re supposedly in Ylisse somewhere, and I thought I’d start in the east and work my way back.”

“So does that mean you don’t like the new king?” Morgan asked.

“Who, Validar?” Nergal snorted. “He’s not a king, he’s the old head of the Grimleal. He only stepped in to stop a power-vacuum, and now he can’t find someone else worthy to take over.”

“You talk like you know him personally,” Morgan pointed out, her hand subtly shifting to her sword’s hilt in the shadows.

“Every Dark Mage knows every other one,” Nergal sighed. “I probably know your Aunt, too, or at least someone in her family. It’s a small fraternity, plagued by greed and self-importance. Another reason I’m not too cut up about leaving Plegia at the moment. All the political manoeuvring tends to get in the way of my research.”

Morgan nodded, letting her hand drop back to where it had been resting before. It was interesting to get a first-hand account of the state of the neighbouring country rather than reading it on reports. It offered perspective she now realised she had been lacking. She would admit that she was beginning to see the Plegians as individuals now, rather than one singular whole.

“So then do you know a woman named Tharja?” Morgan asked conversationally as they watched the night.

“Tharja… Tharja…” Nergal muttered, rolling the name over his tongue a few times in thought. “About your height, long black hair, exceedingly well-endowed? Never smiles unless she’s about to stab something?”

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“I’ve met her in passing a few times; we both served in the Royal Guard together. I know her father quite well. He’s a deranged madman; no right to have raised children. I always hoped she turned out a little more well-rounded than he did.”

“Well, she is… eccentric,” Morgan snickered.

“Yes, but that is mostly par for the course among Dark Mages,” Nergal said, joining in her laughter.

Once they calmed again Nergal glanced over at the young Grandmaster.

“So are you?” he asked curiously.

“Am I what?”

“I don’t mean to offend you by asking this, but are you a Dark Mage, too?” Nergal asked somewhat timidly. “You have the same aura… the same resonance about you. I don’t mean to pry… but…”

Morgan glanced at the man, shocked by the question.

“I’ve… never really thought about it,” she admitted hesitantly. “I mean, I can use Dark Magic, even if I prefer not to. That spell you used was similar to one I came up with a few months ago, but using Dark Magic leaves… a bad taste in my mouth. I’m a tactician, not a mage.”

“We have to swap notes, then!” Nergal said quickly. “I’ve been looking for ways to improve my Jormung spell!”

The thin man leaned over, quickly pulling out his spellbook and an old quill with an ecstatic look on his face.

Morgan chuckled.

_A scholar indeed,_ she thought to herself, reaching for her own spellbook.

*

Chrom glanced up from the table he was eating breakfast with the rest of his family at as a commotion at the tent’s entrance drew everyone’s attention.

“I told you I have food in my tent!” Robin was saying in his usual, over-animated way as Chrom’s eldest time-travelling daughter dragged him. “I don’t need to eat! I need to work!”

“You have two choices,” Lucina told the struggling tactician outside, dragging him by the scruff into the mess tent. “You can come into this tent quietly, eat, and return to work; or I can knock you out, drag you into this tent, force food down your throat and-”

“Okay, okay!” Robin called out, righting himself and shaking her hand off.

“You know one day you’ll thank me for all this meticulous planning,” Robin grumbled as he stepped into the tent. “And by the way, you made a scene and everyone’s staring at us now.”

Chrom burst out laughing as he heard a strangled groan from his daughter outside, watching as Robin’s face turned into a satisfied smirk. Cynthia snorted next to him, doing her best not to laugh, while Lon’qu looked completely oblivious to what was going on.

“Master! Over here!” Owain shouted, unnecessarily, across the small tent.

“Yes, Owain, he sees us,” Chrom chuckled as the Tactician started heading over to the table, a furiously blushing Lucina in tow.

The mess tent, the old mess tent that they used to cart around as Shepherds, rather than the larger one they had used while they marched with the army, was full to bursting, even considering the fact that a good third of their number was either on guard duty or scouting missions. A few glares, mostly from the knights, followed Robin as he crossed the room despite what Chrom had said yesterday, but to the tactician’s credit he just shrugged them off, smiling and waving good morning to everyone.

“Mornin’,” Robin yawned as he sank down at the small table, Lucina at his side.

“Good morning Robin, Lucina,” Chrom greeted.

Lon’qu grunted a greeting, still absorbed in whatever strange Feroxi breakfast concoction he had in his bowl.

“Morning Lucy!” Cynthia chimed, before glancing at Robin and becoming a little more subdued. “Good morning Robin.”

“Yes, yes, good morning,” Robin said, yawning again. “Owain! Your master hungers!”

The blonde boy was on his feet instantly, darting to where the food that Nah and Severa had prepared was still sitting.

“And bring some back for Lucina, too!” Robin added, snickering a little.

“It never ceases to amaze me how you do that,” Lon’qu muttered, watching his usually uncontrollable son tending to the tactician hand and foot.

“I would appreciate you not treating my cousin as a slave,” Lucina deadpanned, glaring sideways at the tactician.

“What?” Robin asked innocently. “I told him to get you some, too.”

Lucina sighed and rolled her eyes. “Because that makes it so much better…”

“Owain!” Cynthia called. “Grab me another roll, please?”

“See?” Robin laughed when Lucina glared at her sister. “She gets it.”

Chrom chuckled along with the tactician, stopping when the man turned his head.

“Robin, why are you missing such a big chunk of hair?”

The other man stopped, reaching up tenderly and feeling the small bald patch near his temple.

“Was it really that big…?” he wondered out loud, further perplexing the Exalt.

Before Chrom could continue his questioning, however, Owain had returned, turning the table into the giant free-for-all breakfast usually became around the tactician.

*

Miles away in the Plegian Palace, Algol, the Captain of the Royal Guard that had been bested by the Ylissean Knight Commander, let out a strangled groan, consciousness finally returning to him and making him wish he’d just died as pain flooded his senses. He slowly opened his eyes, registering the familiar ceiling of the Palace’s sanatorium, torchlight flickering on the view in the windowless chamber. Sitting up Algol winced, holding a hand to the bandages covering his bare torso, wondering how exactly he had survived.

He noticed the pitcher of water sitting on the small table next to his bed and, taking a deep drink from it to quench his parched throat, found the liquid to be tepid.

“How long have I been down here?” he wondered out loud, looking at the rows of empty beds around him.

Standing unsteadily the Guard Captain made his way to the chamber’s entrance, finding no sign of the Mages and Sorcerers that would usually be tending the room. Unlike Ylisse, who trained priests and clerics to be healers, the role of Plegian healers was more often than not given to the country’s Dark Mages.

Grunting with effort the weakened Captain dragged himself up the stairs to the main floor of the palace by the railing, panting and coated in sweat by the time he reached the top, his wound aching and throbbing.

“Where is everyone?” he asked out loud, greeted by silence and emptiness.

The Palace had been running on a skeleton crew for some time now, but there should still have been servants, guards, mages and clerks moving around, going about the daily maintenance of the nation.

The palace was empty. The torches weren’t lit, and sand had drifted in from the desert outside to form small piles in the corners, a daily struggle to prevent for the dedicated team of cleaners. The sand hadn’t pile up that high yet, though; meaning it had only been two or three days at the most since the Ylisseans had evaded Validar’s trap.

“Hello?” Algol called out, shuffling further into the main hall.

“Hello!?” he called out again, beginning to cough from his exertions.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” a familiar voice called out irritatedly from the direction of the kitchens.

A thin man wearing the robes of a senior ranking Dark Mage bustled into the hall, an irritated scowl on his face beneath his skull-cap as he noticed the Captain standing hunched over in the middle of the desolate hall.

“Ah. I was wondering when you would finally awaken,” he said, crossing to Algol.

“Adri?” Algol groaned as the Dark Mage helped him back towards the kitchens. “What’s going on?”

“It’s… complicated,” the mage said as they entered the warm kitchen. “Suffice to say the Palace has been abandoned in favour of another seat of power.”

The mage had, like most of the Dark Mages, served a period of time in the Royal Guard under Algol’s command. There were very few among the Dark Mages Algol didn’t know by name, and it was slightly comforting to have one of the less insane ones be the person to meet him.

Adri sat him down at the long servant’s table in the middle of the kitchen, producing a steaming mug of broth.

“Drink this,” he instructed. “It will help you recover your strength faster. Now hold still while I change your bandages.”

“In the kitchen?” Algol asked as the other man set to work. “Isn’t that a little… unhygienic?”

“There is no one left to care,” Adri sighed, dropping the soiled bandages onto the floor.

Algol chose to remain silent, allowing the mage to work and drinking the weak broth, already starting to feel a little better.

“In a few hours you should try eating something solid,” Adri instructed, tightening the bandages around Algol’s chest before tying them off. “Until then try not to over-exert yourself. You’ve been unconscious for nearly three days.”

“What happened?” Algol asked, placing his empty mug on the table and staring right at the mage next to him. “I need details, Adri.”

The mage sighed.

“King Validar’s plan to get the Fire Emblem was successful,” he said, spitting out the other man’s title like a curse. “He relocated to the Sanctum of Grima at the Dragon’s Table, taking the entire palace staff with him. You were left to die, but apparently the lady Aversa has a soft heart. She healed you, and your men brought you downstairs to rest.”

“Where are my men now?” Algol asked. “They should have been at their posts…”

“Gone, most of them,” Adri explained. “Validar took all those under his sway with him. There are a handful that stayed here in the palace; they were going into town for some supplies.”

“You said ‘under his sway’…” Algol said, trailing off and dreading what he was about to be told.

“Come now, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what Mustafa said already?” Adri admonished. “We are being used, Algol. The entire Plegian Army. The entire fraternity of Dark Mages. The entire nation of Plegia. We are pawns to Validar’s schemes. And now you see that he has set them into motion while you were… sleeping. Those few men remaining here are the ones still loyal to the people. And to you.”

Algol groaned, replaying the conversation he’d had with Mustafa a few days ago in his head.

_“You speak of sedition, o_ _f betraying our oaths to serve the realm.”_

_“You were always the one for theatrics and over-exaggeration. What proof do you have?”_

_“Enough of this madness. Leave the capital and return to your posting, Mustafa. For the bond we once held I will overlook this… this temporary lapse in judgement, but I serve the Throne of Plegia, no matter who sits on it, and nothing will make me forsake my oath.”_

“The proof was staring my in the face the entire time. I was just too blinded by my pride…” Algol muttered, sinking his face into his hands.

“Yes, Mustafa said as much,” Adri commented, taking a bite out of one of the apples sitting on the countertop. “It’s not too late though.”

“How is it not too late?” Algol asked, defeat heavy in his voice. “My men have been taken by that… usurper. All I have left are a handful; the Royal Guard were never numerous to begin with. What would you have me do?”

“Go to the Midmire,” Adri said, leaning in close. “Take those still loyal to our people with you. Join Mustafa’s resistance, and save the men that were stolen from you. Save the entire nation!”

“Okay, enough with the tough sell,” Algol sighed. “What other choice do I have? Sit here and wait, or become a seditionist? Neither choice seems particularly appealing.”

“That’s your decision to make, not mine,” Adri said, tossing his apple core to the garbage. “But you’ll be making the journey on your own. I need to return to the Table, and soon.”

Algol perked up. “The Dragon’s Table?”

“No, that one beneath your elbows,” Adri drolled. “Of course I mean the Dragon’s Table. Validar is consolidating his power. Every Dark Mage is being called there. I am already running late thanks to your sorry carcass.”

“Well excuse me,” Algol huffed, downing the last of his broth.

“I’ve never been gladder that my dearest niece left the fraternity, to be honest,” Adri murmured, his gaze taking on the far-away quality of someone thinking painful thoughts as he crossed his arms and gazed into space.

“Before you go, answer me one thing,” Algol requested. “Mustafa mentioned ‘magic circles’. What is Validar planning?”

Adri glanced up at the Guard Captain, his face deadly serious.

“The end of the world, my friend. He’s going to bring about the apocalypse. Did Mustafa not mention that part? I told him to mention that part.”

*

Morgan groaned, waking on the hard-packed earth of the forest floor and sitting up, brushing at her face and realising she had some dry leaves stuck to it. It took her a few seconds longer than usual to wake properly, a strange occurrence considering she usually woke like a switch being flicked; she just put it up to the excitement from the previous night.

Blinking a few times she looked around, stifling a yawn as she stretched her arms above her head. Nergal and Draco were curled up on the opposite side of the fire to her and Anna, Donnel acting as a buffer between the two groups where he could watch the surroundings and the strangers at the same time.

Morgan relented and yawned, running a hand through her hair as she stood and shuffled over to Donnel, straightening her coat in the process. It was almost dawn; it wouldn’t hurt to wake the others up and start preparing to move.

“Morning, Donny,” she murmured, walking right up to the soldier.

Donnel didn’t as much as grunt in acknowledgement, staring straight ahead and working his mouth soundlessly.

“Donny?” she asked again, glancing down at him.

He was staring into space, eyes unfocussed and his face slack, lost within himself.

“Donny!” Morgan tried again, giving him a little shake.

“Sure thing, Ma,” he muttered blinking and looking up.

“M-Miss Morgan!” he corrected himself, blushing hard. “Oh… uh, g’morning! I… uh… oh geez… The Commander’d tan my hide for spacin’ out on guard duty like that…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Morgan said. “Are you okay, though?”

“Yeah,” Donnel groaned, running a hand down his face. “I’m fine. Just… I dunno. It was weird. All’a sudden I saw my Ma, and she’s tellin’ me to be a good boy like when I was a kid…”

Morgan knelt down next to Donnel, looking at his eyes.

“Did you get hit in the head while we were fighting last night?” she asked seriously, checking his pupils. “You should have said something earlier, Donny…”

“Nah, not a scratch,” the young soldier answered, rubbing the back of his head. “Ain’t it the darndest thing…”

“Just take it easy,” Morgan told him. “Let me know right away if it happens again.”

Donnel snickered a little at being ordered around by someone younger than him, but agreed all the same, moving to wake Nergal and Draco while Morgan went back to wake Anna.

“Hey… Anna?” Morgan whispered, shaking the redhead awake.

“Money?” Anna snorted, sitting up in a flash.

“No, just Morgan,” the Grandmaster grinned.

“Ah. Morning,” the bleary-eyed merchant mumbled, yawning. “Time to open shop already?”

“If by ‘open shop’ you mean ‘keep moving towards Jagen’ then yes, yes it is,” the younger woman laughed, before growing serious again and leaning closer.

“Hey, do me a favour,” Morgan whispered, checking to make sure Donnel’s back was still turned. “Keep an eye on Donny today, okay? He’s… a little out of it.”

Anna nodded, glancing around her to where the soldier was nudging Nergal awake, Draco already on his feet and looking away from them.

*

“So if we go north we should be able to skirt the first big mountain and come out back on the path… and then… go over the other mountains!” Morgan said, walking slowly along with the map in front of her face.

“Right, well, you lead, we’ll follow,” Nergal said from the back of the little procession with Draco.

“We’ll be fine!” Morgan assured them, stuffing the map back in her pouch and picking her pace up again. “I mean, even if we’re attacked by Risen again we’ll be fine! You saw how easy we took them out last night, so… no problems!”

“It’s too early for your optimism,” Anna, apparently not much of a morning person, grumbled from next to Donnel, palm held to her forehead as she glared forward.

“Don’ mind her,” the soldier laughed, slapping the merchant on the back. “Lead on, Grandmaster.”

Morgan gave a laugh, leading the small troupe through the forest. They made good time, even though much of the path Morgan led them on was uphill, only stopping twice for Nergal, who was apparently not in the best of shape, to rest and again for lunch. They didn’t have far to go; they would be able to reach the path again by nightfall, and if they followed the path uninterrupted then they would reach Jagen the by evening the day after next.

Morning turned to noon and then to afternoon before Morgan began to feel the familiar pricking at the back of her mind again. Stopping abruptly she turned around, looking at the gaps between the trees before checking their position against the sun shining merrily through the leaves above them, completely oblivious to the young woman’s sense of forboding.

“Morgan?” Donnel asked, his hand already gripping his sheathed sword.

“It’s just…” Morgan muttered, shaking her head. “I had a feeling. I…”

“Perhaps we should take another rest?” Nergal suggested breathlessly. “I mean we have been moving at a steady pace since lunch.”

Morgan nodded slowly, running her hand slowly through her hair as she looked around them again.

“Sure,” she mumbled, dropping her pack.

The older sorcerer sunk gratefully to the ground, letting out a low groan as he did so, Anna doing the same not far from him. Draco moved to stand protectively by his companion’s side, leaving Donnel and Morgan standing and looking into the trees.

“Stay here,” Morgan said under her breath, taking a few steps into the forest.

Donnel nodded, moving to wait with Anna.

“Where’re you off to?” Nergal asked curiously.

“Secret ladies business,” she answered over her shoulder, grinning when the mage blanched and looked away.

“Forget I asked,” he responded, putting his hands up and pointedly staring back down the slope they had been walking up.

Morgan chuckled walking deeper into the forest away from the others, her cheery exterior becoming stony after a few steps.

_I’m not imagining this feeling_ , she assured herself, her hand drifting to rest on her sword’s hilt as she stepped out of sight of the others.

Something felt off. She couldn’t tell what, but _something_ was wrong. It was the same feeling she’d gotten when the enemy adapted to her tactics, or when she had walked into a trap… or that one time she had accidentally walked in on her father and Lucina on the voyage back to Ylisse. It was a negative charge shooting up and down her spine, a sour smell in the air.

She had been on edge since they had stopped the previous evening, but for some reason the feeling had only grown as they had progressed further into the mountains away from the paths.

Morgan stopped, glancing around. She could hear the wind whistling through the trees, she could hear the leaves rustling and the branches creaking, and she could hear the birds…

_Where are the birds?_ She wondered, spinning around in a circle and drawing her sword.

_“Morgan,”_ a chillingly familiar voice called out to her.

Morgan spun on her heel, bringing her sword up in a flash. She had just looked behind her; there was no way…

“No way…” she breathed, lowering her sword. “Dad?”

Her father stepped forward, moving branches out of his path with an easy grin on his face.

_“Morgan,”_ he repeated, his mouth not moving as he strode forward, empty hands held up at his sides to show he was unarmed.

“Dad, what are you…” she started, catching herself.

His hair was brown; her father had white hair now. She looked a little closer at the man, stepping back at the same pace he advanced. His face was lined, aged; he was older than her father. The resemblance was uncanny, though. She shook her head; this was wrong. Something was wrong.

“Stay back,” Morgan warned, an edge of steel in her voice as she held her sword out, the tip coming to a stop at her father’s doppelganger’s throat and halting the man’s advance.

“I don’t know who you are, or why you look like my father, but I won’t hesitate to cut you down unless you explain yourself right now.”

_“You don’t recognize your own father?”_ the man asked, his voice eerily echoing around the inside of Morgan’s head as his mouth remained closed.

“You’re not my father,” she growled, increasing the pressure against the man’s neck. “Say it again and I’ll run you through without so much as blinking.”

_“Try it,”_ the doppelganger taunted.

Morgan growled, going to pull her sword back and smash him in the head with the back of the blade; she really wasn’t in the mood to play games with a stranger, even one that looked remarkably like her father. But as she went to launch her attack Morgan found herself unable to do so.

_“Do you see?”_ the doppelganger laughed, stepping around her static weapon slowly.

_“I control you. As my father controlled me. Submit, and become a part of a greater destiny the likes of which you cannot imagine.”_

Morgan found herself unable to respond, her mouth not moving at her will. Her mind reeled, though, and she began to panic.

_What the hell is going on!?_ She screamed internally.

_“You breathe because I will it,”_ the doppelganger said, his voice like silk as he reached up and gently stroked her cheek, sending chills up her spine and making her stomach rebel. _“You live because I will it. Do you understand? Speak. Speak your submission.”_

“Shove it up your arse!” Morgan snarled, suddenly able to talk again yet still unable to move. “As soon as I get free I’m going to take this sword and shove it sideways up your-”

A headache, more like a migraine or a blow to the head from Vaike’s axe, assailed the Grandmaster as the doppelganger frowned, clicking his tongue in annoyance and stepping backwards into the trees again. Warm liquid began to run from Morgan’s nose, blood dripping from her chin onto her shirt.

_“I see you still require convincing,”_ the doppelganger chuckled, his voice fading. _“I admit, I am glad that you have such spirit. It makes breaking you that much more fun. Don’t die just yet. Do play nicely with Lepus, though. My dearest. Little. Daughter.”_

The pressure faded from Morgan’s mind, and suddenly she found herself on the forest floor, struggling to stay on her knees rather than fall flat on her face, shaking and panting.

She looked up, wiping the blood off of her face with the cuff of her coat, eyes widening as she threw herself backwards away from the axe descending on her head. The young Grandmaster drew herself up unsteadily, still winded.

Staring her down was what could only be one of the Deadlords; a grey-skinned, serious faced woman glaring at her with glowing red eyes under a haggard mop of hair the colour of bleached straw, holding a wicked, black-headed axe similar to the one Lissa had been training with lately in both hands. She wore a similar robe and armour plates to Libra, a mockery of a priest’s raiment in black and blood-red, her cruel, sneering smile revealing pointed fangs.

“Tactician,” she whispered, her voice like the rustling of the leaves above them.

“No,” Morgan growled, circling her sword and sliding one foot forward slightly, coming into a ready stance. “I’m the Grandmaster, you undead bitch. Get it right.”

With a wordless warcry Morgan threw herself forward, the Deadlord Lepus moving to meet her. Their weapons collided, Morgan somehow stopping the black axe’s arc dead, her arms practically going instantly numb from the impact.

_Oh crap_ , she thought, snarling outwardly but quailing inside. _I… I can’t take her alone! I have to get back to the others before she kills me!_

She stepped back, allowing Lepus’ arc to whoosh past her, spinning and putting all her weight behind a downwards slash, slipping by the Deadlord as she dodged and starting to run.

_If I can get back to the others we’ll be able to take her with numbers,_ Morgan thought, desperately racing through the trees and ducking beneath branches.

As she darted past trees and through the low shrubs scattered about the forest Morgan realised she was panicking; that was the very last thing that she should be doing at a time like this, but she couldn’t help it. Everything was just too much to take, and now a Deadlord was after her? Too much…

She exploded back out into the small clearing the others were resting in, panting and holding her sword up as she spun, waiting for Lepus to follow.

“Up!” Morgan screamed. “We’re under attack!”

They all reacted instantly; Donnel was on his feet, his sling instantly being torn off as he winced and took his sword in a two-handed grip; Anna was at his side, a short-sword in one hand and a carving knife she’d been sharpening while she waited in her other; Draco instantly had his bow up, scoping the area for targets, and Nergal was already flipping through his spellbook.

After a few seconds of silence Morgan dropped her guard, looking around in confusion.

“She was… she was right behind me!” she panted, stepping back from the trees and spinning around.

“Morgan?” Donnel asked, eying her curiously.

“We need to move,” the Grandmaster ordered, ignoring the soldier and grabbing her pack before starting off again. “We’re not safe here. In this forest, at all. We find the path and follow it until we get out of these mountains. We go all night if we have to! No more stops! C’mon! Move!”

“Hey, wait up!” Anna called after her, the others all hurrying to collect their own packs and keep up with the panicked woman.

“We can’t wait!” Morgan shouted, stopping to look back at them, still glancing all around her. “We’re being chased by a Deadlord!”

Anna and Donnel went silent, paling and redoubling their efforts to catch up with her while Nergal raised a brow.

“Er… Deadlord?” the mage asked curiously, approaching slower with Draco on his heels.

“Remember those creatures that attacked us last night?” Morgan asked, trying to make her point as quickly as possible. “Like them, but much, much stronger. They make wounds that can’t be healed magically, and I don’t think that all of us put together can take her. We. Need. To. Move.”

Nergal blinked a few times before nodding, hurrying to keep pace with the Shepherds.

*

Morgan was still panting, now drenched with sweat as well when they finally came upon the path that evening, just as the sun was starting to set and the sky was alive with brilliant hues of purple and orange, the dying rays of the sun flashing through gaps between the trees.

Morgan looked around her, seeing enemies in every shadow and behind every tree in her mind’s eye. She could feel the Deadlord breathing down her neck; she could still feel the doppelganger’s touch on her face, still feel his voice in her mind. It was enough to drive her mad if she thought about it too long. So she had kept running.

They had run almost non-stop for the remainder of the afternoon, only stopping once briefly when Nergal had tripped and landed flat on his face. They were exhausted, but being tired was better than facing what was behind them in the forest.

_Dad’s ten times the swordsman I am, and he just barely fought that Deadlord in Chon’sin to a standstill…_ Morgan thought. _There’s no way in hell we’d be able to take her alone, not with Donny wounded. I think we lost her, though. I… I don’t care anymore, I can’t keep running!_

“Alright, take a breather,” Morgan said, grip tightening on her sword even as she said it.

The others all practically collapsed, all except Draco, and began to suck their waterskins dry. Morgan remained on guard, though; even after all the distance they had put between them and the Deadlord and whatever the creature wearing her father’s face was, she still felt anxious. She still felt like they were in danger.

“Where are they?” Morgan asked herself out loud, looking over her shoulder before spinning in a slow circle. “They wouldn’t give up that fast… not if they sent a Deadlord… where are they?”

“Child, you’re winding yourself up,” Nergal said kindly. “We are safe for the moment; take a moment to collect yourself.”

Morgan flinched, taking a deep breath before nodding and sheathing her sword. The older mage was right; she needed to take a moment to clear her thoughts, drink some water and recover. She had been going full tilt since the attack that afternoon, and now she needed to take stock of the situation.

_Dad wouldn’t panic,_ she told herself, taking a deep drink from her waterskin. _Okay, he might panic horribly and run around in little circles for a while, but he’d get it together. Calm down. Find your centre. Breathe in… and out… Okay. We need to keep moving; we’ll still keep going all night, but we’ll go at a slower pace in case we’re attacked again. We can’t keep running indefinitely, especially not Donny and Nergal; Donny’s wounded, and Nergal’s not fit enough…_

Morgan cupped her chin in thought, placing the waterskin back as she looked at the forest floor, momentarily lost in thought.

_But if that guy with Dad’s face comes back and freezes me again we’re toast. Well, I’m toast. But the others won’t leave me, so they’d get caught up. The only answer is that we have to keep moving. When in doubt, stick with the first idea you come up with._

Morgan nodded, coming to a decision.

“Alright, guys,” she said, hitching her pack higher up her back. “We’re going to keep moving all night; we need to keep on putting distance between us and them, so we’re going to soldier on. We need to keep going.”

“Actually, I would say we’ve come far enough now,” Nergal said from behind her, his voice suddenly haughty and cold.

Morgan turned slowly, looking at where the others were staring at her coldly and impassively.

“Guys?” she asked in a small voice.

Her eyes went wider and she took a few trembling steps back as the Deadlord seemingly materialised amongst the trees behind the others, calmly stepping forwards to join them and glowering at her.

“Look out behind you!” Morgan shrieked, drawing her sword and starting forward, intent on protecting her friends until they were ready and could help her beat down the-

Nergal let out a cold laugh, smiling up at Lepus.

“So kind of you to join us, dear Lepus,” the mage said to the Deadlord before turning back to grin at Morgan.

“A-Anna?” she asked in a small, quaking voice. “Donny? Get… get away from her…”

The other two Shepherds didn’t even blink; they sat staring up at her, their faces cold masks and their eyes devoid of all intelligence. The only person moving now was Draco as he tore off his cloak, throwing it to one side and revealing a strange steel helmet that covered the entire top half of his head, a single cyclopean lens glowing from within with red light as he stared at Morgan, bow in hand and an arrow nocked. He wasn’t pointing it at her, but he held it ready all the same.

“As you can see, you are outnumbered ‘Grandmaster’,” Nergal chuckled, standing. “I’ve grown weary of this farce. Throw down your weapons and submit, or the Shepherds die.”

Morgan shook her head, stepping backwards quickly and stumbling, falling down on her back in her terror.

“What did you do to them!?” she shouted at the mage, pointing at the two motionless Shepherds sitting by the Deadlord’s side.

“A simple suggestion spell,” Nergal laughed. “A little hypnosis. Do not worry, I haven’t harmed them. Yet. For the famous Ylissean Shepherds you truly are a trusting bunch. Off on an important mission and yet you offer to guide two total strangers for coin? You should have at least had two people with us at all times, child. A suggestion spell only takes a matter of seconds to implement.”

Nergal grinned, his face turning predatory. Morgan watched as a haze was lifted from her eyes; Nergal wasn’t a kind-looking scholar, his face was all harsh angles and lines, and he suddenly held himself straight with superiority he hadn’t possessed before. She glanced over at Draco, the archer’s skin suddenly the same ash-grey colour as Lepus’.

“You’re a Deadlord, too?” Morgan asked him in a small voice.

The archer nodded once, slowly and deliberately.

“Draco,” he repeated in a soft tone, his single eye-piece boring into her. “Hunter… of the black arrow. Fifth Deadlord.”

“That’s the most I’ve ever heard him speak,” Nergal chuckled. “I wasn’t lying when I said he wasn’t the most talkative. He must like you.”

“And you?” Morgan asked in a cold voice, taking in her surroundings and trying to buy time. “Is everything you told me a lie, too?”

_I need to get away… to regroup,_ Morgan thought, eyes settling on Anna and Donnel. _Whatever he’s done to Anna and Donny I can’t undo if I’m fighting two Deadlords at once… Keep him talking, buy some time. Wait for the right moment…_

“No, everything I told you was quite true,” Nergal laughed. “Even needing to finish that spell; you saved me years of research, girl, and for that I thank you. Well… all was truth except for my name.”

He turned, throwing off his heavy travelling cloak to reveal Dark Mage robes covered in vile Grimleal iconography that hurt Morgan’s eyes to look at too closely.

“I am Validar,” he said in a proud voice, his head high. “I am King of Plegia and first among the Grimleal and the servants of the Dark Dragon himself. And I spoke truth when I said I was seeking my granddaughter. Tell me, did your father never mention your lineage?”

Morgan shook her head, turning over into a runner’s start and taking off like a shot, only to fall flat on her face when her foot wouldn’t budge. She looked back down at it, a black arrow pinning the hem of her coat to the ground; her supposedly impenetrable, magically enhanced coat that could even turn most blows from a sword, pierced by a single arrow.

“Ah, youth. Always in such a hurry,” Validar said, walking slowly over to Morgan and punctuating the last word by driving his boot into her ribs.

Morgan coughed as she was lifted off the ground, curling up on her side in a ball when she landed and feeling despair begin to set in.

“Oh, don’t give up just yet,” Validar laughed. “We haven’t even gotten to the best part.”

Morgan glanced up at the cruel, angular face as it smiled down at her, leaning closer.

“I am your father’s father,” he whispered into her ear. “And when you are born in this timeline, I will be your grandfather. Making you, dearest Morgan, the granddaughter I was looking for.”

“I did lie about not knowing where you were, though,” he added in a normal tone, leaning back and rising to his feet.

“You are just as trusting and naïve as your father,” he added, kicking her in the ribs again before bending and tearing the sword out of her hand.

Morgan coughed, curling up tighter as Validar strode away.

“Leave…” she coughed. “Leave the others… alone…”

Validar glanced over his shoulder, resting her sword on it at the same time.

“Oh?” he asked, moving over to stand between the other two Shepherds. “These two?”

He stopped in front of Anna, flipping Morgan’s sword around and holding it to her throat, smiling over his shoulder.

“No…” Morgan moaned, rising to her knees.

Validar grinned, throwing the sword backwards to the ground between them.

“You can rest easy, child,” he chuckled. “I am not going to kill them. I need them to deliver a message for me. An… invitation for your father.”

Morgan sagged with relief. At his gesture the two Shepherds rose to their feet, standing and waiting for orders.

“Actually,” Validar said, tapping one finger against his chin. “You only really need one person to deliver a message, right?”

Before Morgan could respond or do anything else Validar’s hand flashed out, a purple light surrounding it as he buried the appendage in Donnel’s chest, bypassing the armour he wore and making the soldier gasp. For a brief moment the light returned to his eyes and his gaze locked with Morgan’s.

“Donny!” she screamed, her voice shrill as Validar tore the young man’s heart out of his chest with a wet, sucking sound, leaving the body to fall to the ground in a bloody heap.

Validar laughed, holding the organ up in the dying sunlight like a trophy, his gaze turning over to Draco as Donnel twitched a few times before lying still.

“Didn’t you miss him when you went hunting?” he asked the Deadlord in a mocking fashion.

Draco answered by growling and spitting a glob of black phlegm off to the side.

“Here,” Validar said, bored already as he tossed Donnel’s heart to the archer Deadlord.

Draco caught the organ one-handed and brought it to his face.

“No,” Morgan whimpered, looking back and forth between the corpse of her friend and the Deadlord holding his heart. “No… no, no, no!”

_This isn’t happening… not again. Not now…_

After giving the organ a sniff Draco took a bite out of the heart, like someone would an apple.

“I’ll kill you!” Morgan roared, rolling forward to grab her sword and bringing it up under Validar’s chin.

She stopped, frozen again, her sword pressed to the man’s neck as he eyed her with one perfectly shaped brow raised.

“Oh? Will you now?” he asked, casually batting her sword aside. “Tell me; if I controlled your father, and you have the same curse, what is to stop me controlling you?”

Morgan let out a strangled growl of frustration, her teeth clenching so hard in her mouth she was afraid one would crack.

“You!” Validar shouted, turning his back on the Grandmaster and looking at Anna.

“You will remember nothing of this,” he said in an authoritative tone. “Your party were attacked by Risen and the soldier was killed. They took the tactician. You barely escaped with your life. Go now to your original destination. Stop for nothing.”

Anna nodded, her eyes clearing a little as she turned and dropped her heavy pack, beginning to sprint in the direction of Jagen.

“Make her story more believable,” Validar purred to Draco.

The quiet archer, done now with his gory meal, nodded, his blood-stained chin and lips making Morgan want to vomit. In one smooth movement Draco brought his bow up and loosed an arrow, hitting Anna square in the flank. The merchant stumbled, almost falling before righting herself and continuing to run.

Leaving Morgan alone with the evil mage and the two Deadlords.

Validar flicked his wrist lazily and Morgan fell to her knees, the pressure in her head rising to an unbearable level. As her vision clouded her last sight was of Donny’s shocked expression staring up at the sky.

_I’m sorry, Donny,_ she thought as her world went black. _I’m so sorry._


	56. Chapter 56

Tharja let out a breath, sitting upright and stretching her tired back. She had been sitting in her tent, leaning over the lock of Robin’s hair she had been given with a quill and a piece of parchment and stretching out her sixth sense to catalogue the lingering effects of curses that had been placed on Robin over his lifetime.

“A curse for good fortune,” she muttered, going back over the list. “A curse for increased awareness; a curse to increase his muscle and bone density…”

The list went on; a list of curses to improve the tactician in every way that had been placed on him at or very near to birth. Someone had expended considerable amounts of time and effort on making him as perfect as possible. And, in her opinion, they had been successful; but the amount of sacrifices it would have taken to make him so powerful would probably make Robin hate himself, even if he had been cursed unwillingly.

By her calculations at least ten people would have had to die to power the curses she had identified so far, and she was far from done.

She delicately ran her fingers over the strands of hair, feeling a shiver run up her spine from the thought of the sheer amount of blood that had been spilled to make Robin the man he was.

It wasn’t a pleasant thought by any means; it didn’t match the man she had come to love more than she ever had any members of her own family.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her tent opening, followed closely by the familiar sounds of beating wings and Henry’s chuckling.

“Still hard at work?” he asked, perpetually excited. “You know I might be able to help.”

Tharja shook her head.

“And you know that you would just contaminate the sample. I can focus past my own energy, but I always find yours… distracting.”

“You know, I like the sound of that.”

Henry burst into his loud, distinctive laughter, more a cackle than anything else, but it sounded strained. He ended his laugh by doubling over and coughing into his hand, making Tharja look up at him.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he chuckled, waving her off as he shuffled over to the cot on the other side of the tent.

“Let me see,” she said, the words coming out as a command as she stood and set her writing implements to one side, her task of studying Robin’s curses instantly forgotten.

Henry sighed as he went to sit, turning instead and shedding his robe and pulling off his traditional clothes until he was standing topless. Tharja clicked her tongue, prodding softly at the bloody bandages wrapped around his torso.

“You shouldn’t have come with us,” she repeated for the twentieth time. “You should have stayed in Ylisstol with the others. We still don’t know-”

“Yes, yes, so you keep saying,” he chuckled, sinking to sit on the edge of the cot with a tired groan. “That Risen thingy definitely got me good, but I’m not about to leave my lovely death-blossom’s side for a second. So you can forget that idea. Besides, she got you too, and I notice you haven’t told anyone about that yet, either. Besides, they’re only flesh-wounds.”

Henry laughed again, the chuckles turning into a hiss of pain as Tharja started unwrapping the bandages around his chest. True, she had her own wrappings around her slim bicep where the Deadlord had cut her, but it was literally only a scratch, especially compared to Henry’s wounds.

“At least we never want for medical supplies,” she muttered, gently rolling the bandages away from Henry’s skin and reaching for the bag she had ‘appropriated’ from Libra’s stores.

She resisted the urge to wince and look away when she peeled back the soaked gauze patches and revealed the other Dark Mage’s wounded torso; he had been hurt in Ylisstol, but compared to Panne his wounds barely warranted any attention at all; a few light gashes from the Risen’s sword he’d shrugged off at the time in his haste to see if the creature bled. In fact neither of them had thought anything of them, binding the wounds and intending to have one of the healers look at them once the Taguel woman was out of harm’s way and going to sleep; however when they had woken and Henry had bled through the bandages Tharja had recalled the scar across the bridge of Robin’s nose that had been impossible to magically heal.

Henry’s wounds from the Deadlord’s cursed sword were healing slowly, but they wouldn’t stop bleeding. Twice a day Tharja was being forced to change his bandages and burn the old ones so that there was no evidence of his wounds, all because Henry had sworn her to secrecy so he could join them on their quest to stop the Fell Dragon.

“This is foolishness,” she repeated, beginning to clean the blood off of his torso a little rougher than was necessary in her irritation. “We should tell the others. We should send you back.”

“Nope, not happening,” Henry snickered, wincing a little at the other Mage’s ministrations.

“You’re going to end up bleeding to death,” she growled, watching the angry red lines across his chest continue to weep fluid. “At least stop with active duty. I’ll talk to Robin, have him ensure you stay with the rest of us on lighter duties.”

Henry’s laughter turned bitter as he caught Tharja’s hands and held them to his chest.

“As tempting as that sounds I don’t think the others would go for it,” he sighed. “I was serious about not leaving you and Noire alone here. And… I have to see it, too. I have to make sure it’s not actually… him.”

Tharja nodded as the white-haired man trailed off, shaking free of his grip and finishing cleaning the wounds, pressing fresh gauze patches to his chest and silently beginning to wrap him again.

Henry was referring to Grima; they had talked at length about this topic after a summons had reached them both. A black-clad Plegian messenger had met them on the road while the Shepherds had been returning to Ylisstol from Valm, silently handing over twin vellum scrolls before disappearing into the night. They had never even seen the man’s face, and none of the others had even caught wind of him, not even the sub-humans with heightened senses.

Inside the sealed rolls were orders from the head of the Order of Dark Mages and the King of Plegia for all Dark Mages to return to Plegia and report to the Dragon’s Table for orders or face excommunication and death. Neither of them had even entertained the idea of actually heeding the summons; in fact Henry had laughed himself hoarse after opening his. But the fact that the entire order was being summoned boded ill; it was something that had never happened before, and with Lucina’s warning hanging over their heads, there was only one reason they could think of that the Dark Mages would be summoned.

Their creed, the Dark Mages and the Grimleal owed its very existence to Grima; but both of them knew that his arrival would spell the end of everything they cared about.

“You know, you’re a lot more gentle than the others give you credit for,” Henry giggled as Tharja finished.

With a frown the Dark Mage prodded Henry in the ribs, her finger grinding painfully close to one of his gashes. But only close to, Tharja reflected as he yelped and jumped backwards; she didn’t want to undo all her hard work, after all.

*

Robin groaned, shielding his face from the dust and grit in the Plegian wind as he walked through the camp.

“There’s no way I’m Plegian…” he grumbled. “I hate the desert so much.”

“Ever consider that’s why you left?” Tiki chirped from his shoulder, her perpetual smile in place as she was seemingly unfazed by the wind and sand.

“I probably would have left a lot earlier,” Robin sighed. “Unless there was something keeping me here. Like being the son of a crack-pot sorcerer that can control my mind.”

Tiki quirked her head as they walked through the small camp.

“What was that?” she asked. “I can’t hear you over the wind when you mumble.”

“Just wondering why the voice of Naga is coming on a scouting mission,” Robin said over his shoulder.

Tiki beamed excitedly. “I like the desert, and it’s been forever since I’ve been to one.”

“Yeah, but you like everything.”

“That entirely depends on who I’m with,” Tiki winked.

She laughed when Robin rolled his eyes, the duo coming out onto the periphery of the camp to meet with Lon’qu and Severa, the other two members of the scouting party.

“Frederick?” Robin asked, coming to stop when he noticed the big knight standing with the other two. “What… what are you doing here?”

“You’re going on a scouting mission into the wilderness with my Lord’s brother-in-law, the voice of Naga and my daughter,” he deadpanned. “I thought it prudent to ensure their safety.”

“Okay,” Robin sighed, pinching the skin between his eyes as he felt a headache brewing.

“While there are a number of things wrong with that statement, I’m going to focus on two of them and ask you this; if I somehow manage to kill two of the best swordsmen in the Shepherds _and_ a thousand-year old manakete on my own, what hope do you think you would have? And, perhaps more importantly; have you ever in your life actually gone on a scouting mission?”

“Come on, Daddy,” Severa said, walking over to Robin. “He’s harmless as a kitten. See?”

She punctuated her statement by slapping Robin in the back of the head, much the same way she usually did to Owain. Tiki burst out laughing and even Lon’qu chuckled a little, but Frederick didn’t look convinced even as Robin yelped and rubbed the back of his head.

“Regardless,” the Knight Commander insisted, crossing his arms. “I will be joining you.”

Robin sighed. They just then lost an hour of time because Frederick wasn’t properly equipped for scouting in the desert.

_And I just spent all morning explaining to Lucina why she shouldn’t come…_ he groaned internally.

“Not dressed like that, you’re not,” the tactician told the other man, giving in and indicating the ornate heavy armour he was wearing and the huge axe and sword strapped to his back.

A few hours later they were nearing their goal in the southlands of Plegia, close to where the sand dunes became hard-packed badlands around the mountain plateau known as the Dragon’s Table, where Validar’s new stronghold apparently was. Robin was grateful to almost be at their destination so fast, but not everyone in the group seemed to share his optimism.

“This is absurd,” Frederick grumbled as he followed at the end of the line of Shepherds. “I am the Knight Commander of Ylisse! My armour is a mark of my rank! To have to go into battle dressed in these rags is-”

“Quiet!” Lon’qu hissed angrily, glaring back at the Knight.

Robin and Tiki both snickered as Frederick clammed up, Severa rolling her eyes again. The Knight Commander was wearing light leather armour similar to the training gear Chrom often wore, only his big sword slung over his shoulder as they skirted dunes and crossed the desert. He had grumbled the entire time, a job that Robin usually did himself and was surprised to admit that it was really quite irritating when it was somebody else.

_I still hate the desert, though_ , Robin thought, doing his best to spit the sand out of his mouth silently.

*

“There’s the first outpost,” Lon’qu whispered into Robin’s ear as the two men lay flush against one of the last big dunes, looking through a spyglass.

Robin nodded, collapsing the little tube and sliding back down the slope as carefully as he could. To absolutely no one’s surprise Miriel’s little invention had been a huge hit, and were being mass-produced and handed out to scouting regiments in both Ylisse and Regna Ferox. It was useful, Robin had to admit; especially with his aversion to hostile arrows.

“Well?” Severa asked in a quiet voice as he and Lon’qu hustled back over to the others. “How’s it look?”

“Not great,” Robin admitted. “They’re pretty smartly set up; we could maybe sneak by them no problem, but the Knights and the less ‘stealthy’ of our members would attract too much attention.”

“There are three more outposts,” Lon’qu muttered, pointing to the positions on the map he was holding. “Each one of them much the same.”

Robin sighed, nodding.

“Ideally we would use lightning-raid tactics and simply overwhelm one of the outposts then charge through, but we lack the numbers.”

“And we don’t have time to wait for reinforcements from Ylisse,” Tiki added sombrely.

“So it is hopeless?” Frederick asked, frowning.

“I didn’t say that,” Robin muttered, tapping his chin in thought. “I… uh…”

He shook his head, suddenly beset by a familiar headache.

“Robin?” Lon’qu asked, stepping closer.

“I’m fine,” the tactician said quickly, reaching for his waterskin. “Just thirsty.”

“As I was saying, it’s not hopeless,” he repeated. “We just need to-”

“Down!” Lon’qu hissed, throwing himself forward and tackling Robin and Severa to the ground.

Up on the small rise behind them a lone black-armoured figure turned from the group and disappeared over the back of it.

“It’s too late, he’s seen us!” Tiki snarled, already starting to transform.

“Tiki, stop! You’ll alert the whole camp!” Robin shouted as he darted past her, halting the woman mid-transformation as he lifted himself back up and darted forward. “Lon’qu take the girls and circle round, make sure there’s not more of them! Tiki, don’t transform unless there’s no other choice! Frederick, make yourself useful and help me run him down!”

“Watch your tone, tactician!” Frederick growled, drawing his sword from over his shoulder and following the other man up the dune anyway.

Robin scrambled ungracefully up the slope, completely heedless of the cloud of dust he was kicking up. Frederick followed him, struggling in the loose sand more than the lighter tactician. At the top of the dune Robin stopped, shielding his eyes and spotting the Plegian scout not far from the base, running as fast as he could in the opposite direction to the outpost.

_He’s probably just trying to put distance between us and him,_ Robin theorized, casting a quick fire spell and throwing it at the man’s feet.

There was a small explosion, the sound muffled by the soft earth and the dunes around them as the scout went flying through the air, laying still when he hit the ground.

_What?_ Robin wondered, glancing down at his hand. _I… I didn’t put that much mana into that spell. What the hell? A question for later, I guess._

Robin looked back as a huffing Frederick finally reached the top of the dune, sword held ready and looking around vigilantly.

“Too late, I took care of it,” Robin grinned. “Shall we see if he’s still alive? Maybe we can get some intel.”

“Knights don’t resort to torture,” Frederick growled, keeping his sword in his grip as they began sliding down the other side of the dune. “Unlike Plegians.”

“Neither do I,” Robin shrugged. “I was just going to ask some questions. He has no idea where we’re camped, and they already know we’re skulking about. I’ll just let him go if he won’t talk. Just because I’m Plegian doesn’t make me a monster.”

_And you should know me by now; it’s not like you spent the better part of the last four years following me around the world or anything,_ Robin added in his head, rolling his eyes when Frederick grunted noncommittally.

The black armoured soldier was groaning as they approached, rolling onto his stomach and struggling to rise.

“Hi there,” Robin said, kicking the man’s weapon away and squatting down next to him.

He blinked up at Robin a few times, confusion still evident on his soft-featured face before his eyes went wide and he threw himself away from the tactician.

“Stay away from me, Grimleal scum!” he shouted in a shrill voice. “You’ll get nothing out of me!”

Frederick sighed behind Robin as the tactician scratched the back of his head, watching the soldier, obviously very young from the pitch of his voice, hyperventilating on the sand a little way away.

“Even the Plegians don’t like you,” Frederick snickered after a moment, the weight of the boy’s outburst sinking in.

Robin rolled his eyes before looking back to the soldier.

_‘Grimleal scum’, huh?_ Robin thought, cupping his chin and staring intently at the terrified young man. _This could be interesting; if the Plegians are divided we may be able to find some allies and get some more bodies without waiting for reinforcements from Themis or Ylisstol. And Frederick will hate that. It’s win-win!_

“You don’t serve the King?” he asked seriously.

The soldier remained silent, staring up at the two men defiantly.

“This is getting us nowhere!” Frederick growled, eying the soldier.

“We’re Ylissean, not Plegian,” Robin said as brightly as he could. “We serve the Exalt and we’re here to stop… well, another insane King, apparently.”

The Plegian soldier hesitated, looking like he was about to say something in response before Lon’qu appeared at Robin’s side, a frowning Severa and giggling Tiki at his back.

“Could you two possibly have made any more noise?” he asked sarcastically. “Did you forget what stealth means?”

“I assume we should be running?” Robin sighed, standing up without missing a beat.

Lon’qu just rolled his eyes.

“Take me with you!” the Plegian burst out suddenly, rising to his knees. “Please! Don’t leave me for the Grimleal to find!”

“We don’t have time for enemy deserters,” Frederick said bluntly, turning away from the boy and starting back in the direction of the camp.

Robin cast a glance to Lon’qu and the others before turning back to the soldier.

“Ignore the grumpy one. Keep up, stay close, and don’t make any noise,” Robin said in a low voice. “And I’m keeping your sword for now. If you stab anyone or give our position away I will personally deliver you back to the Plegians with the word ‘deserter’ carved into your forehead. Understood?”

The boy nodded, jumping to his feet and falling in with the others as they started running back to the camp.

*

“A deserter?” Chrom asked thoughtfully as he went about trying to get his armour on without Jake or Sumia’s assistance. “I didn’t think that the Plegians were divided over this.”

Robin snickered as Chrom growled, shaking his gauntlet around in an attempt to get it to sit properly.

“Are you going to help me or sit there laughing at me?” the Exalt groaned after a few more seconds of struggling with his armour.

“Do I look like I wear armour?” Robin asked with a chuckle, tugging his collar down a little and pointing to the scars on his chest.

“And yes, apparently there is a resistance movement,” Robin added when Chrom finally got the catches in the right position. “He wouldn’t tell me any more without talking to you first. So… what’s the armour for?”

Chrom turned to face Robin as he crouched, doing up the buckles on the back of his greaves by touch.

“We are in enemy territory,” the Exalt said with a grin. “I would expect you to be a little more worried about your own personal safety.”

“What, with my indestructible coat protecting me? Not likely!” Robin laughed, holding the sides of his coat up like wings.

As soon as they had arrived back at the camp Tiki and Severa had taken the Plegian to the mess tent where they would still be watching him; Lon’qu had gone to do whatever it was the stoic swordsman did after a mission, and Frederick had disappeared, no doubt to put his armour back on. The Knight Commander had been quite vocal about his protests to the Plegian’s presence, but Robin had been adamant that they needed allies.

As soon as the scouting party had disbanded Robin had beelined directly for Chrom’s tent to relay their findings. As he’d arrived he’d noticed Frederick lurking nearby, having changed back into his armour in record time to keep his constant and irritating vigil over the tactician.

Said tactician’s musings were interrupted when he accidentally lowered his guard and the yawn he’d been holding back all day slipped out.

“Robin, are you working through the night again?” Chrom asked with a wry grin. “Didn’t we have this conversation once before?”

“No,” the tactician said defensively, crossing his arms. “I’ll have you know I’m getting at least four hours of sleep every night now, thanks in no small part to your daughter clobbering me if I don’t.”

“Yes, she takes after her mother in that respect,” Chrom chuckled. “So why do you look like you haven’t slept in a week, then?”

Robin shrugged, running a hand down his face.

“Dreams,” he said with another shrug. “I’m having these vivid dreams. They’re almost like memories, which is supposed to be impossible. Unless somehow they’re slipping back into my head. I don’t know, but they’re wreaking bloody-havoc with what little sleeping pattern I actually have.”

“That is ominous,” Chrom said, growing serious. “Anything particularly worth note?”

“Other than the fact I apparently have a sister and my father was an arse-hole to me my entire adolescence? Not really, no.”

“I see… my mother,” Robin added in a quieter voice. “At least, I think she’s my mother. But I can never make out her face. It’s… upsetting.”

The two men grew silent, the moment stretching out between them. Robin had never said a word about getting his memories back besides a few joking complaints; he had never made a single complaint about his amnesia. To see him like this was disquieting for Chrom.

“Sister?” Chrom piqued, raising a brow and attempting to diffuse the melancholy atmosphere.

“Er… can we talk about it later?” Robin asked apologetically, hastily trying to change the subject. “It’s not really important, and we seem to have gotten side-tracked.”

“Very well, but you won’t be able to weasel out of this conversation. Do you think the deserter’s story has merit, then?” Chrom asked, rising and attaching his cape to the shoulders of his chest-plate.

“Sure, why not?” Robin shrugged, leaning back in the Exalt’s camp chair. “We need allies. The Ylissean Army is too far away, and we’re not getting through the little blockade that Validar has set up on our own; not without heavy casualties. It’s a good opportunity. I was honestly expecting you to be a little more apprehensive about this, though.”

“Why do you say that?” Chrom asked, nodding in satisfaction after checking the straps on his armour one last time and strapping Falchion to his hip.

“Well, you did get kinda pissy when we had to ask for the boats for the Valm campaign,” Robin shrugged.

“Because I don’t like Plegian royalty,” Chrom admitted without a second thought. “We’re dealing, hopefully, with people that feel the same way this time. Besides, I can’t let my bigotry be the reason the world ends.”

“Don’t worry,” Robin said, standing. “If the world does end, I’m pretty sure your lousy attitude won’t have anything to do with it.”

“Who has a lousy attitude?” Chrom laughed, punching Robin lightly in the arm.

“Gah! Chrom! Armour!”

*

Lucina looked up from her daily Falchion maintenance as she heard Robin shouting and her father laughing. A weight lifted off her mind as the knowledge that he had returned unharmed sunk in and she let out the soft sigh of a breath she hadn’t even been aware she was holding.

The future Princess was sitting in one of the bigger supply tents with Owain and Laurent as the mage tried to do an inventory and Owain tried to ‘help’ him, making more work for the frustrated older boy in the process.

The excitable swordsman perked up as Robin gave another, louder shout in the distance.

“Sounds like they have returned whole,” Laurent muttered, taking advantage of the other man’s distraction to pluck the staff Owain was holding out of his hands and put it back in its crate.

“Indeed!” Owain said with a familiar flourish, striking a pose. “For nothing of this world could hope to stand before the master of Owain and live!”

“Yes, now only if we could get something to interpose itself between my ears and your voice I would be most pleased,” Laurent grumbled. “Perhaps that is an experiment I can look into… I believe there were some cotton swabs nearby that I might make use of.”

“And how would you do that?” Lucina asked with a chuckle as she watched Owain peeking out of the tent like a child, hoping to catch a glimpse of Robin and make sure he was safe.

Laurent stopped to think, tapping a finger to his chin and running a hand through his hair.

“The only means to put said items to use would be to insert them into my ear canal to halt the sound waves, or-”

“It appears our fears were unfounded!” Owain shouted, leaping up onto a box and striking another, grander pose. “Our undefeatable tactician is alive and well!”

“Cram them down his throat,” Laurent growled, glaring at Owain and letting out a sigh.

“Excuse me, Princess,” he said, his usual composure slipping back into place. “I just recalled there was another chore I was meant to be attending to.”

Owain and Lucina watched the irritable mage leave, the blonde swordsman chuckling and dropping to sit on the box he was standing on.

“People just don’t appreciate the effort I put into my performances,” he chuckled.

“Oh? So you can still talk like a normal person?” Lucina asked playfully as she set about cleaning up the supplies Laurent had been cataloguing and left lying out in his haste to escape.

“I… do try to act a little more… subdued around you,” Owain admitted with a shrug.

“Why?” Lucina asked curiously.

“You're a princess, Luce,” Owain shrugged. “I figured it wasn't exactly appropriate for addressing royals.”

“Well, you realise you’re technically a Prince, too, cousin,” she added, stressing the last word.

“Yeah, but I’m third-in-line. You and Cyn are the important ones. I just stab things and look dashing and heroic while I do it. Besides, Mom would tan my hide if she ever found out.”

“Lissa would object to you spinning yarns for royalty?” Lucina asked; she hadn’t really had a lot of time to get to know her Aunt yet, even if she was technically a few years older than her in this timeline.

“Not just royalty!” Owain assured her. “Anybody! She gets really upset whenever I do it. Heh, actually, I suppose most everyone does. They think I'm a bit batty.”

“Do they now?” Lucina commented absently, stacking the daggers back in the order Laurent liked them in. “That's a shame. Personally, I find it quite intriguing.”

“What, really?” Owain asked.

“It's no simple feat to speak as you do when fantasy grips your mind,” Lucina explained, a small smile on her face as she went about cleaning up the supplies. “Inventing weapon names and such requires a rich vocabulary and quick thinking. And of course your stories demand a particularly active imagination.”

“I guess they do, don't they? Thanks Lucina!” Owain said excitedly, jumping to his feet with fists clenched.

“Perhaps you might even consider demonstrating how you do it sometime?” she asked over her shoulder. “I've oft been told that my manner of speech is somewhat... formal at times. If I could learn to adopt your tone, it might prove useful to my own.”

“Heh, you sound like you're asking me to teach you a foreign language,” Owain chuckled before stopping to think. “I'm not sure if this would be such a good idea...”

“And if I were to pledge never to speak of it to Aunt Lissa?” Lucina laughed, sliding the last of the crates back into its place and turning around.

“Then so be it!” Owain declared. “Prepare yourself, young Lucina! Your destiny cometh!”

Owain burst into a fit of excited laughter, eyes practically shining as Lucina decided to not remind him that she was actually older than him.

“Aw, this is gonna be so great! I’m going to go and find Cyn and get her in on this as well!”

“I look forward to it,” Lucina laughed as Owain darted out of the tent.

Just as Lucina was making to exit the tent herself Owain’s head popped back through the flaps, a big smile on his face as Lucina stopped short of the flaps.

“You know, Luce, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but we’re all really liking the new upbeat you,” he said before disappearing again.

Lucina stopped for a moment, wondering what he was talking about before shrugging and stepping into the dry desert air. She hadn’t really thought much of her attitude lately. Perhaps she would ask Robin about Owain’s comment later.

*

Robin and Chrom both sat facing the young Plegian soldier, whose name was apparently Sahiri, staring back at them with a look of awe on his face no doubt directed more to the regally dressed Chrom than the shabby Robin.

“So this General Mustafa is leading a resistance movement and wants us to meet with him in hopes of forming an alliance?” Robin stated, summing up the interrogation so far.

“I’m not going to lie,” Chrom said with a pointed look at Robin. “What you’re saying seems very… convenient.”

“Like a brilliant amnesiac tactician falling into your hands?” Robin muttered, earning a not-so-subtle nudge from Chrom’s armoured elbow.

“You don’t believe me,” Sahiri said, looking crestfallen under the brow-ridge of his black helmet.

“It’s not a matter of believing you or not,” Robin shrugged. “We’re simply saying it solves too many of our problems. It seems too good to be true.”

“The General knew you would need aid, though!” Sahiri insisted. “We’ve been moving in hopes of finding you! I was actually sent out to scout the Grimleal positions, but I’m not going to look a gift-horse in the mouth!”

“Admittedly, we have gotten a lot better at hiding lately…” Robin muttered, recalling all the sneaking around that the Ylissean League had done in Valm.

“I remember Mustafa,” Chrom said, rubbing his chin in deep thought. “He was a good man. An honourable man. If this is truly a message from him, then I believe we can trust it.”

“And if it’s not?” Robin asked.

“We do what we always do in a trap,” Chrom said decisively.

“Spring it and almost die,” Robin groaned. “Right. So business as usual, then.”

Sahiri giggled, standing with the two other men and extending a hand.

“It is good to know that my General’s faith in the honour of the Exalt was not misplaced,” he said, bowing lightly.

“Please, there is no need for that if we are to be allies,” Chrom said, indicating the boy rise. “Why don’t you get cleaned up and have something to eat before we move? Severa and Tiki will look after you.”

_And keep an eye on him,_ Robin thought to himself, looking the boy over again. _Although why Chrom doesn’t put someone like Inigo or Owain on that job… no, forget Owain. He’d convince this kid we’re all nuts and spoil any chance of an alliance. And this guy is kinda effeminate, so Inigo would wind up just hitting on him. Yeah, let’s go with the girls._

Sahiri nodded, pulling off his helmet and allowing a waterfall of long, straight black hair fall out of it over his perfect dark skin, giving it a light shake to get it out of his-

“Holy crap you’re a girl,” Robin said, eyes widening. “Suddenly I feel worse about throwing that fireball at you.”

Sahiri stopped, blinking up at the taller Robin a few times in confusion. Chrom, however, burst into laughter.

“You are really bad at that!” he chuckled, holding his armoured sides.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Robin said sarcastically. “Which one of us picked out your disguised _daughter_ as a woman first!?”

Robin groaned, face-palming as Chrom roared with laughter. He could hear Severa and Tiki snickering at him from outside the tent, too. Sahiri was obviously trying to decide whether to be amused or offended, leaving Robin standing in the middle of the tent as his ears turned red.

_Brilliant,_ he bemoaned. _Just... Brilliant._

“Don’t we have a world to save!?” Robin shouted, storming out of the tent.

Which apparently had the opposite effect he had desired, he realised as Chrom practically doubled over in laughter.

*

Robin grumbled wordlessly to himself as he stomped along at the back of a small group being led by Sahiri to wherever it was the Plegian Resistance was. He’d stopped paying attention; this part of the desert all looked the same to him, and he had no problem admitting he was hopelessly lost.

There were featureless dunes in every direction. Everywhere Robin looked was sand, sand and more sand. It was driving him nuts. He hated the desert at the best of times but this… this was just torture.

Sahiri called the area the ‘Shifting Sands’, and apparently unless one was a local like she was they were doomed to wander until they died of thirst.

So in other words it was a perfect place for the Resistance to hide.

Chrom walked up the front with their guide and Lucina, both Ylissean royals apparently unaffected by the heat and the glaring sun, despite wearing their silver plates. Severa and Tiki followed, the manakete similarly not bothered by the climate, but the fiery red-haired swordswoman had begun to fan herself a little. The only other person having as tough a time as Robin was Vaike, shuffling along beside the tactician and moaning.

“The Vaike’s gonna die!” he groaned. “Heat-stroke… heat-stroke!”

Robin silently agreed with the man as he tried to use his coat’s hood as an impromptu hat. All of a sudden Vaike’s manner of dress didn’t seem too silly. Until he burned to a crisp in the sun, but then Robin would just laugh at the man as he prodded his sunburn.

“Aren’t you afraid of burning?” Robin asked curiously as they began to climb another of the endless dunes.

“Nah. The Vaike’s lovely little miss is makin’ some kinda anti-sun-burn stuff,” he said proudly. “Apparently I complain about getting burned too much… heh. Take a lookit’ this!”

The axeman dug a small container out of his waist pouch, tossing it to Robin who caught it out of the air reflexively. Opening it he found a strange white paste that smelled like coconuts.

“Smells nice,” Robin commented, tossing it back and subtly glancing over his shoulder.

There in the distance he spotted the forms of Cordelia and Cynthia flying just above the dunes, knowing that Inigo and Lon’qu were riding tandem with the two women. Robin had decided he was growing tired of springing traps without having any back-up, and had organised for a tail. As unpleasant as Lon’qu found riding a pegasus with a woman not Lissa to be.

“Yeah, just don’t try to eat it,” Vaike laughed, bringing his attention back. “It’ll make you sicker than when Robin has cooking… duty… ah…”

“You forgot who you were talking to again, didn’t you?” Robin drolled.

“Nope! Teach wants you to know yer skills need improvin’!” he countered quickly, crossing his arms and grinning.

And dropping his axe in the process.

“Vaike, you… uh… your axe…” Robin managed to say, somehow holding his laughter back.

Cursing, Vaike spun and grabbed his axe from where it was sticking up in the air, halfway up the dune.

“I’ll have you know I gave up on cooking a long time ago,” Robin said as he and Vaike finally reached the top of the dune. “I’d say it was in everyone’s best interests.”

“Yeah, no argument here,” Severa muttered with a smirk, just loud enough for him to know he was meant to hear it.

“Don’t worry, bro! I can’t cook neither!” Vaike laughed, throwing an arm around Robin’s shoulders.

Chrom cleared his throat, a small grin of his own on his regal features.

Robin looked past the dune and the swirling sand in the wind, his eyes coming to rest on a small oasis village like many of the others he had seen scattered across the desert; a few clay buildings around one side of the pool’s shore, palm trees and sparse grasses waving lazily in the wind. The only difference was the difficulty in finding the place.

“This is a pretty isolated place,” he commented idly. “And it seems kind of… quiet.”

“Too quiet?” Vaike asked, grinning and waggling his eyebrows.

“Hey, I’ve only said that one time, and I was right. It was a trap.”

“Uh, the majority of the soldiers will be in hiding at the moment in the sands on the other side of the oasis,” Sahiri said helpfully. “It’s mostly the senior officers and mages in the village. The General didn’t want to put any undue strain on the villagers.”

“How do we get down there?” Tiki asked curiously.

“We slide,” Sahiri explained. “It’s easy. Just lean back and go slow and you’ll be fine.”

Chrom nodded, stepping forward and beginning to gracefully skid down the other side of the sand dune. Vaike let out an excited laugh, swinging his axe and leaping after the Exalt.

“Yes, because now we don’t look like marauders or anything,” Severa huffed, glancing at Robin. “Really, how do you put up with that buffoon?”

“He’s saved my life more than once,” Robin said with a small grin. “And he’s fun to drink with.”

The redhead rolled her eyes, following the other two men with Tiki and Sahiri.

“This looks fun!” the tactician heard Tiki say just before she disappeared over the edge.

Robin glanced over the edge, raising one eyebrow in trepidation.

“Ever get the feeling what you’re about to do is a really bad idea?” he asked Lucina, who had come up behind him.

“I did once,” she admitted, leaning over and giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “But then it turned out to be one of the best decisions I had ever made, so I tend not to listen to those feelings now.”

With that she was gone over the lip, skidding down the slope in a flash of blue and silver and leaving Robin standing alone at the top smiling to himself stupidly. He gave his head a small shake and slapped his cheeks in an attempt to make himself focus.

“I am going to regret this,” Robin muttered under his breath as he stepped backwards to get a running start.

About half an hour later Robin let out a little cough, giving off a puff of fine beige dust, the same colour he was coated in, as he followed Chrom, Lucina and Sahiri through the small village. The other three had gone to the oasis to officially refill the group’s waterskins; however from there, if this was a trap, they would be able to respond quickly to any point of the town.

“I did say lean back,” Sahiri said, trying to stifle her giggles.

“You are the worst Plegian ever,” Chrom laughed over his shoulder at the frowning tactician.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you,” Robin deadpanned, glaring at the Exalt and giving off small clouds of dust with every movement.

Chrom snickered, Lucina doing much the same as she turned to Sahiri.

“He means no disrespect,” she explained. “It is complicated.”

“The crown prince doesn’t like the desert!” Robin exclaimed grumpily. “So what!? I don’t mind the Plegian people, but Gods I hate the sand! That’s it! I’m moving to Regna Ferox!”

Chrom burst into another full-blown fit of laughter, leaving Sahiri to look back confusedly.

“Yeah,” she muttered, shaking her head a little as Lucina tried to lightly dust the tactician off to no avail. “Complicated. Clearly.”

*

“Trap,” Robin breathed, just loud enough to ensure Chrom heard him.

“Trap,” he repeated, drawing the word out.

The Exalt glanced back at his dust-coated tactician and raised one brow. Robin shrugged in response, as if pre-empting his habitual ‘I told you so’.

Chrom rolled his eyes, his code for ‘you think everything is a trap’.

The tactician quirked his head to one side, the movement signifying ‘and I’m usually right’.

“It never ceases to astound me how the two of you can communicate without actually using words,” Lucina muttered, interrupting their wordless conversation and stepping past them to follow Sahiri.

The young Plegian woman had led them through the village to the biggest house, no doubt belonging to the village elder. Robin had been watching everything, every subtle movement in his peripheral vision. He had seen the standard villagers, watching from the safety of their homes as the armed strangers strolled through their village; he’d seen the not-so-subtle glares from the village’s young men as they stopped their daily chores to watch the strangers; he’d even noticed the Plegian soldiers hiding in shadows and watching their progress, not with malice or ill intent, but just with curiosity.

He didn’t actually think this was a trap; it didn’t feel like one. He just liked to irritate Chrom.

Without further hesitation the two men followed the women past the thin curtain in the doorway and into the clay building.

Robin felt a spike of anxiety as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the comparative gloom of the building, the bright glare from the open desert sky making him momentarily blind as he stood next to Chrom. Once his vision cleared he was treated to the sight of quite possibly the largest man he’d ever seen in his life; bigger even that Frederick or Basilio.

“Greeting, your Divine Exaltedness,” the dark-skinned giant said, rising with one hand over his bare chest and bowing low. “It does my old bones good to see you well.”

“General Mustafa,” Chrom said in his best court-voice, offering his hand as the big man rose. “I wish we could be meeting under less dire circumstances.”

Robin carefully watched the man’s reactions; it wasn’t an over-exaggeration to say that his bald head nearly brushed the ceiling, and the thick, chest length beard he sported made it difficult to read his expression. Robin noted that the General’s nose had been broken sometime in the past and reset improperly, giving his face a lopsided look. The man’s bulky bone-coloured shoulder plates, the only actual armour he wore, would have looked comically large if any normal solider were to wear them, but Robin noticed a distinct lack of weaponry in the small house.

“I do not believe we have had the pleasure,” Mustafa said cordially, turning to Robin once he had finished greeting Chrom.

“I am…” the big man trailed off, his face going slack and his eyes widening as he looked properly at Robin.

“It cannot be,” he muttered, freezing up.

“Er… hi there,” Robin said meekly, keenly aware of just how much bigger than him Mustafa was.

“I’m Robin, the tactician to the Shepherds,” he said, deciding to try and break the strange tension that had suddenly descended on them.

Sahiri looked back and forth between her general and the tactician, clearly wondering if she had done something wrong, while Lucina and Chrom looked on anxiously.

“I know who you are,” Mustafa said levelly. “But I must ask if your companions do, as well.”

_Oh. He recognizes me,_ Robin realized. _Well, it was bound to happen. Damn. This really does mean I’m Validar’s son. I was hoping he was just playing me, but…_

“We are aware of Robin’s parentage,” Chrom said, stepping between the two men. “And he has been nothing but the staunchest of allies and friends for the better part of five years, General. Whatever he was in his old life, he is no longer. I would that we spoke of our common enemy, rather than my tactician.”

Mustafa seemed to relax a little, casting Robin another leery glance.

“Very well, sir Exalt,” he said at length, indicating they all sit. “I shall defer to your judgement. Although I will admit I was not expecting to find the missing Crown Prince of my homeland in your company.”

“Wait, so he’s really-” Sahiri began, being cut off when Mustafa raised a hand the size of a dinner-plate.

“Sahiri, you have done well,” he said in a stern, yet gentle tone. “Take rest and see to the other Shepherds. I will call for you if I have need of you.”

Sahiri nodded once, her stunned expression that had been pointed at Robin a few moments ago becoming one of military precision as she saluted and left the building.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Robin said, hoping to regain the initiative after the rocky start to their meeting. “You have men. We need men. Let’s work something out.”

“Subtle,” Chrom chuckled as Mustafa raised a brow at them.

“Subtlety is for when we’re not all about to die,” Robin said empathetically.

“I agree,” Mustafa said, casting another sideways glance at Robin before turning to Chrom.

“We face a common enemy, milord, and my intelligence tells me that time is short. Let us not waste time with pointless pleasantries.”

*

Aversa strode boldly up the steps to the Sanctum of Grima, the grand pathway perfectly smooth, cut magically from the stones themselves. There was a slight groove in the middle of the path, made by generations of the passing of pious Grimleal feet over the years.

She had travelled from the capital herself; Validar having teleported without her. The Royal Guards she had brought with her were already being spread out among the four outposts blocking the approach to the Dragon’s Table, and the few lingering Dark Mages she had been able to round up hiding around the capital were at her back, following somewhat reluctantly.

And who could blame them, really? To be a mage of any denomination, Anima, Dark or even the rarer Druids and Light-Magic scholars, was to be obsessed with answers to any and all questions. None of them were being told anything about why they were being summoned, and no doubt that was vexing for them. To make matters worse there was a pervading sense of ominous dread hanging over the Dragon’s Table of late, something even the most inept Dark Mage would have picked up on like a lightning rod.

A flash of movement in the distance from their flank caught the woman’s eye and she glanced up at the higher balconies of the Sanctum, spotting a black coat billowing in the wind. For a moment she hesitated; her breath caught and her eyes widened, but it barely lasted a second before her usual calm veneer was back in place.

There was no way he would have gotten past her defences; she had designed them to exploit every weakness that she knew Robin had, not just tactically given the current situation, but personally as well. The Shepherds would easily break through the weak blockade that they had set up, but there would be casualties. He would find that unacceptable, which meant his hands would be tied. The blockade wouldn’t stop the Ylisseans once their numbers were gathered, but the time for Grima’s awakening was close at hand; the rabble had only to hold the Ylisseans a few more hours, a day at the most, and in case Robin did get a little bolder and charge the Plegian positions she had another plan in place to counter him. She would use the greatest of Grima’s servants to crush him once and for all.

In a way, she actually hoped he did try to force his way through to them so she could destroy him personally. She found herself excited by the idea of commanding the Dark Dragon’s most worthy servants instead of the mindless Risen or the weak human Plegians.

She could feel Grima’s strength gathering, now, almost like a physical presence.

She allowed herself a small smile at the thought of their impending victory, but somehow it felt hollow. She hadn’t actually bested Robin yet; she hadn’t set her skills against his own. Until she did so her victory wouldn’t be complete.

Aversa glanced up at the balcony she had seen the watcher on as she and her followers neared the sanctum, finding it to be empty now.

It didn’t matter even if it was her; their victory was all but sealed at this point.

Not even divine intervention could save the world from Grima now.


	57. Chapter 57

_Robin was running… but he was always running. This was a dream, just like all the others, but knowing that didn’t change things. He ran through a desert, the sand whipping by him fast enough to shred the flesh from his bones as he leapt over dunes as tall as buildings without breaking stride. Eventually he came out to the badlands in the south, not hesitating for a moment as he continued to charge ahead full force, his breath coming out in jagged gasps._

_He couldn’t keep running like this forever; he couldn’t keep this pace up. It was killing him._

_Yet still the tactician ran._

_He ran until finally he neared his destination, a towering temple that radiated darkness like a great purple cloud around it, the feeling becoming a physical haze that coated everything._

_Without slowing, without even thinking, he leapt, crashing through the great wooden doors to the temple as if they were sheets of paper, finally, finally skidding to a stop._

_“Damn you! Damn you both!”_

_Three familiar figures fought, two facing off against the third as they fought to alter fate, but… something was different._

_It should have been Robin fighting beside the blue-haired Exalt swinging the ornate great-sword two handed, but instead an older woman with long, flowing brown hair cascading over the shoulders of her black coat spun beside him, throwing powerful lightning spells at Validar as if they were the sparks that apprentice mages created to practice._

_“Chrom!” she shouted, turning towards a stunned Robin for a brief moment, her face obscured by the blast of dark magic from their foe._

_Robin watched her fall, watched Chrom fell Validar before rushing to her side, all the while unable to move._

_“Hey! Hey, stay with me!” Chrom was shouting, holding the woman close._

_Suddenly Robin began to move, and with a familiar sense of terror he realised that he wasn’t in control any more._

_“R-Robin,” the woman muttered weakly, her face obscured by her long hair._

_Chrom tilted his head to one side curiously, eyes never leaving the woman as Robin snuck up behind them, unable to even shout out in warning._

_“What? Who’s Robin? A-”_

_The Prince’s words cut off as Robin’s hand descended, slicing through armour and flesh as easily as a master-crafted sword would in a shower of blood and gore. The woman beneath Chrom’s corpse stirred as Robin cast the cadaver aside, raising his hand again, still dripping with his best friend’s blood. He could hear laughing in the distance, a low, booming laugh that made his skin crawl as he stared down at his next victim._

_She finally looked up at him, two familiar eyes staring up from underneath a sheet of hair._

_“Fight him,” she pleaded. “You can do it. I… I know you can, Robin.”_

_His hand began to descend, an anguished cry finally escaping Robin’s lips as he-_

*

Robin gasped, flying out of his bedroll as if it were on fire, coated in sweat and shaking.

Outside the only illumination was from the lamps, so it was still early in the morning.

He was in the camp. He was safe. No one was dead, and just to make sure he checked his hand to ensure that there was no blood on it. He was clean; all that was on his hand was the damnable mark of Grima, sitting there and mocking him the way it always did.

Robin let out a shuddering sigh, running a hand through his long white hair.

_There’s a reason I don’t try to sleep any more…_ he thought bitterly, looking at his hand again before wrapping it around Tharja’s little charm hanging from his neck.

_Dammit, Virion,_ Robin thought with another, calmer sigh. _Where the hell are you? I could really use some good tea right about now._

*

A few hours later Robin lay flush to the ground and shivering, resisting the urge to yawn from another restless night, the pre-dawn light making the desert temperatures lower than he had been expecting as he vigilantly watched the Plegian outpost for movement.

However, he corrected himself glancing over his shoulder at the squad of black-armoured forms crouched not far from him in the shadows of the dune, it would have been more correct to think of them as ‘Grimleal’ outposts rather than specifically Plegian. Mustafa’s resistance movement incorporated remnants of the Plegian army from all corners of the dry country, brave men and women that had stepped up to defend their nation from a genocidal madman.

He slowly wriggled backwards, trusting Lon’qu and Severa, who was turning out to be quite adept at a scouting role under the dour Feroxi’s tutorship despite her brightly coloured hair and his lingering aversion to the fairer sex, to watch the base for their signal, using his beautiful handmade lance, a gift from Cordelia to fight mounted soldiers in Valm, as a makeshift balance stick as he slid.

The squad of Plegians, apparently a group of veteran soldiers from the capital that had shown up at the village a day before the Shepherds had, were bunched tightly together, twenty men waiting in formation in ornate black plates. Robin recognized their leader as the head of the Royal Guard that had been defeated by Frederick, and while he spent most of the time they had travelled casting the Knight Commander dirty looks he had thus-far remained silent on the matter. Sahiri had also been assigned to liaise with the Shepherds, rounding out the Plegian squad with her simpler armour and weapons, and looking incredibly nervous and out of sorts surrounded by so many veterans.

The rest of the Shepherds were waiting around the way they usually did, and it gave Robin a strange sense of nostalgia to see them like this again back in Plegia.

Chrom and Lucina were busy talking with Frederick and Cordelia about their charge, going over Robin’s plans and making sure everyone had them memorized. He didn’t want to interrupt that and suffer one of Frederick’s annoyed glares again, so instead he opted to get to know his countrymen better. Besides, it looked like Frederick was on a roll again.

The Knight Commander had objected vehemently to involving Plegian troops in their plan until Robin had pointed out if they didn’t that they would have to split the Shepherds further. That had shut him up pretty quickly; apparently Frederick wasn’t happy with the fact that he didn’t have complete control any more. Not that Robin wanted the control…

“Hi there,” he said in a low voice, sidling up to the Plegian Captain, bouncing his lance on one shoulder.

The balding man looked up at him curiously, nodding a hesitant greeting.

“So… you’re the Prince,” the man said slowly.

Robin chuckled, rubbing the back of his head.

“Apparently. I am an amnesiac, though, so it could all be a load of bull. In any case, I prefer to think of myself as one of Ylisse’s tacticians. Just call me Robin.”

“I am Captain Algol,” the other man said, offering his hand before indicating behind him. “And this is what’s left of the Royal Guard.”

“Hi guys!” Robin said enthusiastically, waving at the hushed Plegians after shaking Algol’s hand. “I look forward to working with you, and sorry about trying to kill so many of you before!”

A few snickers broke out amongst the Guards, but for the most part Robin was greeted by confused stares. Of course Sahiri was the one chuckling the loudest up the back, a hand clamped over her mouth to try and hush the laughter.

“Is he really related to the King?” the tactician heard one of the Guards further back whisper.

“He doesn’t act like the King…” another whispered.

“Isn’t he the one that led Ylisse with the Exalt three years ago?” one near the back, an older man, asked.

“Does it really matter right now?” the Guard next to the older man sighed.

“The enemy of my enemy is my ally, right?” the older man groaned, looking away.

“So…” Robin said, drawing the word out. “Your men seem pretty comfortable following Ylissean orders.”

Algol frowned at the tactician.

“We’re here to defend our homeland,” the Captain reasoned. “I’ve spent long enough blinded by pride and hate. There are more important things at stake now than our former grievances; if Ylisseans are the ones that will save the world, then I’ll gladly follow their orders.”

“Besides,” Algol said with a shrug as he turned away slightly. “Mustafa said you’re Validar’s son; the Prince of Plegia. Wouldn’t that make them ‘Plegian orders’?”

Robin’s eyes widened a little as he plastered a rather convincing fake smile on his face.

“You’re absolutely right,” he lied through his teeth. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and check on the Shepherds.”

“By your leave, milord,” Algol said, bowing his head respectfully slow enough that Robin knew he was meant to see the smirk on his face.

Robin walked away calmly, heading for the back ranks where Tiki was busy talking aerial tactics with Cynthia and Nah, but inside he was panicking.

_I’m not Plegian! I’m not, dammit! I don’t want to be Plegian!_

He glanced up just in time to see Chrom’s little impromptu meeting break up and the four Shepherds separate, Frederick making to walk back to where the other Knights were waiting with their horses with a particularly sour look on his face.

_It doesn’t take a genius to guess what they were just talking about,_ Robin thought to himself, eager for a distraction and deciding to make sure there were no threats to his carefully laid plans.

“Frederick,” Robin called out, halting the man mid-stride.

With a cold expression the Knight Commander turned to regard Robin.

“What is it, Tactician?”

“I need to know you’re going to follow my orders,” Robin said plainly, his patience with the Knight wearing thin as the two men stared each other down.

“I will follow milord’s orders,” Frederick said, his face never changing expression. “And I will follow my oaths to the Exalt and to Ylisse. I believe you have enough Plegian followers to make up-”

“Alright, enough already,” Robin snapped in a harsh whisper, leaning closer to the bigger man. “Four years. Four years we’ve worked together, fought together, served Ylisse together, and all of a sudden I’m public enemy number one? What is your issue?”

“My issue,” Frederick rumbled quietly, leaning over Robin threateningly, “is that you assaulted my lord. My issue is that you have never once shown any authority due respect. My issue is that you _gave the Fire Emblem to our enemy_.”

“Frederick, that wasn’t me and you know it!”

The Knight spun, pointing at Severa still on the dune.

“Do you see that girl?” he asked, his voice still low. “This fight became personal the moment she called me ‘father’. They have all suffered enough, and I will not let it happen again. Even if I have to end you to ensure it.”

“I have a daughter, too,” Robin reminded him weakly.

“Then let me ask you, tactician,” Frederick said, staring into Robin’s eyes. “If our positions were reversed, would you be acting any differently?”

Robin had to stop himself from instantly blurting out ‘yes’. That was a loaded question, but he knew the honest answer. His head dropped as he realised what his answer was.

“I would be less of a pain about it, but no,” he admitted after a few seconds. “I wouldn’t even bring you onto the field.”

“I will follow your orders up until the point they interfere with my duty, or my lord’s safety,” Frederick muttered, stepping past Robin and stopping again.

“For what it’s worth, though,” he added in a softer tone over his shoulder. “I truly hope we manage to stop Validar and shake his hold over you, Robin. You have done much for Ylisse and… I would not see you dead in this fashion.”

“Keep your eye on me, Frederick,” Robin said, looking away from the Knight again. “You made a promise; I expect you to keep it.”

Frederick nodded, turning away and heading for the other waiting Knights. Sully and Kjelle, who had found that she could actually ride now, gave him a loaded stare, but Frederick brought their attention back to the matter at hand. The tactician remained standing there, staring at the sand for another few moments, lost in thought. Unconsciously his hand snuck up, gripping the new amulet Tharja had crafted for him; he hoped to whatever deities were listening that it worked better than the last one.

“That looked… tense,” Yarne said, coming up behind Robin. “Everything okay?”

“Peachy,” Robin answered without skipping a beat, clapping a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Just hammering out some final tactical details. You ready to go, Bunny? You’re in the front with the big kids today.”

“Great, it’s catching,” the half-Taguel muttered darkly about the nickname Morgan had given him as Robin chuckled.

*

“Are the preparations complete?”

Aversa glanced up from the scroll she was reading, the latest report of the Ylisseans’ movements, at the gruff question. The towering Deadlord Mus was addressing her, already knowing full-well that they had taken care of everything already.

The Deadlords must be nervous, she realised, before wondering if they could even feel emotions like anxiety any more.

“Yes,” she answered, rolling up the scroll. “All the wards are in place, and even if the fool Mustafa destroyed a number of the circles we still have more than enough for the ritual.”

Mus nodded, his ash-grey countenance relaxing ever-so-slightly.

Aversa was sitting in the Outer Sanctum of the Dragon’s Table, waiting for Validar and the Master to finish whatever it was they were doing with the new pet inside. Across from her, on the other side of the great doors leading to the Inner Sanctum, the domain of her Master, sat the largest congregation of Dark Mages she had ever seen. The Outer Sanctum was huge, and easily accommodated the three-hundred plus Dark Mages as they idly waited, discussing spells or research and waiting for whatever it was they had been summoned for so they could return to their various works. They didn’t even seem to care about the malicious presence radiating from the Inner Sanctum as Grima’s power grew.

“We have news that the Ylisseans are on the move,” she said to the Deadlord as she gracefully stood.

Robin thought he was so clever, using the Resistance in a two-pronged assault; he thought that he could out-smart her by using the Resistance that had ‘supposedly’ hidden from her sight all this time. Did he and Mustafa really think that she wouldn’t notice two-thousand men running around the desert?

“Excellent,” Mus muttered to himself, tapping his lance on the floor twice. “I have grown weary of waiting. I long for my spear to taste the flesh of man again.”

“Just remember who gives the orders and you will,” Aversa snapped, looking over the other assembled Deadlords.

This was the first time since they had been summoned that she had seen them all in one place; standing or sitting idly behind her, readying weapons or flicking through spellbooks. It was a distinctly human scene, made all the more eerie by their ash-coloured skin, glowing eyes and wicked-looking weapons fashioned from black steel.

“I have not forgotten my Lord’s instructions,” Mus rumbled, his voice like distant thunder and his glowing eyes narrowing in Aversa’s direction. “Nor have any of the Deadlords. We follow your lead for this battle, girl. Those were our orders. Stop childishly asserting your dominance and trust that we will carry out the master’s will.”

The Sorceress seethed at being spoken to in such a manner, made all the worse by the snickers coming from some of the other more vocal Deadlords, but her scathing retort was cut off when the doors to the Inner Sanctum flew outwards.

“Rejoice, my children!” the cloaked and cowled Hierophant cried, his voice echoing around the silent sanctum.

Validar and another cloaked figure were at his sides, the Sorcerer grinning madly while the third figure looked at the ground, it’s visible hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of its sword as it visibly flinched at the volume of their master’s joyous statement.

“The end has come!”

As one the Deadlords rose, soundlessly moving out from the outer Sanctum and towards the plateau that would be their battleground. Validar’s smile increased as he and the stranger strode forward past the Hierophant, Aversa falling in with them as they passed her.

Try as she might, though, she couldn’t feel the same level of excitement as her master, though. She felt oddly hollow.

Aversa attributed the feeling to not having defeated Robin yet, a problem that would soon be solved.

She glanced over at the new pet, the girl’s piercing blue eyes boring into Aversa’s own.

“What?” the older sorceress snarled.

“Nothing at all,” the girl responded in a bored deadpan, looking back down.

*

Mustafa stretched his arms and rotated his shoulders as he strode boldly through the open terrain leading up to the furthest Grimleal outpost from the Dragon’s Table. Behind marched the entirety of the soldiers that were still loyal to the Plegian people that they had sworn to protect, nearly two-thousand men and women at arms that were willing to lay down their lives to give the Ylisseans the chance they needed to stop the madness.

“Men and women of Plegia!” Mustafa roared over his shoulder, holding his axe high as they advanced. “There can be no mercy for our foes! They have lost sight of themselves and fallen under Validar’s sway! If we do not take a stand here, then many more will perish in flames! For Plegia! For our homes! For the people!”

“For the people!” the soldiers cried out in unison, surging forwards around Mustafa.

The Grimleal outpost housed maybe a thousand soldiers; their role was to simply get the Grimleal attention and draw their forces away from the rest of the outposts. Mustafa didn’t like the idea of wasting his men’s’ lives as a distraction like this, but there was really no other option. The Ylisseans needed the opening.

As he drew nearer to the outpost the sounds of the first of his soldiers falling upon the unsuspecting Grimleal rang out, and he drew his massive axe from over his shoulder.

“Get their attention!” he roared above the sounds of battle. “Hit and fade, just like we practiced! Reinforcements are not going to be far away!”

Mustafa was glad to see his men attempting for the most part to disable their opponents rather than kill them, but it was unavoidable given the circumstances. Blood would be spilled on both sides this day.

The imposing General hung back from the majority of the battle, occasionally striking down the overzealous Grimleal soldiers that faced him with the flat of his axe as he kept watch for any signs of the enemy reinforcements.

The outposts were only small, though, and soon the Plegian forces had control of the first one, the enemy either dead or subdued.

“Pull back!” Mustafa roared, holding his axe high.

In the distance he could make out the torches of the rest of the Grimleal forces surging to protect the outpost.

“Back to the dunes! Carry the wounded and make ready to strike again!”

*

“They’re beginning to move,” Lon’qu whispered, watching the soldiers in the distance begin to rush east where Mustafa was attacking.

Robin nodded, sliding back down the dune as he placed his own spyglass back in his pouch, retrieving his lance from where he’d left it sitting. The sun was beginning to rise now and they were running a little bit behind schedule, but it didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things.

The Plegian outpost they were going to push through, the western-most one, was situated on the badlands outside the desert, the hard-packed and barren soil making the perfect setting for the plan to overtake the outpost.

“First wave!” Chrom shouted, holding Falchion high from his seat behind Frederick on the Knight Commander’s strong warhorse. “With me!”

All of the mounted and flying Shepherds darted out of the cover of the low sand dunes, Chrom and Frederick leading the charge.

“Second wave, make ready,” Robin ordered. “Let them put some distance between us.”

Robin watched as the Grimleal forces began to panic, not expecting an assault on two fronts after sending the majority of the soldiers to the east to deal with Mustafa.

“Now!” he shouted just as Frederick’s charge smashed through the enemy camp.

The Knights tore through the enemy camp, weapons flashing and barely slowing. From above those that could fly attacked with spears or dragons breath, easily keeping pace with their land-locked counterparts. In barely a few seconds the Knights had cracked the outpost wide open. Chrom slipped gracefully from the back of Frederick’s horse, just as Inigo from the back of Kjelle’s and Vaike from the back of Sully’s, all three men beginning to lay into the Grimleal around them and causing further distraction as the Knights powered on. A madly grinning Vaike kicked a brazier into a nearby tent, the entire thing going up in a manner of seconds in the dry desert air.

He was taking Robin’s instruction of ‘cause some anarchy’ a little too literally.

“Forward!” Lon’qu roared, urging the others forward.

Forty-odd pairs of feet closed the gap quickly, the Plegian Guards led by Algol taking the tip of the spearhead with the Shepherds close behind. The purpose of the Plegians would be to hold their exit in the remains of the outpost once the Shepherds passed through it, giving Robin one less thing to worry about if things went pear-shaped and they needed to retreat.

“For the Prince!” Algol roared, the cry being echoed by the other Royal Guard as they spread out into the camp.

Robin visibly winced at the cry, but he wasn’t about to lower morale by causing a scene.

“Algol, hold this outpost no matter what!” Robin shouted to the man before he disappeared into the camp, his only response being a brief nod before the Guard Captain disappeared sword-first around the back of a tent. The twenty Royal Guard were apparently more than a match for the conscripts left to defend the outpost, so Robin wasn’t worried.

“The rest of you, don’t stop!” he ordered to the jogging Shepherds. “Close the gap with Chrom and the others!”

“Took you long enough, ‘Prince’ Robin,” Chrom laughed as he joined the tactician at the head of the group.

“Call me that again and I’ll find out what spell Miriel used to force Vaike to hold his axe for an entire week straight,” Robin deadpanned.

Chrom and the other Shepherds around them burst out laughing as they ran, Vaike dropping his axe again in the process. Spirits were high, and Robin could feel his own hope rising. They were presenting a united front despite Validar’s attempts to undermine their cohesion; his worries had been unfounded after all.

“Frederick, keep the knights and hang back as rear-guard! Maribelle, stay with them!” Robin called out as they charged past the waiting mounted Shepherds.

“Cordelia, Tiki! Take the others and give me aerial recon! Do not engage under any circumstances, understand?”

“Right!” Cordelia nodded, kicking her mount into the sky as Tiki transformed into her draconian form, Cynthia, Gerome and Nah following the two women.

“You heard the man!” Frederick shouted to the other knights as Maribelle and her own mount slipped seamlessly into formation with them. “Form up! Prepare to leapfrog!”

“You seem confident,” Lucina pointed out to Robin as they started to run again.

“Confidence has nothing to do with it,” Robin said with a feral grin. “Today I am the master of my own destiny. Validar and Grima can shove it.”

“Damn straight!” Vaike whooped loudly.

“Master! My sword hand twitches!” Owain shouted gleefully.

“Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!” Henry chanted from Tharja’s side, looking a little paler than usual.

“Bring it on!” Brady called from the back of the group, holding his staff up like a lance.

“Time to end this,” Chrom said, taking the lead of the charge, falchion outstretched. “For our future!”

*

At the top of the small road leading to the plateau called the Dragon’s Table Robin hesitated, allowing the other Shepherds to rush past him as he looked out over the sparse badlands arrayed before him. The wind kicked up his coat a little as he inspected the Plegian and Grimleal positions, his spyglass pressed to his face as he planted his lance in the hard earth.

Just below them Frederick was leading the Knights and mounted Shepherds in a coordinated rear-guard with Cordelia, making Robin relax a little when he realised that not much was going to get by a line like that. The tactician snickered a little to himself; even from this distance Frederick looked grumpy.

Off in the distance Mustafa was leading the Plegians in a game of cat and mouse with the Grimleal forces among the low dunes and outlying badlands in the east, making use of impressive levels of unit cohesion and knowledge of the local terrain to run rings around the enemy, but Robin could already tell they wouldn’t last much longer at this rate; a few hours at best. Mustafa’s forces were holding back, hesitant to kill their countrymen while the Grimleal forces had all the subtlety of rabid dogs.  Some were already slipping by the Plegians, Cordelia and Frederick’s rear-guard moving to intercept them. Black-armoured forms littered the ground, both Grimleal and Plegian-

“Robin!” Chrom called, snapping the tactician out of his reverie. “We need to keep moving!”

The tactician nodded, slipping his spyglass back into his pouch and moving past the other Shepherds to catch up to Chrom.

“Mustafa’s not going to hold,” Robin reported as they started running again. “Worst case scenario, we need to be prepared to fight our way back to Algol’s position.”

“And what’s the best case?” Chrom asked, facing directly ahead.

“We all die and don’t have to worry about it,” the tactician shrugged, grinning.

The Exalt snorted a few times, his own face breaking out in a smile at the gallows-humour before both men grew serious again.

In the distance Robin could make out the crags of the small peaks surrounding Grima’s Sanctum, the temple itself nestled between them to the point where only the tallest of its towers peaked over their tops. It made Robin shudder to think just what was waiting for him there.

His hand tensed a little around the haft of his lance, the weapon’s firm weight a comforting one.

He could feel the presence, the resonance, of something ancient and evil beyond anything he’d ever encountered before. It was like a horde of Risen all sitting on top of each other and it made Robin want to vomit in terror. But he wasn’t about to go down without a fight. He wasn’t going to make this easy for Grima or Validar, no matter what they threw at him.

The Shepherds came up to a small set of ruins, little more than the remainders of a few low walls and some columns, a few of which still stood upright but most of which were lying on the ground.

A familiar pricking in the back of Robin’s mind made his eyes widen as he dug in his heels and skidded to a halt.

“Hold!” he cried, levelling his lance in the direction of the temple.

To their credit not one of the Shepherds hesitated, levelling their own weapons and closing ranks around him. Cold laughter echoed around the ruins, the Shepherds glancing around anxiously for the source while Robin rolled his eyes.

“Enough with the theatrics! Just come out so we can get this over with!” Robin shouted into the emptiness around them.

“So hasty,” Validar’s voice chided after a brief moment of silence. “The wheat does not goad the farmer into reaping it, nor does the pig the butcher into slaughtering it. For-”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re weak and pathetic and you’re not,” Robin roared. “We get it. We’ve done this song and dance before. Let’s. Get. This. Over. With.”

A flash from outside the low ruins marked the arrival of three human forms and one larger one behind them, Validar frowning in front of Aversa and a third cloaked and hooded figure.

“There was a time your insolence amused me,” he snapped at Robin, apparently ignoring the twenty Shepherds with weapons trained in his direction. “That time has passed. Your useless gnawing at my plans has ceased to amuse me. Now only death awaits you.”

“I’m shakin’,” Vaike muttered sarcastically from Robin’s side, a confident grin on his face making a few of the others chuckle.

Robin grinned along with them but didn’t respond, intent on studying the third figure with Validar and Aversa. It might have been one of the Deadlords, but from this distance it looked like it was wearing the same style coat as he was; the Hierophant, most likely, whatever he was. The figure would die like all the rest, all in due time.

“Validar!” Chrom called, stepping forward.

“Fools! Do you know where you've come?” the Plegian King snarled. “You would seek to end this magnificence? You would seek to deny a god!?”

“With our dying breaths!” Chrom replied, holding Falchion up.

“How apt, my dear boy; we already know how this story ends,” Validar chuckled, his voice becoming silken yet still carrying to them. “You and I both! And yet you rush here... are you so eager to meet the fell dragon yourself? Or perhaps your own fatal destiny, you would have that realized first?”

“To hell with your destiny. We'll write a new ending,” Chrom declared proudly, shooting Robin an encouraging nod.

“So now you believe you can change fate?” Validar laughed dismissively. “And here I thought your exalted sister had illusions of grandeur.”

“We already have!” Chrom insisted, Robin watching his fist tighten at the mention of his sister’s name.

“Your victory over sad little Gangrel?” Validar sneered. “Or perhaps Walhart's defeat? Those were meant to happen. They were preordained. You are just another fool in motley, capering on the stage, with no idea who stands behind the scenes orchestrating everything! This day has been years, decades in the making!”

“That doesn’t matter!” Chrom roared. “We will end your schemes here and now! Nothing will stand in our way!”

Even from this distance Robin could see the evil smile spread on Validar’s face.

“Nothing, you say?” Validar laughed, his low voice carrying.

“Enough!” Robin shouted. “Enough of your lies! Enough of your games! We came here to kill you, not to talk!”

“You aren't listening,” Aversa spoke up, stepping forward to stand at her master’s side. “All of this, every word and action, has been orchestrated... Gangrel and his family held the Exalt in contempt, yes, so Validar and I used them. In life and death. The king's demise and constant war with Ylisse, not to mention border disputes with Regna Ferox, threw Plegia into a slow-building chaos. It drove the people to Grima, and now their life force and rancor can be laid before the fell dragon en masse. It is called the Table for a reason, you naive little pawns. It is where Grima feeds! The Grimleal have gladly offered themselves to him for ages eternal. Even now, they pray for his return... Today the Table overflows with bounty, and their prayers will be answered!”

“Yeah, right, like we’re going to let that happen,” Robin snorted, stepping forward and raising his lance.

“How could anyone give their life willingly to that... thing?” Lucina muttered. “That monster!?”

“I will stop you!” Chrom swore, moving to stand with Robin and Lucina. “We will stop Grima!”

“So you say, yet the end is inevitable,” Validar taunted as the third figure stepped forward. “Even those closest to you have already seen the error of their ways when faced with Grima’s glory. Isn’t that right, my dearest granddaughter?”

The cowled figure lowered her hood, and Morgan stared impassively out across the Shepherds from between Validar and Aversa with a small frown crinkling her brow, the same one she got whenever she paused during chess to study her enemy’s positions.

Robin’s jaw dropped at the same time his hand went slack, his spear hitting the ground in tandem with Say’ri’s hushed curse as she pushed forward.

“What have you done to her!?” the queen of Chon’sin screamed.

“Nothing she did not accept herself,” Validar answered.

“He speaks the truth, mother,” Morgan called out, her strangely level voice clear and carrying. “We cannot stand against Grima and hope to survive. Your actions invite calamity! If we serve him we will be spared his wrath!”

Say’ri stood facing her daughter at Robin’s side, hurt and betrayal clear on her features as she struggled to take in the scene before her. Most of the Shepherds had similar expressions. Severa looked lost, looking back and forth between Robin and Morgan; Owain seemed to be trying to figure out what her master-plan was; Brady and Gerome both looked away; Lucina grit her teeth, remaining silent.

“Morgan, no…” Yarne muttered, his voice thick.

Morgan’s face didn’t even twitch as her friends and family reeled at her betrayal.

Something inside Robin snapped, and he didn’t even try to stop it as rage bubbled to the fore.

“You bastard!” he roared, stepping forward as raw magic began cracking around his hands trembling in outrage as he stared down Validar. “How dare you!? _How dare you!?_ I’ll tear you limb from limb with my bare hands! When I finish with you the hell I send you to will be a relief!”

Chrom reached out, dragging Robin back before he could advance too far.

“Robin, calm down! I need you thinking rationally!”

“Father, please!” Morgan shouted, her voice never changing from the emotionless droll. “You’re an intelligent man; see reason! This is what we were born for! What _you_ were born for! To deny this is to deny a part of yourself! We will all certainly face death from above if-”

“Enough!” Robin shouted as his jaw twitched, turning his rage on Morgan who visibly recoiled in fear from her father’s wrath as he shook Chrom’s grip off and stared with hard eyes at his daughter.

“How did you think we would react!? After everything I’ve told you, everything he’s done… this is your choice!? You had better be damn-well prepared for the consequences, Morgan.”

The girl’s head lowered, her shoulders quivering as she finally began to show emotion again. Robin took a deep, calming breath, compartmentalizing and beginning to adjust the tactics in his head.

“I would say that they need some time to come to terms with your decision, my dear,” Validar purred, laying a hand on Morgan’s shoulder. “Aversa, keep them busy. But do not harm Robin.”

“Yes, yes,” the sorceress said flippantly as she turned and climbed atop the midnight-black steed standing patiently behind them. “I won’t do anything to harm daddy’s little boy.”

“Father!” Morgan called out, her own voice cold now. “I’ll be waiting for you at the Table!”

Robin’s gaze snapped up, Say’ri calling her daughter’s name a final time as Morgan and Validar disappeared in a flash of light, Validar’s smug face burning itself into Robin’s memory, his jaw twitching again.

Aversa grinned superiorly at them from atop her mount, the horse rearing up and unleashing a pair of magnificent black wings. In another flash she was surrounded by powerful-looking Risen, the likes of which Robin had seen before. Even if he hadn’t recognized Simia in the press he could still feel the malign presence they gave off, concentrated now that Grima’s return was so close.

“Are those…” Chrom managed to mutter, Robin nodding in answer.

“The Deadlords,” the tactician ground out, sheathing his sword and bending to retrieve his lance. “And they feel stronger than before. This is… well, problematic to say the least.”

“Did you plan for this?” Chrom asked as the rest of the Shepherds stepped forward, taking up their positions again.

“No, but I’m working on one,” Robin admitted, bouncing his lance on one shoulder and calmly studying the Deadlords as they spread out before Aversa, his features set in a scowl.

The four horse-mounted Deadlords peeled off from the rest, charging around to attack from the Shepherd’s flank. Robin barely spared them a second glance, still glaring at Aversa.

“Robin, we don’t have a lot of time here,” Chrom urged.

“I’m thinking,” the tactician muttered. “Got it. Everyone, listen closely.”

He pointed directly at Aversa with the tip of his lance, baring his teeth in a savage snarl.

“She’s mine. Say’ri, you’re with me. Stick close and cover my flank.”

His lance shifted to the biggest of the Risen, moving right down the centre of the ruins at a steady march with a confident set to its features.

“Chrom, Lucina, take the big one. Cover each other and remember we can’t heal the wounds they give us, so be careful.”

“Right,” Chrom said, stepping forward with Falchion at the ready.

“Follow your own advice,” Lucina muttered, leaning over to give Robin a quick kiss on the cheek before following her father.

“Vaike, Lon’qu, Inigo! Take the big one there,” the tactician growled, his lance pointing to the shirtless, muscle-bound warrior covered in scars and wielding an axe easily big enough to cleave any of the Shepherds in half with one blow.

“On it,” Lon’qu replied, beginning to move.

Vaike let out a deafening warcry, swinging his axe around his head and darting forward, Inigo following with a dubious expression at the other man’s actions.

Robin’s lance moved to point at the axe-wielding woman in bastardised cleric’s robes towards the back of the group. “Libra, Severa, Owain; take her down.”

An arrow sailed past Robin’s cheek, the tactician clicking his tongue as he followed its trajectory back to the helmeted sniper that had climbed atop one of the low ruins.

“Noire, make a pin-cushion out of him,” Robin ordered. “Yarne, watch her back and don’t get shot.”

“What!?” the boy shouted dismayed. “I thought you said I’d be in the front with you, Robin! Just because Morgan-”

“The plans changed!” Robin snapped. “I didn’t plan on this and I’m making things up as I go, so don’t make it harder for me and just do as I say! The faster we do this, the faster we can rescue Morgan!”

“Right,” the half-Taguel nodded, visibly forcing himself to focus on the battle and not whatever had happened to the other tactician.

Noire let out a cackle, loosing an arrow and forcing the Risen sniper into cover. She was already moving again as she started to fire further arrows, Yarne on her tail.

“Blood and thunder! Flee from my wrath, craven! Death comes for you!”

“Laurent, take the mage!” Robin shouted over the battle starting around them. “Brady, stick with him! Tharja, Henry, take the other mage! Alternate to keep them off-guard, understand?”

“What about the horsemen!?” Laurent asked, watching as they grew closer.

Robin was about to reply, his words cut off by a shouting voice he’d honestly never been so happy to hear before.

“Pick a god and pray!” Frederick snarled, leading Sully, Stahl and Kjelle in a wedge out of nowhere against the horsemen and halting their charge dead, crashing into them with a sound like a thunderclap and almost throwing the lighter of the Risen horsemen from his own mount, such was the ferocity of their charge. Maribelle was a small way behind them, the noble-born healer from Themis peeling off, making for where Robin and the mages were standing while the other three knights forced the riders away from the Shepherds rear-ranks.

“Cordelia and the others are mopping up the last of the brutes on the plains,” she reported quickly before wheeling her mount around and rushing back to help the Knights as they led the Deadlord riders on a chase in the opposite direction.

“Good enough for you?” Robin asked Laurent.

“Indeed,” the mage answered, moving up with Brady, Tharja and Henry to engage the mages.

Once again Robin noticed just how strained Henry looked, but Tharja was going to be at his side, and that fact put his mind at ease some. She was fiercely loyal and protective once she got attached to someone, so he told himself not to worry and to focus on getting through the Risen and the woman blocking his path.

It didn’t matter that Aversa was his sister. She and Validar had done something to Morgan, and he would go through her without a second thought.

“Robin…” Say’ri said, her voice oddly weak as she approached him.

“Come on,” he said softly, glancing back at the woman that, in another time, would have been his wife. “That bitch wanted to make this personal? She just got her wish. Don’t worry. We have to go and get our daughter back, right?”

Say’ri stared at him for a second, a stricken look on her face before her eyes hardened and her grip tightened around her sword.

“Verily,” she agreed as they began to jog to where Aversa and Simia were waiting.

*

Vaike let out an excited whoop as he and Lon’qu closed with the big Risen-thing closing on them like a charging bull, its head lowered and eyes glinting as it swung its axe two-handed.

Like quicksilver the Feroxi swordsman slipped around the Risen as its axe clashed with Vaike’s, the force of the blow knocking the Shepherd backwards a good three feet. Inigo filled the gap, the pretty-boy spinning and riposting with the grace of a dancer as he skipped around the Risen’s guard. Lon’qu took advantage of the creature’s distraction, striking at its unprotected back with all his strength before retreating when the creature spun.

Vaike’s eyes widened; Lon’qu had hit it with all his might, and there was barely a scratch on the creature’s broad back.

“What’re hitting it with, the flat of yer sword!?” Vaike called out as the three Shepherds circled the Risen warily. “Let Teach show ya how it’s done!”

The Risen began to chuckle as Vaike darted forward, his axe held low as he charged. The laughing was grating, like nails on a chalk-board, but he ignored it and wound himself up, all his muscles tensing as he neared the perfect point…

With a mighty bellow Vaike threw himself into the air and spun, bringing his axe down with all the centrifugal force that Miriel had ever taught him about and actually forcing the Risen’s own guard down. Lon’qu and Inigo were on it in a second, their own blades flashing as Lon’qu went for its exposed flank and Inigo went for its throat.

With more deep laughter, and much to Vaike’s astonishment, the Risen yanked its axe back up from where he was holding it down, lashing out with one foot to the axeman’s stomach and knocking him back again. The Risen spun, smashing Inigo aside, the flat of its axe making a startling cracking sound as it crashed into his head and snapped him around. Lon’qu growled as he struck with his teeth bared, burying the tip of his sword in the creature’s side before a casual backhand sent him tumbling through the air after Vaike.

“So… that’s how it’s done… huh?” Lon’qu panted as the two men climbed unsteadily back to their feet.

“Just thought you’d need… a chance to catch your breath,” Vaike shot back, breathing just as heavily.

Inigo was lying still on the ground behind the Risen, its attention wholly focused on the two older Shepherds; the boy’s chest was still rising and falling, though, so he could wait until they weren’t about to be eaten by a deranged Risen monster.

“Keep it off’a the kid,” Vaike said, gripping his axe tightly in two hands.

Lon’qu nodded, slipping into one of his more dangerous sword-stances.

The Risen continued to laugh as it stretched out its neck, completely ignoring the puncture wound in its side weeping purple ichor so dark it was almost black. Lon’qu had stabbed it halfway up his blade; most of its organs should have been hit by that attack. It shouldn’t have been able to move, much less keep laughing at them.

Vaike hated to admit it, but it looked like they were a bit out of their depth against this thing.

The Ylissean axeman just grinned, Lon’qu copying him as they stared down the Risen.

“How many times did we complain in Valm that there wasn’t any good fighting to be had?” Vaike asked casually as the two men started to walk slowly back towards the advancing Risen.

“You go high,” Lon’qu said with a smirk. “I’ll go low.’

Vaike grinned and nodded, roaring again as he darted forward with his axe held above his head. The Risen’s laughter turned into an answering roar, bringing its own weapon up to fend of Vaike’s blow. Lon’qu used the opening, darting low and spinning, his sword cutting four long gashes on the Risen’s flank before both men retreated.

“Oh baby! That’s what Teach likes ta see!” Vaike shouted, pumping his fist as the Risen swayed a little.

“We’re not done,” Lon’qu warned.

Vaike grinned; he couldn’t help it. The Feroxi swordsman sounded more excited than he had since the first war with Plegia. They were both having the time of their lives, fighting for their lives.

With that strange thought floating through his head, Vaike and Lon’qu darted forward again.

The Risen sniffed a few times, bringing its axe down near Lon’qu to defend its unwounded side, giving Vaike the opportunity to land a heavy kick to its injured ribs.

The axeman grinned as the Risen reeled again. He knew exactly what the creature’s weakness was; it was one that he had spent the majority of his life trying to overcome. The Risen was slow. An axe was a heavy weapon, and most that wielded them chose to focus on brute force strength to be their defence, but Vaike had seen that style fail all too often. He was no Lon’qu, but he was still faster than most other axemen.

Whirling, he lashed out with his favoured weapon, the blade of the axe biting deep into the Risen’s throat. With another rasping chuckle the creature fell to one knee, Lon’qu already waiting behind it. With one sweeping blow the swordsman separated the creature’s head from its shoulders in a shower of fine purple ashes.

*

Yarne watched as the manic Noire ducked and dodged around the arrows being shot from the Risen archer, moving with incredible precision as she darted from cover to cover, appearing only to fire another volley before ducking again.

Such was his awe at her grace and speed that a few times she wound up leaving him behind, forcing him to run to keep pace.

It was something he was out of his depth with; a running long-range battle was something he had never had to deal with before. Noire was as focused as he’d ever seen her while they had been fighting in the future, shooting with all the precision and skill of a master twice her age.

The Risen archer would rise to get a shot off, and Noire would already be there, the arrow already leaving her bow while she was ducking to her next position while the Risen ducked to avoid her shot. Their enemy already had a number of gouges along the smooth metal of his strange cyclopean helmet, but both Noire and Yarne had taken a few near misses of their own. Noire’s clothes were tattered in places, and a few tufts of Yarne’s fur were missing, but neither side had successfully drawn blood yet.

But where the Risen’s expression had barely changed, Noire was getting tired. A few times now Yarne had dragged her back into cover to avoid being trampled by the running-battle between the Knights and the mounted Risen circling and winding through the ruins, or thrown her flat to avoid the spells flying around at random as the mages duelled.

The ruins were quickly falling apart, and Noire and Yarne were running out of cover to use.

“This isn’t w-working!” Noire complained, panting with her back to the remains of a low wall about a meter wide as Yarne tumbled in beside her.

A line of arrows were suddenly sticking out of the dusty earth where Yarne had been a moment ago, making him swallow nervously.

The Risen was good… He couldn’t help but wonder how Morgan would deal with this, though.

“We need to bait him,” Yarne said suddenly, inspiration striking him like a lightning bolt.

The Taguel peeked over the low wall, ducking back down as three dark-fletched arrows buried themselves into the old stones in front of him.

“He’s waiting for us to move,” Yarne said quickly. “If I leap out it’ll draw his attention, then you nail him!”

“Yarne, that’s a-” Noire started to say, cut off when the half-Taguel shifted and hopped into space, charging directly at the Risen.

“Yarne!” Noire shouted, emerging from cover a second later with her bow at the ready.

An arrow whizzed by her ear, forcing her back down. She ducked just enough to hide a little, watching as a smile came to the Risen’s lips and she realized he’d been waiting for them to take this tactic. He nocked an arrow almost faster than her eyes could follow, aiming directly for Yarne as the Taguel dug his heels in, desperately trying to change direction. Yarne closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable as he skidded forwards…

The shot never came, and when he opened his eyes he saw the Knights racing into the distance after the Risen riders, Frederick raising his lance again as it trailed black ichor in the air behind it.

Before either of the time-travelling Shepherds could count their blessings that they had been saved by good timing magical explosions lit up the sky to the western side of the ruins, and Noire’s pale face lost a few more shades of colour.

“Mother!” she screamed, bolting in the direction of the explosions.

“Noire!” Yarne shouted, shaking his head and recovering from the shock of staring down a loaded bow. “We should at least make sure it’s dead! W-wait for me, Noire!”

*

Chrom led with the tip of his sword, stabbing upwards as Lucina came in low, her own blade bouncing off of the Deadlord’s thick stomach armour. The big creature laughed, swinging his lance in a wide arc and driving both Ylisseans back, smiling at them predatorily.

“I am Mus, tiny-ones,” he rasped as Chrom and Lucina both took a moment to catch their breath. “Know that among the Deadlords I am the oldest, and I am the first of all the Lord Grima’s servants. Take pride in that fact as I strike you down.”

“Does this remind you of when we fought Walhart, too?” Chrom asked, shooting a grin at his daughter.

“Indeed,” Lucina nodded. “But the difference is Walhart was actually intimidating.”

“Insolence!” Mus roared, suddenly between the two Ylisseans, lance flashing at Chrom’s midsection.

The Exalt turned the blow to the side, bringing his forehead down on the Deadlord’s nose and instantly regretting it when stars flashed before his eyes. Lucina let out a wordless cry of her own, striking from a high-guard with her own Falchion, the sacred weapon digging a gouge in the Deadlord’s armour but otherwise not harming it as Chrom backpedalled a little, Lucina on Mus’ opposite side.

That headbutt would have shattered a normal foe’s nose, but Mus didn’t even flinch. All Chrom had to show from his brutal assault was a headache and a forming bruise on his face.

“What the hell is this thing made out of?” Chrom wondered, readying his sword again and blinking his vision clear.

They had been trading blows with the hulking monster of a Risen since the battle had started, neither side gaining or giving ground. The others were running and fighting, moving fluidly as their foes tried various tactics, crossing each-others paths, and Chrom and Lucina had barely moved.

It was beginning to feel like they had been fighting all-out for an eternity, but in reality it had only been maybe fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes of trading blows with an immovable mountain of armour and lance.

Mus looked up into the distance, distracted and frowning at something Chrom couldn’t see.

Not being one to question an opportunity the Exalt darted forward again, swinging Falchion in a great over-head arch, intending to bring it down on the Deadlord’s head. Sparks flashed as Mus brought his lance up with a single hand, effortlessly swatting Chrom’s strike aside without even looking.

“I have no time for your games,” Mus said, his voice strangely regal for such a dark creature.

Lucina attempted to attack, too, being struck by the base of the Deadlord’s spear almost as an afterthought as the hulking creature turned. The Princess collapsed, coughing and gagging, holding her stomach as Chrom moved to stand over her until she recovered.

“Consider yourselves lucky, Shepherds,” Mus growled, holding his empty hand out before him. “This day you faced death and lived to tell of it.”

With a flash centred around his hand, Mus disappeared.

“Where… where did the creature…” Lucina gasped, struggling to rise again.

“Forget him,” Chrom said, shaking his head slightly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m… fine,” Lucina said, forcing herself to stand. “Come. We should help the others.”

*

Tharja hissed angrily as she deflected another spell from the Risen sorcerer, bolts of purple lightning meeting in the air above the ruins and cancelling each other out in an explosive blast. Henry was in front of Tharja instantly, shielding her from the blowback and preparing his own assault, a fire spell from the looks of things.

Tharja took a brief second to throw a distracting spell over at the other Risen mage duelling with the skinny kid in the big hat, a small blast of dark energy in the shape of a simple flux spell speeding off and detonating at the Risen’s feet, forcing it back a step and giving the kid the advantage.

Henry and Laurent were both adequate mages, but Henry was still wounded, Brady was a priest, and Laurent spent too much of his time doing paperwork and his father’s insane fitness training; Tharja was the only true combat mage out of the four of them, and while the gruff priest was taking some pressure off by healing the wounds they were receiving from rock shrapnel and magical blow-back, but Tharja was tiring of carrying the fight herself. The two Risen fought as if they had one mind, one purpose, which in all likelihood they did. They were servants of Grima, mindless creatures born of darkness only to feed on the living. She swore that she wouldn’t let them kill her or any of her friends here.

Taking the opportunity Henry’s spell presented she thrust out her hand, three separate Flux spells flying at the Risen sorcerer in short order, driving him back further and giving Henry the chance he needed to recover as the running-battle between the two sides’ mounted warriors passed between the two mage groups in a cloud of dust and cursing from Sully and Kjelle.

“What’s wrong with him?” Brady asked as the four magic users regrouped.

Henry was gasping, a weak chuckle coming out with every breath as he doubled over.

“I’m fine,” he managed, pushing himself back upright. “Just tired. C’mon, we’ve got Risen to kill!”

“You’ve bled through yer robes!” Brady shouted, dragging the other man back into cover.

Tharja clicked her tongue in annoyance as Henry lost his balance and dropped to one knee. She had to end this soon…

“You, make sure he stays down,” she said to Brady, before turning to Lauren. “You, come with me. I’m sick of playing with these two.”

“I’m coming… too!” Henry insisted, his shout becoming a cough that sent bloody spittle flying from his mouth.

“I told you that you should have stayed in Ylisse,” Tharja said coldly before turning and running from cover, Laurent hot on her trail.

She ignored Henry calling out to her, his voice being drowned out by the magical wind that nearly knocked her off her feet anyway. Laurent skidded to a halt behind her, one hand firmly holding his ridiculous hat in place as the other clutched his open spellbook for dear life.

“Distract them, don’t hold anything back,” Tharja ordered with a snarl, using her bare hands and her mana-flow to slap aside three fireballs shot from the Risen mage.

Laurent nodded as the magical wind died down, thrusting his hand out and beginning to chant as Tharja kept on the defensive, beginning to use smaller spells to detonate the larger enemy ones that kept flying in their direction.

“Vanquish the recurring darkness!” Laurent shouted, pushing his glasses back up his nose with one finger as a magic circle began to spin around his feet, his robes flapping around violently in the updraft caused by the mana being released. “Holy Flame! Exhaust this foe with your inferno!”

Tharja slapped another fireball that got too close off to one side just as Laurent thrust his own hand forward again, the circle beneath his feet disappearing as his spell took form.

“Rexflame!” the skinny mage shouted.

Angry red flames sprung up around the two Risen mages feet in a great circle, licking at their robes and slowly gathering in on them as Laurent maintained his spell. All at once the flames shot upwards, encircling the two Risen before coming crashing down on them again in a spinning storm of heat and flames so bright it hurt to look at. Once he was finished Laurent slumped to his knees, utterly spent.

Tharja barely saw any of it, already moving towards the two creatures in a flash of dark hair and billowing robes. They stood, burned and gasping for breath in what had been the epicentre of the spell, glaring balefully at the skinny mage that had been the source of their torment. As soon as the spell finished she was atop the first one, kicking out and knocking it to the dirt, straddling the creature and lashing out with a brutal strike to the jaw the way Robin had taught her to before summoning a flux, putting everything she had into it and forcing the over-charged spell into the creature’s face. With a violent jerk the Risen’s head exploded into purple ashes just before the rest of it did. Tharja allowed herself a savage grin as she turned to confront the Risen sorcerer.

Her victory was short-lived, though, as something smashed into her shoulder, sending her flying through the air. Tharja landed painfully, crying out as she slid and her injured shoulder ground against the dirt. The Risen sorcerer let out a savage roar, closer to one of pain and grief than of rage, its red eyes flashing dangerously as it loomed above Tharja. She couldn’t move her arm; every time she tried she felt something grind in her shoulder from the blow that made her grind her teeth.

Tharja cursed her own foolishness; she had jumped into the fray the way Robin would have, but she should have taken into account that she wasn’t anywhere near as fast as the tactician was. Henry was struggling to rise and come to her aid, coughing up blood as his efforts hurt him further; Laurent was struggling to rise, too, already casting from the way his lips were moving so fast they were a blur, but he’d still be too slow. A strange twinge in her chest struck Tharja as the Risen sorcerer snarled, lifting a hand ending in the purple haze of a Nosferatu spell that would probably suck her life right out of her.

She looked up at the Risen above her and realised, for the first time in her life, she was afraid of death.

The Risen’s arm was descending, the spell in its hand gathering momentum, but it jerked to the side, the creature spinning away from the prone mage with a pained shriek. As it spun Tharja saw three grey and white fletched arrows sticking out of its back, a fourth joining them as the Risen fell to its knees.

“Get away from my mother, monster!” Noire shrieked hysterically as she came into Tharja’s vision, panting and red in the face.

The girl’s aim was true, though, and she kept peppering the Risen with more and more arrows until the jerking form fell forward, collapsing into ashes with one final moan and a clattering of loose arrows.

“Mother!” Noire sobbed, narrowly beating Brady and a heavily limping Henry to her side.

“Stop crying,” Tharja ground out through clenched teeth as she forced herself to sit up.

“Hold still,” Brady sighed, readying his staff as Henry began to snicker, leaning heavily on Noire’s shoulder.

“She’s fine,” Henry sighed, leaning forward a little.

“She’s… fine…”

With a soft thud Henry fell forward, out cold.

“Father!?” Noire shouted, her voice so high-pitched it made Tharja wince.


	58. Chapter 58

Morgan resisted the urge to vomit in the brief flash of post-teleporting nausea that came after every time; the feeling of displacement was beginning to become a little less strange, but still she wondered how Validar just walked it off like he’d simply taken another step, casually flipping aside his robe as if they hadn’t just been standing out in the desert a second ago.

She caught herself quickly, though, determined to not show any weakness before the man as she followed the lanky sorcerer through the Sanctum.

Where before the huge curved audience chamber had been crowded with Dark Mages speaking in hushed tones and waiting for their part to play in Validar’s grand scheme now the large room was silent. Their footfalls echoed loudly through the room, bouncing off the high stone walls as Morgan glanced around curiously. Everything had been cleared away; the pews, the lecterns, the cases with relics inside them. The Outer Sanctum was a shell now, empty and void of anything besides dust and darkness.

Validar began to chuckle a little as they walked, making Morgan glance over at him curiously.

The sorcerer remained silent, though, leaving Morgan to wonder what was going on inside his twisted head as she followed him towards the Inner Sanctum.

“No,” he said suddenly, his hand darting out and stopping her in her tracks. “You go to the gallery and make sure the Dark Mages are prepared for their part in our play.”

Morgan glanced up over her shoulder at the darkened galleries overlooking the Outer Sanctum before nodding once and bowing deeply.

“Of course, Grandfather,” she said, her voice perfectly level.

She started slightly when his hand came to rest lightly on the top of her head, freezing in place mid-bow and not being sure how to proceed at the unexpected show of paternal affection.

“Soon, my child,” Validar said in the softest tone she had heard from the man as he gently stroked her hair. “Soon this will be over, and your future will be assured.”

With that perplexing statement he withdrew and spun, making for the Inner Sanctum. Morgan stood up tall, frowning slightly as she made her own way to the back of the large room and up the stairs to the wide gallery where nearly a thousand Dark Mages were waiting, reading through spellbooks or quietly debating in hushed whispers, some even just sat in silent contemplation.

Tharja had said her entire family were Dark Mages; were Noire’s grandparents in the press, too? Her aunts and uncles? Morgan shook the thought from her head. Now was hardly the time for idle fantasies.

One of the senior-ranked mages, a hunched old man wearing a skull cap that had introduced himself as Adri, noticed her and broke off whatever conversation he was having in low tones with another man before shuffling over to her and bowing low.

“My lady Morgan,” Adri greeted respectfully. “We were just discussing how the Master’s Deadlords seem to be adapting to this era. It is a quite intriguing topic to speculate about. Would you care to join us?”

“The master bade me ensure that you were ready for your part,” Morgan said coldly, her voice quiet yet still carrying as the rest of the Dark Mages took notice of her presence and grew silent.

They were all very aware of her lineage and circumstances, thanks in no small part to Validar’s gleeful boasting when they had returned to the Sanctum. A few of the bolder mages stared at her with open contempt, a few looking away, unable or unwilling to meet her gaze. Apparently even a fraternity as eccentric as the Dark Mages weren’t big on betrayal of family or oaths.

“I assure you, my lady Morgan, that we are prepared to play our part,” Adri said in his strangely high voice, not skipping a beat.

She nodded once, eyes still watching the crowd.

“I would still inspect the wards around the gallery.”

“Of course, my lady,” Adri said, bowing again and indicating that she follow him.

Daubed on the walls at regular intervals in fresh blood were six-foot tall magic circles, intricate fell rings that would channel the life-force of an entire nation into the Dark Dragon’s revival ceremony. Morgan resisted the urge to shudder, her eyes burning and her face steely as she stared at the circle, ensuring that there were no discrepancies and it was properly formed.

She nodded in satisfaction, and Adri began to shuffle in the direction of the next one. Morgan lingered a second behind him, and once his back was turned discretely reached out and deftly ran her finger along the wall before returning it to the pockets of her coat and following after the hunched Dark Mage.

“Come, my lady,” Adri said tiredly. “This next one is part of the spell that will power the barrier…”

*

Severa felt a small tremor run up her spine as she followed behind Libra and Owain, the trio charging towards the madly grinning form of the Deadlord wearing a blood-stained cleric’s raiment. Something about the Risen screamed for her attention, but between Libra’s constant prayer and Owain’s shouting about how he would ‘be victorious’ she couldn’t concentrate enough the way Lon’qu had been teaching her.

The female Risen’s fang-filled smile widened as they entered what had to have been her attack range, before darting forward faster than Severa’s eyes could follow.

One minute she was standing stock still, smiling at them with her axe casually resting on her shoulder as the Shepherds rushed her, the next she was between the two men in front of Severa, whirling with all the force of Lucina when the Princess was in a mood.

Owain’s eyes widened as he threw himself to one side, years spent fighting against the Risen of their own timeline making his reflexes sharp enough to avoid the blow, but Libra didn’t even realise what was happening until he skidded to his knees, the Risen’s axe embedded in the priest’s back just below his right shoulder blade.

The red-haired swordswoman skidded to a halt, eyes widening as she stared at the wicked countenance of the Risen’s ashen skin becoming splattered in Libra’s blood as she tore her axe free and kicked him flat for good measure. Severa’s hands shook and it took all of her effort to remain standing as she stared into the creature’s eyes.

They weren’t like they eyes of the normal Risen; a malign intelligence was behind the red glow, promising a painful end for the Shepherds.

That’s what she’d been able to see before; how pitifully outclassed they were compared to the Deadlord.

They were the closest servants of Grima; the vessels of all his power and hate, and just three Shepherds were supposed to overcome this one? It would take an army! It would take-

With an avenging snarl Owain rallied, his late-father’s treasured sword flashing towards the Risen woman’s neck as he spun and Severa snapped out of her haze. His form was perfect, and his blow would have been enough to cut down most enemies, but the strike never connected. The Risen simply wasn’t there any more, having ducked below his blade and danced out of his reach with grace and speed like Severa had never seen before.

Libra groaned, crawling away from the fight on the sand, and Severa finally fully snapped out of her reprieve. She wasn’t as weak as she had been in the past, facing down monsters as her friends and family fought and died around her; she was a warrior now, one of the Shepherds, and she would be damned if some Risen would stare her down.

With a shout of her own she charged the Risen from the opposite side as Owain, the two catching the Risen in a classic pincer manoeuvre. To Severa’s horror the creature simply laughed, catching her sword on its axe and slapping Owain’s blade aside bare-handed without even looking.

“What the hell is this thing!?” Severa shouted in dismay as she leapt backwards to avoid what would have been a crippling kick to her knee.

“An epic foe!” Owain responded full of his usual fire as he darted back in to engage the Risen.

Which, Severa reflected as the Risen leaned in past Owain’s lunge and grabbed at his wrist before flipping him onto his back, probably hadn’t been one of the boy’s smarter plans.

Before she could press her advantage Severa was on the Risen woman, swinging her sword in a great two-handed arc and actually managing to drive the smiling creature back a few steps. Its eyes widened and its smile faltered as it stumbled to one side, clutching at a wound in its stomach as Libra rose shakily to his feet behind where it had been standing before.

“Are you unharmed, children?” the priest asked, holding his axe one-handed, his melodious voice strained as the back of his white robes were stained red from his wound and black ichor dripped from the blade of his weapon.

“I’m fine,” Severa nodded, her eyes never leaving the Risen as she slowly shuffled to get around to the creature’s flank.

“Nothing wounded but my hero’s pride,” Owain muttered, standing and moving to cover Libra’s other side.

While they did this the Risen stared dumbfounded at the black blood coating its hand, more of the inky substance spilling out of the deep wound Libra had dealt her. She looked back and forth between the priest and her hand a few times, still uncomprehending, as if being wounded was a completely foreign concept for the creature.

“My… my blood?” the Risen rasped, her eyes widening a little further.

“Into her!” Libra snarled, darting forward with his axe low in a one-handed grip.

Owain and Severa were a moment behind him, the blonde boy bringing his thin sword down from high while Severa struck at the mid-level, the three Shepherds covering all angles.

The Risen creature didn’t even try to avoid their blows, still completely lost staring at the black blood on her hand. With a shrill shriek she stumbled backwards, three new wounds decorating her chest and stomach and spilling more of her black ichor onto the dirt in great spurts.

Severa sucked a breath through her clenched teeth. The Risen wasn’t falling. She hadn’t even dropped her axe.

The creature’s light armour was tattered and hanging off of her frame now, black blood splattering to the ground with every move she made. With the first cut Libra had given her there was a second axe wound near her hip, along with a puncture wound to the left side of her chest where a normal person’s heart would have been courtesy of Severa, and her throat had been slit by Owain’s precise blow that had danced between the other two weapons.

But she wasn’t even wavering. Anything else would have been dead three times over, and the Risen just continued to stare dumbfounded at the black vitae spilling out of it.

“Wh-wh-wh…” Owain stammered, stepping back a little as the Risen trembled and let out a soft moan.

With a second moan the creature clenched its fist and took a step forward, her axe swinging back and forth a little as she stared aghast at the black substance pouring out of her.

“No way!” Severa shrieked, close to panicking again. “It should be dead! It should be dead!”

“Calm yourselves,” Libra said calmly. “We will simply continue to strike until it falls.”

Severa watched in horror as the Risen finally looked back up at the trio, the wave of murderous intent radiating off of her making them all step back a little, even the unflappable priest. With a low, angry growl the Risen woman hefted her axe again, beginning to move towards them with a slow and purposeful gait, completely ignoring the wounds they had already given her.

“Go for the tendons,” Libra muttered, lifting his own axe up in one hand in a challenging posture. “Limit her movement. Strike low and fast while I distract her.”

The two younger warriors didn’t get a chance to argue as the injured priest darted forward to meet the Risen, his wounded arm hanging limply at his side as he spun with bewitching grace, striking three times with a speed and ferocity far greater than a gentle priest had right to have.

To their credit Owain and Severa only hesitated a moment before moving to opposite sides, planning to ambush the Risen from the flanks like before.

Libra fought like a man possessed, striking hard and fast and putting the Risen on the defensive; but for all his effort he only brought her to a stand-still and couldn’t push her back. His red-edged axe flashed faster and faster in his single-handed grip, his normally serene expression being replaced with a snarl that would have given any seasoned killer pause as he traded blows with the Risen. Severa hovered, waiting like Owain for the perfect moment to strike as she watched Libra’s perfect assault begin to slow and become more desperate. A few times she had been tempted to duck in and had restrained herself, remembering something that Lon’qu had taught her during a scouting mission when she had almost given their position away in her haste to act.

_You wait until you know that the time is right; if the time never comes then you know you weren’t meant to strike. A battle is like a hunt. Wait, watch, listen, and the opportunity will present itself._

From the focused look on Owain’s face she could tell he was thinking along the same lines. But Libra was already wounded, and it was a bad one; there was no way he could keep this up much longer, especially with only one arm.

Libra still fought on, though, striking as hard and fast as his single arm would allow him to, never once giving the Risen the opportunity to strike back. Like Vaike he had developed his own unique axe-forms, all the more improved since the two men had begun to train together. But where Vaike relied on speed greater than most axemen would, Libra preferred to rely on his superior skill. He flipped the axe over the back of his hand and arms like a fire-twirler he’d asked to give him pointers, he spun and ducked and weaved with all the grace he’d learned from his beloved Olivia, he brushed aside all of the Risen’s attempts to even begin to fight back with a ferocity born of desperation, but his assault was beginning to take its toll. He stumbled, and in that instant the predatory smile returned to the Risen’s face.

Libra allowed himself a smile of his own as he fell backwards, his injured hand darting up and unexpectedly gripping the Risen’s axe on the haft just below the black-steel head, yanking it forward and pulling her off balance.

“Now!” he shouted desperately and unnecessarily.

Severa and Owain were already moving, the girl going low while the boy came in high. With a brutal shout Severa hacked at the Risen’s legs just below the knees while a grim-faced Owain brought his lighter sword down on the Risen’s over-extended weapon-arm.

With a muted groan the Risen fell to the desert floor in a widening pool of black blood, the three exhausted Shepherds backing away from her in case she actually managed to shrug their assault off and rise again.

She struggled, obviously trying to climb back to her feet and continue to fight, but to Severa’s immense relief this time she faltered and stayed on the ground. The Risen struggled to grip her axe with her main hand, a pained look crossing her face as the unresponsive fingers dug into the dirt on either side of the weapon’s haft before reaching out with her off-hand. She managed to lean forward and grip the weapon, but before she could lift it a simple leather boot stomped town on it, pinning it to the ground.

Staring up and hissing her hatred at Libra the Risen lunged, fangs bared. The priest’s own axe was already in motion, though, and he stumbled to one side in exhaustion as his blow landed, the Risen’s head bouncing away from her body a few feet before both parts of her disappeared in a puff of purple ashes and smoke.

“Return to the abyss that birthed you, foul creature,” Libra intoned weakly, falling to one knee. “Ashes to ashes… dust to… dust… Naga be praised… for our… v-victory.”

Severa reacted automatically, reaching out to steady the unconscious warrior-priest before he fell.

“Of course it’s us that get stuck getting him to Brady,” she groaned, lifting Libra as gently as she could and draping him over her shoulders.

Owain nodded, glancing around.

“Once again it falls to Owain, Scion of Legend, to ensure the safety of his fellow heroes!” the boy shouted, posing heroically. “Onwards, bravest Severa! We shall ensure that the Priest is brought safely into the bosom of-”

“Will you please shut up and help me already!?” Severa snapped, desperately trying not to get blood on her clothes.

*

The wind howled in Frederick’s ears as he pushed his warhorse faster and faster, pushing his faithful mount and partner to its limit as he desperately tried to outmanoeuvre the four Risen riders that continued matching his Knights move for move.

He had lost count of the times they had circled the ruins that the battle was taking place in; he had lost count of the times the rest of the Shepherds or Risen had been forced to dive out of their way or be trampled; he had even lost count of the times that either one of the Ylissean riders or the Risen had been close to falling.

A mounted battle was usually a quick and brutal affair, much like the regular jousting tournaments back in Ylisse; more often than not a cavalry unit would become bogged down in a melee and lose their advantage of superior mobility immediately after a charge into enemy lines. It had happened numerous times during the Valm Campaign, but Robin’s meticulous planning usually spared the Knights of that particular fate.

Similarly, a running-battle like the one they were currently engaged in was also a rare occurrence. Again similar to the jousting tournaments, a battle between riders would usually descend into a foot-melee once the opponent was dismounted.

A battle like this, more like a duel between cavalry units, was usually only something the most seasoned of warriors could accomplish; Kjelle, still relatively new to mounted combat, was beginning to falter. The horses, too, were beginning to grow weary. Ylissean warhorses were some of the best in the world; bred to be strong, hearty and have great stamina, but galloping full-tilt through ruins was exhausting even them quickly. Frederick’s own mount had been wide-eyed and frothing at the mouth now for far, far too long.

He had been also reduced to fighting with his axe, too; not something that he would have preferred, but his sword had been lost in a fierce clash between himself and the apparent Risen leader, and his lance was probably still embedded in the Risen Sniper that had been foolish enough to take its eye off its surroundings. He kept his axe specifically for fighting on foot; it wasn’t that he couldn’t use it on horseback, far from it, but the loss of accuracy caused in a mounted fight made using something with a longer or wider blade favourable.

He suddenly pulled hard on his horse’s reins, forcing the tired beast to the right as an arrow sailed through the space he’d been occupying moments ago.

“Stahl, kill the archer!” Frederick roared, pointing with his axe.

The green-armoured Knight nodded once, shifting his sword to his off-hand so that he could guide his own mount with more accuracy as the Ylissean pattern shifted, Kjelle taking her father’s place next to Frederick as Stahl pulled off a little to pursue the archer.

Frederick forced his horse back to the right, taking a swing at the Risen paladin leading the group as he did so. His axe-blade bounced off the creature’s pauldron, making it growl and spit before retaliating by bringing a long-bladed spear back over at Frederick. Sully caught the weapon with her own spear from Frederick’s side, but before she could press her advantage the dark-robed rider stabbed with a thin sword from around the paladin, and the two groups separated slightly again.

Frederick clicked his tongue in annoyance as they began to circle the ruins again; this was beginning to get ridiculous. As much as he hated to admit it, the Risen were equal to the Shepherd riders. But where the Shepherds’ mounts were mortal, the Risen uniform jet-black steeds were apparently as unnatural as their riders, seemingly unfazed by the battle.

An idea occurred to the Ylissean Knight Commander; an idea so insane that Robin may as well have come up with it himself. But at this point, if they didn’t end things quickly the horses would run themselves to death and the Knights’ fates would be sealed.

“Back into them! Take them from the side!” the Knight Commander roared, holding his axe high and leading the four Shepherds back towards the Risen.

Off towards the centre of the Ruins he caught a glimpse of Maribelle tending to the wounded; the mounted healer had given up trying to keep pace with them almost immediately, choosing instead to focus on saving lives rather than playing cavalry.

He snapped back to the battle at hand, the Risen startled by his abrupt change in tactics as the Ylissean Knights angled directly for their enemy. Sully, Kjelle and Stahl hesitated for a moment, too, but years of training took over and they followed Frederick without question.

Pushing their beleaguered mounts for one final burst of speed the four Shepherds overtook the Risen, only to wheel about and crash into the creatures’ formation from the side. It was a last ditch attack; a suicide charge.

Kjelle’s horse hit the archer’s with a nauseating sound of impacting flesh and her mount’s cries of pain, both riders going flying in a tangle of limbs. The girl had a determined set to her features as she used the momentum to drive her lance into the Risen’s stomach, and then Frederick lost sight of her. Sully was almost unseated, too, but Stahl reached over and yanked her back into the saddle; The Risen leader saw this, and before he could press the momentary advantage Frederick was on him, leaping from his own saddle and tackling the creature, bringing them both crashing to the ground as the remaining Ylissean and Risen riders sped away.

Roaring a deafening battle cry in Frederick’s face the Risen paladin lashed out, getting his foot beneath them while the Knight Commander attempted to rally and launching him backwards.

Behind him somewhere Frederick could hear Kjelle duelling with the archer, but the rider he was facing was a far more pressing concern.

He climbed unsteadily to his feet at the same time as the Risen, his hands wrapped tightly around his axe as the creature before him shook out an alien weapon in the shape of a spiked steel ball the size of his head on the end of a chain in one hand, it’s other holding a short, curved dagger.

“Your last breath approaches!” the Knight Commander promised the creature, surprised to find himself panting as he raised his axe.

The running-battle must have taken more out of him than he had thought.

Shaking the thoughts from his head Frederick charged, his foe moving to meet him with unnatural speed and another wordless snarl. He ducked on instinct, the spiked ball of the Risen’s weapon flying over his head as he led with his shoulder and crashed into the creature again. Both combatants were wearing riding armour; strong protection around the upper body, but weaker around the stomach and legs so as not to hinder movement. Taking advantage of this fact Frederick lashed out with his axe, striking at the creature’s lightly-armoured thigh in an attempt to impede its movement.

The Risen was faster though, and Frederick reeled as he was shoved backwards, an armour-clad knee racing up to crush his nose and snap his head backwards in the gap created.

He swung his axe desperately, shaking his head and trying to buy himself time to rally from the unexpected blow, but the Risen pressed its advantage, its strange weapon hitting the side of his breastplate and indenting the strong metal, throwing Frederick to the side with the force of the impact.

The Knight Commander landed awkwardly, managing to keep his feet beneath him as he turned to present his weapon and unwounded side.

The Risen hesitated at this, a small smile rising to its black lips as it nodded in satisfaction.

Frederick’s nose was broken, as were most likely at least three ribs, judging from the shooting pain in his side every time he drew breath. He shook it off, ignoring the pain and the blood running down his face as he drew himself up and adopted a ready-stance again, both hands gripping the haft of his axe.

In the distance Sully and Stahl were driving the last two of the Risen riders, apparently now a lot less dangerous without their leader, back towards where he and Kjelle were fighting their own respective opponents. He would have liked to check on the girl, too, but couldn’t risk turning away from his own foe.

His own attacks against it had been ineffective. Frederick had been counting on the stereotype that most mounted warriors were less skilled on foot; this creature seemed to be even more deadly, though.

The Risen charged first this time, Frederick diving to the side and rolling back to his feet before spinning and landing a solid hit to its lower back where the armour was thinner and eliciting a pained shout from the creature. His victory was short-lived, though, when a black armour-clad backhand smashed into his face, the blade of the Risen’s dagger carving a gouge out of his gorget as it passed.

He stumbled back again, this time actually falling as his head spun and stars danced before his vision. It felt like he’d been kicked in the face by a horse, not hit by a back-handed blow.

The Risen loomed above him, rotating its arm carefully to check for damage from Frederick’s attack. A small line of black blood leaked down from its hip onto its cuisses, but the wound went ignored. The Risen grinned triumphantly down at Frederick, advancing slowly with its weapons held up. He didn’t resist when the Risen kicked his axe away, leaving him defenceless.

Instead Frederick smiled his own triumphant grin up at the Risen.

The dark paladin stopped, its look of triumph turning to confusion before it, too, heard the sound that Frederick had.

The beating of massive wings.

“Out of my sight!” Cordelia cried, her pegasus swooping low as she drove her spear through the Risen’s back, the tip exploding out of the creature’s chest in a spray of black ichor and armour shards as she left it embedded in the paladin, passing over the two riders.

She brought her mount to a stop just behind Frederick, vaulting off and stooping to pick up Frederick’s axe as she rushed to his side. Her own armour was dirty, and a few small wounds covered her arms and legs, near misses from the Grimleal forces she and the other four had been left to deal with.

In the distance a draconian roar sounded, followed by a flash of magical dragon’s fire as the two riders facing off against Sully and Stahl were enveloped in the flames coming from either Tiki or Nah’s mouth. Gerome and Cynthia both converged on the Risen Kjelle had been apparently losing her battle against, the wounded girl retreating a bit as her friends entered the fray favouring one leg as she spat blood onto the dirt.

“You will all… burn… in Grima’s… fire…” the Risen paladin promised them as Cordelia advanced on it, Frederick’s large axe looking out of place in her smaller grip.

The Wing Commander frowned at the Risen began to laugh, before she brought Frederick’s axe down, silencing it in a cloud of familiar purple ashes without a word or a moment of hesitation.

Frederick let out a small sigh, letting his head fall backwards onto the dirt as he stared up at the morning sky. He absently noticed a few clouds in the distance, making a mental not to prepare Chrom’s cloak in case it rained…

His thoughts were interrupted at the sound of light armour clanking, something blocking his view of the sky. Blinking a little when a droplet landed on his face he wondered if it had already started to rain until his vision cleared and he realised Cordelia was above him, his head resting in her lap as she quietly sobbed.

He tried to reassure her he was alright, shifting his body a little and managing to groan slightly before she was on him.

“Thank Naga you’re okay!” she bawled, draping herself across his chest and clutching at the edges of his armour to tighten her grip on him.

“Yes,” he managed to groan into her shoulder as a smile spread on his bloodied face.

“I promised to stay close to you. To never make you sad,” he managed to mutter, raising one arm and gently resting it on her back as he attempted to return her relieved embrace. “I am fine, dear. I promise.”

*

Say’ri stole a glance at Robin as he strode forwards, a determined set to his features showing absolute trust in their allies to carry out their parts of the plan. Robin’s gaze was cool, his face a slight frown, but the tenseness in his shoulders and the clenching of his jaw gave his anger away.

No, it wasn’t anger. She had seen the tactician angry and in foul moods. This was something else. Something smouldering within him that at any moment could be kindled into white-hot rage.

The enemy leader, the one that the others had called Aversa, sat astride her black pegasus, grinning cruelly at the tactician and the Queen of Chon’sin as they approached. At her side was the last of the Deadlords, a slight woman not much larger than Say’ri, wearing Chon’sin style armour and glaring at Robin with an undisguised hunger in her glowing red eyes.

“Take the Deadlord,” Robin said in a low voice. “Aversa’s mine. Be careful.”

“Of course,” Say’ri nodded, her own eyes focusing only on the Deadlord woman.

Before she could return the tactician’s wish that he too be careful Robin darted forward like a shot, spear held out two-handed, obviously augmenting his movement with wind magic and throwing himself forwards. Aversa just grinned wider as the tactician sped towards her, kicking her black mount into the air and avoiding his attack. Robin threw three fireballs over his shoulder without even looking as he lashed out at the Risen with his spear, swinging it back around at chest height. The Deadlord caught the delicate weapon on the blade of her sword, the two becoming locked in a battle of strength.

Say’ri marvelled at the fact that the Risen was leaning two-handed against Robin’s blow, and he was holding her off with a single hand and not even looking, already casting another spell to attack Aversa circling above them, with the other.

The Risen laughed gleefully, the sound making Say’ri’s skin crawl as she sprinted forward, her own blade held low. Putting all of her rage and confusion behind her strike, Say’ri flowed around Robin as he disengaged with the Risen, the two moving inches from each other as if in a perfectly choreographed dance while they traded positions.

The Risen woman’s laugh turned to a snarl as Say’ri came between her and her prey, striking out with a blade of similar make to Say’ri’s as Robin moved after Aversa. They traded a few testing blows, each warrior prodding at the other’s defence and judging their skill appropriately before both stepping back.

“You are worthy,” the Risen nodded after a brief moment of silence between the two.

“I am more than worthy, monster,” Say’ri spat, stepping back with her right foot and bringing her sword up beside her face. “I am Say’ri, Queen of Chon’sin, and the moment you kidnapped my daughter you and your master sealed your pathetic fates.”

The Risen woman laughed, her rasping tone sending a fresh wave of disgusted chills up Say’ri’s spine.

“I am Simia,” she said, saluting Say’ri with her sword as an equal opponent. “I am Eleventh among the Deadlords. I will be your death.”

“Fie! Enough talk!” Say’ri roared, leaping forward again.

From her carefully coiled stance she exploded into motion, spinning and slashing horizontally at Simia’s neck in an over-powered feint, her blade pulling back at the last second to stab out at the Deadlord’s neck instead. Simia dodged backwards, the look of excitement returning to her face as she lunged at Say’ri. The gleaming silver of the Queen’s near-perfectly crafted sword met the black steel of the Risen’s, sparks actually flying as the blades clashed again and again as their duel became almost more of a dance.

The blades passed within inches of the combatants, Say’ri putting her lifetime of training and fighting to use as she weaved, leaned and struck around the Risen, Simia matching her move for move. Say’ri struck high, Simia blocked the blow and slid her own blade for the Queen’s throat; Say’ri leaned away, using the momentum to spin again and lashing out with a kick at the Risen’s midsection rather than her sword; Simia stepped into the blow, catching Say’ri’s leg by the thigh and moving to slash at her unprotected midsection, only to be sent sprawling by an open-hand strike to the nose.

The two women separated, Say’ri now panting a little as they glared at each other. The Deadlord looked annoyed that she couldn’t land even a glancing blow while Say’ri caught her breath.

Taking a deep breath Say’ri let one hand fall to her hip, adjusting her grip on her sword as she did something she had only conceived of recently.

“Brother, guide my hand,” she muttered, eyes narrowing as she drew Amatsu for the first time as Queen, holding both swords up at the ready.

The golden steel of Yen’fay’s sword glinted in the dawn’s light, Simia’s eyes widening slightly as Say’ri sunk into a seldom-used ancient Chon’sin stance with both swords. She had been practicing diligently since inheriting Amatsu, unwilling to give up her brother’s sword or her own favoured weapon. Fighting with two swords wasn’t unheard of in Chon’sin, in fact Seiko was rather proficient at the art, but it was always done with the shorter wakizashi, never the full-length katana. Katana were heavy, difficult to the point of being impossible to wield single handed, but Say’ri had been determined. She had been forced to put a little extra unsightly muscle on her arms and shoulders to accomplish the fighting form with her chosen blades, too, but the effort was about to pay off.

“Foolish,” Simia spat, looking warily at Say’ri’s stance. “Desperate. You will be slow. I will kill you.”

“Perhaps,” Say’ri said, allowing a small grin she attributed to far too much of Robin’s influence to show on her face.

“But are you willing to test that deduction?”

Simia took a breath and lunged into Say’ri’s striking range, her sword poised to pierce Say’ri’s heart. The Queen swept the blow aside with Amatsu, striking downwards with her own blade. Simia was forced to catch Say’ri’s blow on her pauldron and dance backwards again, growling as she tore the ruined plate from her suit and cast it aside.

“What was that about being slow, monster?” Say’ri asked confidently, sinking back into her stance as her face hardened again. “Submit!”

 She moved like water, flowing forward and around Simia’s sword, pushing it aside and bringing Amatsu’s hilt down on the Risen’s face, sending her stumbling back again. Say’ri advanced slowly, threateningly on the creature; she was still mad and confused, and she wanted to vent.

“You cannot defeat me, creature!” she growled, not even bothering to sink into her stance again as she brushed Simia’s weak counter aside, the Risen just barely managing to avoid Say’ri’s reprisal swing.

“I am a Queen of war! A leader of soldiers and a war hero! What could possibly have entered your master’s mind that caused him to come between myself and _my daughter_!?”

She practically screamed the last part of her question, bringing both blades down on the Risen at once and forcing her to her knees as she caught them on her own sword.

“You are blind!” Simia spat back up at her, her eyes filled with scorn. “So blind you cannot see that your daughter is right! Blind just like when you murdered Yen’fay!”

Say’ri’s eyes widened and with a roar she brought her swords back, kicking Simia in the face with the toe of her boot and sending the Risen sprawling.

“Do not speak his name, wretch!” Say’ri snarled, raising Amatsu. “You know nothing of the sacrifice he made for his homeland! I will kill you with his sword!”

“But I do know,” Simia laughed, leaping to her feet and dancing out of Say’ri’s striking range. “Your dearest daughter told my master everything. Everything!”

“Then she will have told you that I never hesitated!” Say’ri shouted, lunging again with both swords.

Simia desperately blocked, managing to slip past Say’ri’s twin blades and out of her reach again, but sustaining a deep gash to her midsection as payment.

“Another day, Queen of Chon’sin,” Simia said with a smile as a dark magic-circle appeared suddenly on the ground between them.

In a blinding flash the towering Deadlord General that Chrom and Lucina had been fighting appeared, not even sparing Say’ri a glance as he roughly grabbed a grinning Simia by her wounded shoulder and teleported again.

“Craven!” Say’ri shrieked in stunned outrage. “Coward! Come back and die with honour!”

Her furious screams echoed in the emptiness around her, Say’ri’s hands clenching so her swords so hard she could have sworn she heard the handles creak. With a disgusted shout of annoyance she turned and began running to where Robin and Aversa had moved to, further towards the Dragon’s Table Sanctum.

*

Robin propelled himself forward with near-blinding speed, the wind whipping his hair and coat back as he leapt from the top of the ruins at Aversa, intent on bringing her back to the ground with his lance in her chest.

Of course it was never that easy, and the woman moved her black pegasus out of the way just in the nick of time, but Robin was getting closer with each attack he made. She struck out again and again with magic, a thin short sword that had been strapped to her mount’s saddle sitting unused in one hand, but he just let her spells harmlessly impact and dissipate against his coat.

She was far, far weaker than he was. However, he was trying to take her alive; blowing her out of the air with a Thoron spell probably wouldn’t leave much behind but ashes and perhaps a red smear on the dirt beneath her if he was lucky.

In his mind he shifted gears. He needed to change tactics; get her to come to him.

“I'll never understand minions like you and Excellus,” Robin called up to Aversa as she circled above him. “No lives of your own... Living only to serve the beck and call of your masters. Pathetic.”

“Oh? I might say as much about your relationship to the prince...” the woman called back, taking the bait and drifting a little lower. “And please, don't lump me with that half-witted little toad. Excellus was nothing but a pawn on our board. Another actor on our stage. His ambition was our insurance against Walhart's threat. If you had failed, he might have destroyed the empire from the inside. But in the end, he was just another puppet whose strings we had to cut.”

Robin dodged to one side as more fireballs threw up the dirt where he’d been standing.

“Then you've confirmed my theory,” he called, putting as much satisfaction as he could into the statement.

“Yes, I promised him the Plegian throne in exchange for the Emblem,” Aversa laughed. “He jumped at the offer! Well, as much as the fat little piggie could jump... Men are all the same. Learn their ambition, and you have them by the- Oho... Well, perhaps Excellus was a bit different in that respect.”

“Gross,” Robin sneered, throwing a few carefully placed lighting spells just above Aversa. “Here I thought him the lowest form of slime imaginable, but you win handily. And such a dirty mind for a lady. Tsk-tsk, Aversa.”

“Yes, well, we play the roles we're given, Robin, as you'll soon discover.”

“If we all stand on a great stage, I'll be happy to assist with your exit!” the tactician shouted, casting a few more lighting spells.

Aversa cackled, dodging even lower.

“Oh really now, how amusing,” she mocked. “You're so cute when you try to be clever. But Master Validar already considers you stronger and smarter than I... Whatever shall I do if he decides you're more witty as well? Perhaps I'd best kill you before you ripen and become his everything.”

_Now!_ Robin thought, throwing himself upwards with a wind spell again and grabbing hold of the black pegasus’ neck.

“Who’s cute now?” he asked, grinning into Aversa’s shocked face. “And really? Ripen? Weak.”

She panicked instantly, casting an over-charged wind spell that would have blown her mount’s head off had Robin not deflected it at the last minute. He brought his lance in, attempting to use it as a pry-bar to unseat the sorceress, but Aversa grabbed to haft of the weapon, letting the reigns of her over-burdened mount fall from her hands. The creature did its best to stay level as Robin and Aversa fought over the lance, the tactician almost losing his grip numerous times as the pegasus rose and fell erratically, leaning side to side and trying to shake the added weight in the form of the struggling tactician. With a shout Aversa angled the pegasus low, forcing it to pick up speed. Robin instinctively clenched up at the smile on the sorceress’ face, knowing for some reason that nothing good ever came from that particular smile being on her face.

With a pained yelp he hit the side of the ruins furthest from the centre, the pegasus brushing him off and taking off back into the air as the stunned tactician tumbled into the dirt, coughing and spluttering as he climbed to his hands and knees.

_She is making it really hard to want to take her alive_ , he thought with a grimace as he rose to his feet. _Oh Naga, I am going to feel that one tomorrow. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch._

Aversa laughed from her safe position back above him, making a vein in Robin’s forehead start to throb.

“Get down here so I can kick your ass!” Robin shouted up at her in frustration.

“I think not, mama’s boy!” she fired back, along with some rather pathetic excuses for flux spells.

“Skank!” Robin shouted up at her, cutting through the dark magic with his spear and dissipating them.

“Child!” She shouted back, attacking this time with a passable elfire spell.

“Just get down here so we can get this over with!” Robin repeated, his own elfire twice the size of hers flying into the air, the two conflicting spells cancelling each other out in a spectacular fireball. “I promise I won’t hurt you too badly!”

“That is exactly what I used to say to you before I used you for experiments when we were children!” Aversa laughed snidely, darting a little lower and using both hands to throw an arcwind spell at him.

Robin shrugged as he stepped back, the wind blades carving a gouge in the desert where he had just been standing, waiting for the wind to die down a little.

“You’re out of your league, dear sister!” he shouted up at her. “Just surrender and I’ll see to it that the Shepherds don’t kill you! I don’t promise I won’t kill you, but at least they won’t!”

“Sister!?” Aversa laughed hysterically. “We’re not related, you pathetic little fool! Validar raised me alongside you, but there are no blood ties between us!”

Robin stopped and blinked a few times, her words sinking in as she continued to laugh.

“Really?” he called up to her.

“It is one of the things I am most grateful for!” Aversa spat.

The tactician shrugged again.

“Good! Then I don’t feel an ounce of guilt for what I’m about to do!”

Before Aversa could respond Robin tossed his spear up a little, swapping his grip before launching it with all his might. He augmented the throw with a small burst of wind magic, the throw moving faster than Aversa could possibly dodge.

Aversa let out a shriek as she was thrown from the saddle of her pegasus, Robin’s spear sticking out of her shoulder. He watched her plummet towards the ground, an internal debate going on in his head as to whether or not to just let her die.

With a sigh he decided that he still had questions that needed answers, and shot another wind spell to cushion her fall. She still landed hard in a cloud of dust, but Robin assumed as he walked over to his not-sister that she wouldn’t be dead.

_Weird,_ he thought as he walked. _Those dreams made it really look like we were related. Huh. One more question to add to the list._

Fortunately, he had been right. As he neared Aversa let out a weak groan that turned into another shriek as Robin pulled his lance free without an ounce of compassion.

“That was too easy,” he muttered, resting the lance on his shoulder and looking around the ruins.

It had honestly been a tough decision to save the woman, but there were gaps in his memory that needed filling; he still had questions and every answer he managed to find just raised more. Besides, he still felt a lingering sense of sibling-like affection for the woman, no matter how big a pain she had become. Hopefully she could…

“Argh!” Robin growled, his thought process abruptly cutting off as a sharp pain shot through his calf.

He looked down to where a bloody and half-conscious Aversa had buried a knife in the back of his leg, gasping and obviously in pain as she attempted to ham-string him.

“You bitch! Don’t make me regret saving your life!”

“That is the… one thing I… promise to do!” Aversa gasped, jamming the small blade deeper into Robin’s leg.

“Oh that does it!” Robin shouted, reaching down and yanking the knife out of his leg and Aversa’s slack grip and smashing her in the temple with the butt of the weapon in one smooth movement.

He took a deep breath as Aversa went limp, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to calm himself down before throwing the knife to the side.

“And for future reference I already knew you were using Excellus!” he added angrily, grabbing the unconscious Aversa by the arm and beginning to drag her dead-weight back to where the others were starting to gather in the ruins again. “You and Validar aren’t really as smart as you think you are. But gods are you heavy!”

*

Robin grunted, panting heavily by the time he re-joined the others and dropped the still unconscious Aversa like a sack of potatoes behind him.

The Shepherds were congregated around one of the lighter tents that had been set up to offer some shade to Maribelle, Libra and Brady while they worked. From what he could see, it looked like just about everyone was wounded in some way and was just waiting around for the healers to get to them.

Frederick was sitting on a crate to one side obviously having just finished being healed, Severa and Cordelia fluttering around the man like he was a king. Tharja was sitting between an unresponsive Noire and the figure of what could only have been Henry lying on his back, the girl staring off into space while Tharja attempted to rouse the other Dark Mage while only using one arm. Kjelle attempted to escape the first-aid of her parents, Sully rolling her eyes and grabbing her daughter in an arm-lock to hold her still while Stahl laughed weakly and treated her wounds. Say’ri was standing apart from the others, so lost in thought as she glared at the dirt that she hadn’t even noticed Robin’s arrival. The others were all in a similar state; this was the most pathetic he’d ever seen the Shepherds look, even taking into account the time they’d walked most of the way back to Ylisstol after being defeated outside of Themis nearly four years ago.

“Everyone still alive?” he called out, limping forward another few steps. “Could all dead Shepherds please sound off so I can take you off the roster?”

A few tired chuckles met the tactician’s weak attempt at humour.

“I’m pretty close to dead,” Inigo muttered, raising his hand a little from where he was lying on his back near the other wounded and earning a few more laughs.

“The pain lets you know you’re alive, pretty-boy!” Vaike laughed, slapping his knees for good measure and bringing a small smile to Robin’s face as the others joined in.

“Alright, seriously; can someone give me a casualty report,” Robin sighed, running a hand through his now filthy hair.

“Everyone’s still alive,” Chrom supplied from the camp chair he was resting on, no doubt supplied by Frederick. “Everyone’s also wounded, so we’re going to need a little time before we can go on to the Sanctum and… Robin, what’s that behind you?”

The tactician stopped, casually looking over his shoulder at the dirty and bloodstained form of Aversa.

“Prisoner of war?” he said with a shrug. “Thought we could get some intel.”

“Is that… Aversa?” Cordelia asked, looking up from where she was applying a bandage to Frederick’s ribs with wide eyes.

The Knight Commander himself simply sighed and opted to remain quiet; Robin had no doubts in his mind that he’d be hearing from Frederick about this later, though.

“What!?” Maribelle shouted, forgetting that she was supposed to be healing the gash on Kjelle’s forehead and practically leaping towards Robin.

“Yes, and I need someone to heal her so she doesn’t bleed out before I can interrogate her,” Robin said indifferently.

“You want us to heal that witch?” Maribelle asked incredulously. “After everything she has done?”

“Yes,” Robin repeated tiredly. “After me. And everyone else. She gets low priority for stabbing me in the leg.”

Maribelle looked like Robin had just suggested she eat her parasol, but Libra stood and slowly made his way over to the unconscious woman, briefly placing a calming hand on Maribelle’s shoulder as he passed her.

“I will do it,” he said quietly. “Judging from her wounds she will not survive if we do not act now.”

“Fine, but tie her up afterwards and don’t be gentle,” Robin pouted, moving to cross his arms and thinking better of it when pain blossomed along his bruised back.

Chrom nodded, standing and moving to assist Libra.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said with a nod to the tactician, patting Robin’s shoulder as he passed.

Robin noticed Libra moving slowly, holding his left arm perfectly still and close to his chest in a makeshift sling as he readied his staff. Maribelle cast Aversa’s form one final withering glare before swallowing and moving to Robin’s side.

“You seem to be in need of immediate attention, though,” she said in a flat tone, taking him by the arm and leading him to the tent while the other Shepherds went back to repairing armour, waiting for their turn to see the healers or just resting after the battle.

Robin shrugged his coat off and pulled his shirt over his head without hesitation once he was under the shade of the small tent, and Maribelle let out a slight gasp.

“What did you do, leap off another pegasus?” Lucina asked, suddenly at his side with a concerned look on her face, making him jump and wince at the pain that the sudden movement caused.

“Well, kinda… not exactly…” Robin mumbled.

“Are you serious?” she asked, obviously trying to scold him but fighting back her laughter at the same time.

“I fell this time! It wasn’t my fault!” Robin protested as Maribelle sighed, no doubt rolling her eyes behind him as she readied her staff.

“Princess, did I not instruct you to take rest until one of us can take a look at your ribs?” the healer asked pointedly.

“I am fine,” Lucina protested, helping Robin sink into a sitting position before kneeling at his side.

“We really took a beating this time,” Robin said quietly, looking at the ground. “What the hell were those Deadlords made out of?”

“It is even worse when we realise that nearly half of them escaped,” Lucina said, equally quietly.

“Damn,” Robin sighed. “That’s going to come back to bite us. Was anyone seriously wounded?”

“Inigo has a concussion,” Brady reported matter-of-factly. “Libra’s not gonna be usin’ his arm again fer a while. Henry’s practically comatose. Noire’s comin’ down from one’a the worst damn anxiety-attacks I ever seen her have.”

“The list goes on,” Maribelle added absently, obviously focusing on her healing spell.

Robin let out a relieved sigh as the cool sensation of healing magic spread through his back before moving to the rest of his body; a multitude of scrapes and cuts he didn’t even realise he’d gotten closing along his arms and on his face as he watched, along with the stab-wound to his calf.

“I will never cease to be amazed by healing magic, he said, standing and pulling his shirt back on before his coat.

“Now get out of the way and let me heal someone that actually needs my care,” Maribelle said dismissively, giving Robin an encouraging shove.

“Geez, I’m glad you’re okay, too,” he muttered, earning a small giggle from Lucina as they stepped away from the tent.

She went stiff, though, gasping a little and massaging her ribs.

“You got kicked, didn’t you?” Robin asked, gently holding her up until she regained her composure.

“I did,” she admitted. “But I am not bleeding, and I am still moving, so I will wait until the others are taken care of.”

The tactician let a brief smile pass over his face at her selfless compassion before he grew serious again.

“Good, come help me interrogate my sister,” Robin said quickly, still favouring his now-healed leg while making to move back to where Libra was healing Aversa.

“Sister?” Lucina echoed, eyes widening as she followed the tactician.

“It’s complicated,” he groaned. “I’ll explain later. But she can give us intel on what’s waiting for us at the Dragon’s Table, so I don’t want to kill her just yet. Unless she stabs me again. Then I’m going to kill her.”

Libra was still leaning over the woman, Chrom just finishing binding her feet when Robin stopped beside them. Aversa’s hands were already tightly bound, making Robin slightly more at ease.

“She going to live?” he asked Libra.

The priest nodded, lowering his staff and letting out a breath.

“Yes. I have sealed the wound to her shoulder and mended the broken ribs, but she will still be sore for quite some time. I assume you would like me to leave her that way?”

“You read my mind, Padre,” Robin said with a small grin, adopting Gaius’ nick-name for the priest. “Why don’t you take the opportunity to rest a little?”

“Once the others are no longer wounded, I will,” Libra nodded, using his staff to help himself climb back to his feet.

Robin knelt down next to Aversa, the woman’s face frowning even in her sleep as he leaned over her unconscious form.

“Wake up!” he shouted suddenly, slapping her in the face.

“Robin!” Chrom shouted indignantly at his treatment of a prisoner, even one that had caused as much trouble for them as Aversa had.

His protests were silenced when Aversa spluttered and opened her eyes, breaking into a fit of coughing.

“Thirsty?” Robin asked lightly.

“Go to hell,” the sorceress growled, rolling slightly onto her side. “Just kill me already.”

“Sorry,” Robin shrugged. “I don’t kill family.”

“Family?” Chrom echoed in confusion.

“Apparently it’s complicated,” Lucina supplied.

“We’re not family!” Aversa coughed, glaring up at Robin. “We never were!”

Robin grinned and tapped the side of his head with one finger.

“I may be an amnesiac idiot, and you can fool me with words, but you can’t fool my instincts. I instinctively knew Morgan was my daughter, and I instinctively know you’re my sister, blood or no blood.”

“Your sentimentality always did make me sick, you know that?” Aversa groaned, rolling back onto her back and staring up at the sky.

Robin’s smile never faltered, even when he leaned over and jabbed his hand into Aversa’s shoulder, fingers digging into the flesh that had been recently healed by Libra and forcing an anguished cry out of the sorceress’ mouth. Chrom and Lucina watched on uncomfortably at Robin’s show of brutality, not sure how to react now that Aversa had confirmed their relationship.

“I said I wouldn’t kill you, not that I wasn’t very, very mad at you,” Robin lightly said as he withdrew his hand. “Now, unless you want me to make a matching scar on your other shoulder with my bare hands, you’re going to tell me everything I want to know. And I’ll know if you’re lying.”

“Why should I help you?” Aversa laughed weakly. “I was left as a sacrifice to slow you down! I accepted my death the moment Lord Validar passed his orders onto me! Face reality, _dearest brother,_ you have lo-”

Robin finally snapped, his smile dropping as he grabbed Aversa’s collar and yanked her face to within an inch of his.

“You will help me because I’m telling you to,” he hissed in a dangerous tone. “You will help because I know you’re still human deep down, and you don’t want to see the entire world and everyone in it die. Tell me right now if I’m wrong. Tell me so I can put a twisted, broken creature that was once my sister out of its misery.”

They stared at each other a moment, Robin glaring murder down on a woman not used to being on the receiving end of such a look.

“Tell me!” Robin thundered in Aversa’s face when she remained silent.

He held her surprised gaze a moment longer before releasing the fabric bunched up in his fist, letting the sorceress fall back onto the ground.

“I thought you were an amnesiac,” Aversa said quietly. “How would you know what I was, or what I am?”

“Are you going to help me or not?” Robin asked, standing.

He reached into his pouch and pulled out his waterskin before kneeling back down and bringing the neck of the small skin to Aversa’s mouth.

“Drink. Then start talking,” Robin said flatly, before adding in a smaller tone, “Please. Please help me save Morgan.”

Aversa looked up at him for a moment, looking for any hint of falseness in his plea, before she sighed and brought her lips to the waterskin.


	59. Chapter 59

Algol glanced around the liberated Grimleal camp, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his gauntlet. The fighting had been fierce, but as few as they were his men were the Plegian Royal Guard. They were the best, and they had made him proud this day.

The girl, Sahiri, had done well to keep up with them, even if she was barely standing anymore.

“That was… fun…” she panted, leaning heavily on her spear. “Let’s… let’s go another few rounds.”

Algol let out a dry chuckle.

“I applaud your enthusiasm, child, but perhaps you should rest.”

Sahiri nodded and collapsed backwards, sitting down heavily on the ground near the edge of the central clearing of the camp.

All around him men were moving, carrying crates of food and barrels of water; moving the wounded and tending their injuries. It was a victory, but it didn’t feel like one.

Algol had already stationed men on the hastily erected watchtowers around the camp’s perimeter, while others were busy taking stock of what supplies were in the camp or watching the prisoners. He glanced at one of the rickety wooden towers and frowned; built in a hurry with little or no regard to the safety of the soldiers manning them. Was this how far his beloved Plegia had fallen? Had they simply become murderers with no regard for the lives of their countrymen?

He couldn’t believe that. He refused to.

Looking up the Guard Captain found himself surprised to note that the sky was darkening, and thick black clouds had begun to gather.

“Looks like rain,” he commented absently.

Sahiri glanced upwards, doing a double-take before climbing back to her feet.

“That’s not right…” she muttered, staring at the sky.

Algol looked over to the girl, a blast of wind buffeting them and shaking the tents and towers.

“I-I just mean… well, it’s not right,” she stammered when she realised the Captain wanted her to elaborate. “I mean, I’ve lived in this area my whole life, and I would know if it was going to rain today. You can smell it. The animals start to act differently. This is… unnatural.”

“The end of the world?” Algol muttered under his breath, repeating what Adri had said to him at the Palace.

Lighting cracked in the sky, followed by booming thunder a few seconds later. Algol put it up to either coincidence or his imagination that it seemed to be coming from directly above the Sanctum of Grima.

Algol’s attention snapped back to reality when one of the men on the tower started to shout for his attention.

“Captain! Sir! You… you better come see this!”

The shout had come from… Amir, over on the westernmost tower. He was a good soldier, a little young, but tough and smart. He wouldn’t be raising the alarm unless it was important.

Algol took off without hesitation, his regal cape snapping in the strange wind behind him. Sahiri hesitated a moment, unsure what she should be doing, before racing after him.

A few of the others had already gathered at the edge of the camp, looking curiously out across the desert sand and trying to see what Amir had spotted. Algol brushed by them, beginning to climb up the ladder to the small platform that the other Guard was standing on.

“What is it, Amir?” he asked, the words dying in his throat as he reached the platform.

From this vantage he could see over the first of the dunes, out into the desert. He could see the shapes of hundreds, maybe even thousands, of bodies all shuffling drunkenly towards them in one giant press.

“Are they… are they soldiers?” the younger guard asked, a note of fear in his voice.

Algol grunted, reaching into his pocket for the small cylinder that let him see off into the distance that the Ylisseans had given him and holding it up to his eye.

“They’re civilians,” Algol said after a moment.

The people out in the sands were villagers from the surrounding area. They stopped just behind the last of the dunes, standing still and staring up at the Dragon’s Table plateau with no expression on any of their face. Algol panned the little cylinder from side to side; everywhere he looked he saw people standing with blank expressions on their faces as far as he could see. Thousands…

“Sir?” Amir asked, watching the crowd. “What’s… going on?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted, pressing the cylinder into the younger man’s hands.

“Use this, keep a close watch on them. It looks like they’re just standing there, but I want to know if any of them so much as twitch. Understood?”

Amir nodded, putting the wrong end of the cylinder to his face and making a confused expression. Algol snickered, taking the cylinder, turning it around and putting it back to the other man’s face.

“Ah. Wow. Those Ylisseans really have something for everything,” Amir commented appreciatively as he began to pan back and forth over the crowd.

As soon as Algol’s feet touched the ground he came face to face with a very anxious looking Sahiri; behind her were the rest of the Royal Guards that had gathered, similar expressions on their faces.

He didn’t know what to tell them.

*

Robin glanced up at the towering building above him, reluctantly leading the Shepherds towards it alongside Chrom and Lucina. The Dragon’s Table temple, the Sanctum of Grima, made Robin’s stomach churn. He didn’t want to be here. This was the absolute last place he wanted to be.

This is where they lost. This is where Chrom died. This is where the world ended.

He had been here before. He knew it well, and he knew that this was the end.

All of these thoughts rose unbidden into Robin’s mind the second he set foot on the first of the stairs leading to the entrance, and he stopped. His heart jumped into his throat and his stomach roiled.

He shouldn’t be here. None of them should be. They were all going to die if they-

Robin closed his eyes, willing his doubts silent and taking a few deep breaths. He clenched his fists, shaking his head as he strode up the stairs and ignored the worried or suspicious looks that the others were shooting him.

Everything was in place. He had done everything in his power, everything he could conceivably think of, to be here. There were a few unknowns thrown into the mix, but there was nothing else for it; nothing was going to get done with him standing there looking like an idiot at the bottom of the stairs. He just had to trust in his plans and trust in the others, and things would hopefully work out the way they always did.

The temple loomed above them, easily the size of the Plegian Castle, perhaps even the Palace in Ylisstol. From a distance the scale was deceptive; the temple was giant, obviously not originally made with humans in mind. Faded, weather-worn gothic architecture greeted them, leering gargoyles in the shape of sinister six-eyed dragons glowering down at them from every ledge and corner. Robin noticed that the stairs were worn in the centre by generations of passing feet, and the stench of eldritch fell magic hung heavily in the air, making the hairs on the back of the tactician’s neck stand on end.

“Are you alright, Robin?” Chrom asked quietly, coming up alongside the tactician as they climbed the stairs.

The white-haired man started at the question, realising he’d stopped walking again. Apparently he’d been displaying his emotions clear on his face without meaning to, as well. That wasn’t like him…

“Peachy,” Robin deadpanned, quirking a brow at the Exalt and coming to a stop again.

“Maybe I should just stay out here,” Robin suggested weakly. “You know, watch the exit? Someone needs to act rearguard and-”

“Not likely,” Severa growled behind him, nudging him between the shoulders with her sheathed sword. “Keep walking.”

Chrom shrugged and grinned at the exasperated tactician, the others laughing a little at his expense. Severa shot robin a glare as she stepped around him, making sure he knew that he wasn’t getting out of this.

Robin let out another sigh, deflating a little as the Shepherds began to march past him up the stairs, each giving him encouraging nods or threatening looks much like Severa had. All the remaining Shepherds were here to fight, excluding Owain, Inigo, Libra and Noire, who had all been ordered to return to the camp that Algol was holding to guard Aversa. The Knights had all left their mounts behind, as had the fliers, much to Gerome’s displeasure. But there wasn’t enough space to properly make use of horses, pegasai or wyverns in the temple, so they were on foot.

“Frederick!” Robin shouted suddenly. “Front and centre!”

The Knight Commander hesitated a moment before coming over to where Robin and Chrom were.

“Yes, tactician?” Frederick ground out, clearly not impressed at being spoken to so brusquely.

“Remember that promise you made to me?” Robin asked seriously.

“Robin, you can’t seriously-” Chrom began before Frederick cut him off.

“I do.”

“Good,” Robin said, beginning to climb the stairs again. “Stick to me like a bad smell and keep that promise in mind.”

The Knight Commander mutely nodded, following after Robin. Chrom sighed exasperatedly before joining them.

“I really don’t think that will be necessary,” the Exalt said.

Robin shrugged. “Better safe than sorry. I’ll resist with everything I’ve got, but there are too many people involved here to take any chances.”

“You have a duty to protect them as well,” Robin added, his gaze falling on Lucina’s back a little way ahead of them on the staircase.

Chrom followed the tactician’s gaze and broke into a small grin.

“We both do,” he said, clapping a hand on Robin’s shoulder. “Now stop being so pessimistic. You’re the single most stubborn person I know; Validar won’t be able to control you again. You have to fight him no matter what it takes, no matter the cost.”

“Well that was the plan,” Robin muttered, just loud enough for Chrom to hear.

*

The interior of the Sanctum honestly wasn’t much different from the exterior, in Robin’s mind. More delicately-gilded columns, more gargoyles, more ‘mark of Grima’ symbols everywhere… he had to give the Grimleal credit; when they committed to something they didn’t mess around, even something as seemingly unimportant as decoration.

The Outer Sanctum was a strange curved shape with staircases at either ends of the room, no doubt leading up to some sort of gallery overlooking the Inner Sanctum. Robin considered sending Laurent and Tharja up to make use of the higher vantage point, but he had no way of knowing what would be waiting for them up there.

According to the information Aversa had given them the temple was separated into three distinct spheres; the rear temple storage area, where the priests and mages that lived there slept and stored their tools; the outer sanctum, where the faithful that had made the pilgrimage to the temple were allowed to pray surrounded by the lesser relics of the faith; and the inner sanctum, the most holy ground of the Grimleal church. The grounds had been deserted, and from what Robin could see the outer sanctum was much the same.

He cast a questioning glance at Lon’qu, the expert hunter holding up his hand for silence. The entire group stopped while he cocked his head to one side, listening intently.

“Nothing,” he said at last. “It’s empty.”

“I smell a trap,” Robin sighed.

“Shall we go and spring it, then?” Chrom asked, drawing Falchion confidently and resting it on his shoulder.

“Well, why the hell not? We’ve come this far…” Robin asked, drawing Sol from over his own shoulder, the red-tinged blade shining slightly in the weak light of the dim sanctum.

The Outer Sanctum was empty. The grounds had been empty. The only logical conclusion was that Validar and whatever other enemies he could conjure up for them were waiting in the Inner Sanctum, behind the great double-doors in the middle of the curved wall before them.

The feeling of lingering dread that was eating away at Robin continued to grow the closer he got to the Inner Sanctum.

“What do you want to bet that Validar’s waiting right there on the other side of these doors?” Robin asked when they finally reached the doors.

“I doubt he’ll make things that easy for us,” the Exalt chuckled, stopping beside the tactician and reaching a hand out, running his fingers along the smooth wood of the nearest door.

They were huge, so big that the ship that they had sailed to Valm on would easily be able to cruise right through them with space to spare. The only way to get them open would be to have Robin and Tharja both cast wind spells and hope to blow them open.

“I’m not taking chances,” Robin said, the lingering aura of Dark Magic in the temple beginning to give him a headache.

“Shepherds, take up positions!” he called over his shoulder. “Tharja, I need your help opening these doors. Blow ‘em off the hinges if you can and then fall back; let’s make an entrance.”

The sound of armoured boots echoed in the empty space as the Shepherds took up their positions, Robin, Chrom, Lucina and Tharja at their head.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly, pointedly looking at his chest where she knew his amulet would be hanging.

“Well, I’m not about to spontaneously combust,” he chuckled back. “It’s not even hot yet. I’ll take that as a good sign.”

The beautiful Dark Mage gave Robin one last worried glance before she nodded and took up her place beside him, the two sandwiched between the blue-haired Ylissean royals as they began to cast. With a deafening boom and a resounding crash the giant doors flew inwards, landing atop more empty stonework as they fell and creating a cloud of dust as effective as any smokescreen in the dim Sanctum.

Chrom didn’t even have to give the order to advance. Tharja instantly fell back to the rear of the group, her face going paler than usual as a look of fear crossed it. The Shepherds moved in as a unit, slowly advancing into the Sanctum before the dust from the doors had even settled. The Inner Sanctum was much as the Outer one had been; an empty space occupied by a few columns and an old, blood-stained altar up the other end. A few torches spread more weak light on the space, playing with the shadows in the cloud of dust.

Robin nearly faltered when the flood of fell magic escaped the Inner Sanctum. It was like a physical entity, a wave of static, coiling and wrapping around them and strangling him. He could almost see tendrils outlined in the dust cloud, but every time he tried to look at them directly they vanished.

The other thing that he noticed was the chanting.

“What the hell is that?” Robin heard Sully mutter from one of the flanks.

“A spell,” Tharja whispered. “A very… gods…”

Robin’s head whipped around as he heard the woman curse.

“He can’t be…” she muttered, her hands falling to her sides as she looked up in the clearing smoke.

“Oh, but I am, traitor,” a voice rang out from the other side of the Sanctum.

Validar strode forward, stepping down from the altar at the other end of the room, Morgan at his side. Apart from the two of them and the Shepherds the Sanctum was deserted; Robin couldn’t even tell where the chanting was coming from. As Morgan stepped forward Robin heard a sharp intake of breath from behind him, no doubt coming from Say’ri.

There, sitting ensconced on the altar behind them, was the completed Fire Emblem.

“Glorious, isn’t it?” Validar hissed as the Shepherds came to a halt, holding his arms out and spinning as if to take in his victory. “Can you not feel it? The birth of a God is imminent! You could have had a part in this tale, but instead you chose death!”

“Called it,” Robin muttered to Chrom. “He’s standing right there.”

“Validar!” Chrom called out, ignoring Robin’s weak gloating and holding Falchion pointing at the sorcerer in challenge.

Validar looked skinnier than ever, with great dark circles beneath his eyes; a far cry from the creature they had seen only a few hours before. Even Morgan, Robin noticed with a spike of anxiety, looked worse for wear; pale and drawn as if she hadn’t slept in days. It must have been the fell energy in the air, sucking the life out of them.

“Ah, the Exalted one!” Validar sneered sarcastically. “Come to witness the glorious culmination of your failure? How nice. How will you struggle against your fate this time? I hold the Fire Emblem, and the Table is set for a feast! I will give rise to the glorious Grima! I will usher in a new age with my own hands and you are powerless to stop me!”

“You will destroy the world!” Chrom snarled, stepping forward a little. “Lucina has seen it! The children have come here to escape that fate! To stop it from coming to be!”

“Then I pray that today lives up to their nightmares!” Validar cackled, his eyes going wide as he held his hands outstretched. “Did you think your vaunted ‘Awakening’ was only for the blood of Naga!? I will use it and his blood to bring my lord back to this world! I will use all of Plegia itself!”

“He’s nuts,” Robin muttered in warning, resting Sol on his shoulder. “Don’t even listen to his rambling. We should just kill him, Chrom.”

“By all means, son,” Validar laughed. “Kill me if you wish! My only task was to create the perfect vessel for Grima, and with you here I have succeeded in that goal!”

“Crap,” Robin groaned as realisation set in. “I knew I should have stayed outside.”

“Take heart,” Frederick growled from a little way behind him. “Do not give up hope. We are not beaten yet.”

Robin grinned at the unexpected support from the Knight, stepping forward to stand with Chrom.

“So I’m the vessel, am I?” he asked as condescendingly as he could.

Validar simply laughed louder, as if this were the funniest thing he had ever seen.

“You ken quickly, son,” the sorcerer chortled. “That’s my boy.”

“I am not your boy!” Robin snarled, the unexpected shout making some of the Shepherds jump. “I’ll die before I serve Grima, and I’ll make damn sure I take you to hell with me!”

“You carry my blood, boy,” Validar said, his voice becoming a purr. “We carry the blood of the Fell Dragon in our veins, but it is not enough. My father wasn’t worthy, and neither was his father. Even I was unworthy of Grima’s greatest gift. If your damnable mother hadn’t been seized by weakness and fear and stolen you away ten years ago I could have made you perfect! Do you have any idea what it took to make you the man you are? How much work I put into crafting the perfect vessel for him?”

“So then why did you try so hard to kill me so many times!?” Robin shouted.

“To harden you!” Validar snapped, his face becoming a manic snarl. “To force you to grow, to become more powerful! Powerful enough to contain the Fell Dragon’s essence! You were too weak the first time we tried, but look at you now! You defeated Gangrel’s best with a single squad of soldiers and no memories! You led a force of nothing against the Conqueror’s army of millions and were triumphant! You even conquered death itself, spitting in the eye of nature to come back to life! I even fragmented your very mind before you left for Valm, and you just _put it back together_! You’re just barely clinging to your humanity as it is, and I’ve never been prouder of you, son! It’s time to let go! Become the Dark Dragon and realize your destiny!”

“Shut up!” Robin screamed. “Shut up, shut up, shut up! I will not be your pawn!”

“You don’t have a choice,” Validar purred. “His soul already slumbers within you. And now the time for your Awakening is at hand!”

Validar gestured over his shoulder, and black flames shot up around the Fire Emblem on the altar. The ground began to shake, and the chanting above them reached a fevered pitch.

Robin shook his head, his expression growing stony as he stepped past Chrom and adopted a ready stance.

“I know I’ve said this to you before, but…” Robin growled at Validar, gripping Sol tightly in a low guard.

“Make me.”

*

Algol was leafing through the documents that had been in the Grimleal Camp Commander’s tent when the call came down to him. The civilians out in the dunes hadn’t moved, and from what they could tell Mustafa and the rest of the Resistance were still holding against the Grimleal forces to the north-east, so all had been quiet until now.

“Captain!” Amir shouted from the tower he was still keeping watch on. “Captain! Hurry! It’s the civilians!”

Algol raced through the camp, marvelling at just how quickly the weather had turned foul as rain pelted down on his bald pate and wind whipped at his cape. It was dark as night as he raced through the camp and up the ladder to Amir’s position.

As he got closer he could hear it. Chanting. Rhythmic syllables and notes, timed to an imaginary drum-beat that Algol could feel beneath his feet in the earth, but not hear.

“What?” he asked, snatching the spyglass and looking out over the dunes. “What are they doing?”

“I have no idea, sir,” Amir admitted, holding on to one of the logs jutting up randomly at the edge of the platform. “I can’t even tell what they’re saying. It’s not in any of the local dialects, or anything I’ve heard before...”

Algol panned across the civilians, barely visible in the downpour. A flash of lighting shredded the sky, lighting the dunes. In the brief flash Algol saw the glint of steel pressed up against the throat of every single man, woman and child in the dunes.

“No!” he shouted, shoving the spyglass back into Amir’s hands and sliding down the ladder, his boots kicking up a splash as he landed on the sodden earth.

“Guard, assemble! Go to the dunes! Stop the civilians!”

“It’s too late,” a girl’s voice sobbed from behind him.

Algol spun, spotting Sahiri not far away. He froze as he noticed the dagger clutched in her shaking hands. After all, he realized with a sinking feeling; she was local, too.

“I can hear him,” she whispered, her eyes wide as rain washed down her face. “In my mind… he… he says he needs our lives… our souls… he… he…”

“Sahiri,” Algol said, stepping forward with his hands held up in a calming motion. “Put down the knife, child. Please.”

“I… want to… but I can’t!” she managed to gasp through gritted teeth, stumbling backwards.

The Guards milled around behind Algol, confused and lost. In the distance the chanting grew to a fevered pitch.

“Sahiri!” Algol snapped. “Put down the knife!”

She looked up at the Guard Captain, her face taking on an apologetic look as she grimaced.

“I can hear him… inside my head,” she whispered, collapsing to her knees in the rain. “He needs our… our lives to sustain him… we are to b-be the feast at his table…”

The small knife fell to the muddy ground from Sahiri’s nerveless fingers as Amir let out a wordless and terrified shout from above them. Algol looked up to the dunes. The chanting had stopped.

“It’s too late,” she sobbed, looking pleadingly up at the dark sky. “We’re all already dead.”

“By the gods,” he whispered. “What has Validar done?”

*

Robin felt a strange rush of energy as he faced Validar, as if someone had poured a bucket of icy water over his head. He felt it running through him, though, rather than over him, and in his soul he felt something dormant painfully beginning to stir.

A strange red light flashed above the Inner Sanctum from hidden galleries, the Shepherds all looking up in shock and confusion as the light coalesced into an orb of solid mana above the altar.

All except for Tharja.

“No!” she screamed, her eyes wide and disbelieving. “No! What have you done!?”

“Silence, traitor!” Validar snarled. “The Table was set! The feast has begun!”

Robin swallowed a strange sense of unease as he clenched and unclenched his hand a few times, feeling the strange energy flowing through him. He felt stronger, faster and more alert than he had in a long time, but it was an unnatural high; nothing was given freely, not even in the world of magic, and Robin dreaded the answer to the question he was about to ask.

“What’s he done, Tharja?” Robin asked, turning slowly and looking up at the light emanating from the galleries. “Tharja, what’s he done!?”

“The souls of more than half of Plegia…” she whispered, revulsion evident on her face. “He’s… harvested them. They’re all dead. He’s using them as an energy source for his spell!”

“What!?” Chrom roared, turning to face the madman that had orchestrated the event.

“That’s… there are no words for how evil that is!” Lucina cried in outrage.

Even Morgan, standing silently behind her new master, looked revolted by this turn of events, not even trying to hide it as she edged away from Validar.

Robin was forced to agree with them, but he couldn’t get his mouth to work.

“You may have killed me in some future past, but with the power of the Dragon’s Table flowing through me I am unstoppable!” Validar announced, throwing his arms wide again.

The sorcerer’s eyes blazed with magic, electricity dancing along his limbs as he threw his head back and laughed to the ceiling. The souls he had harvested were being absorbed, but something was off. A lot more energy than Validar was absorbing was still swirling around the room wasted, a good portion of it seeking Robin automatically.

“This time I am not alone, either!” the sorcerer added, smiling over at the silent Morgan.

“Monster!” Chrom shouted. “We will still stop you! Right Robin!?”

Chrom looked back when the tactician remained silent.

“Robin?” he asked quietly.

Smoke rose from the talisman on Robin’s chest, the tactician’s legs shaking as his free hand clenched and unclenched and his teeth ground together. The tendons on his neck stood out like steel cables, and his shoulders began to shake with resistance.

“Robin, stay with me!” Chrom shouted desperately, grabbing his friend by the shoulder. “You’re not beholden to this fiend! You can fight it! We’ve all seen how strong you are! Show him what you’re capable of!”

“Please, Robin,” Lucina begged. “Please fight him. Please!”

Behind him, Frederick hefted his axe with a sad expression on his face, a few of the Shepherds nearby giving the Knight Commander shocked looks.

Robin clenched his fist as tight as he could, his nails digging into his palm until blood began to drip to the stone floor. He was actually managing to fight it, but… gods it _hurt_.

“Heh… your father’s courage, but your mother’s judgement,” Validar laughed as Robin struggled.

“I will… not… yield!” Robin ground out through clenched teeth, waging a war against the impulses in his mind.

“Enough!” Validar snapped, his mood mercurially shifting. “Your sorry display ill befits the master’s vessel! And you, Exalt! Your sad poem sounds lovely, but you will not alter destiny! Morgan!”

The younger tactician raised her hand, and then Chrom saw the floor as Robin tackled him from behind. A mad vortex of green wind magic sprung up between Chrom and Robin and the rest of the Shepherds, forcing them back while the two men had nowhere to go but forward. Lucina was actually thrown from her feet as she tried to rush to Robin and Chrom, sliding along the smooth stonework of the floor a few feet before coming to a stop.

“You wish to test fate?” Validar sneered, shrugging off his heavy robes as he contemptuously eyed Robin and spread his arms in challenge. “You wish to fight destiny? Then come, boy! Show me what you’ve got! I am right here! After all, there is no damage I can do to your body that the Fell Dragon cannot heal!”

With another red flash of light from the galleries above an opaque purple barrier sprung to life between the Shepherds and their leaders. However, with that flash of light the pressure in Robin’s head ceased all at once, leaving his mind once again his own. Validar grinned at him, and Robin realised he was being challenged by his father one last time.

_Letting me have my mind back is the last mistake he’s ever going to make,_ Robin thought, gritting his teeth and swallowing, climbing off of Chrom and giving the bigger man a hand to get up.

He could see Lucina desperately beating on the other side of the barrier, no sound from the far side reaching them. Frederick was obviously shouting orders as Risen began to appear out of thin air or climb up from hidden staircases, the Shepherds reforming their ranks to face the new threat. Robin let out a groan, his shoulders slumping as he spotted Sol on the ground just outside of the barrier.

Chrom could see Lucina’s eyes widen on the other side of the barrier as she redoubled her efforts, beginning to strike the wall of red light with her sword before Frederick grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around and forcing her into position with the other Shepherds. The Knight Commander gave Chrom a quick nod before he was forced to put all of his attention into warding off the encroaching Risen.

“So,” Robin said, rolling out his neck and drawing his dagger from its sheathe on the small of his back. “One crazy mage and one mind-controlled Morgan? Piece of cake, right?”

Chrom couldn’t help but grin.

“You thought it so easy you even decided to give them a handicap?” the Exalt asked, nodding at the dagger in Robin’s hand.

“What can I say? I like a challenge,” the tactician shrugged as both men turned to face their foes.

“This is it,” Chrom breathed. “This is our final battle! Now let’s kill this bastard and be done with it!”

“You take Morgan,” Robin muttered, his glare never leaving Validar’s. “Try to be gentle.”

Robin looked back at Chrom suddenly, assaulted by an overwhelming sense of deja-vu as the Exalt nodded confidently, flexing his fingers on the handle of his sword. His head snapped around as Validar began to speak, leaning over the altar and drawing a jagged ritual sword from behind it as Morgan drew her own blade.

“As long as the barrier stands none of your precious ‘friends’ can reach us,” the sorcerer sneered, adopting the same stance Robin had favoured before he had learned from Lon’qu and Chrom.

“You will face your fate alone!”

*

Lucina struggled to control her breathing as she fell into line between Severa and Vaike, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder. Robin and her father were the two single-best warriors in the Shepherds, perhaps in the world; Validar thought he had trapped them in there away from their allies, but the truth of the matter was he’d mistakenly trapped himself in there with them.

She just had to keep telling herself that; there was no other option. Robin and Chrom would defeat Validar, rescue Morgan and save the world.

That’s all there was to it.

So why did she feel so anxious?

“Awright, line up!” Vaike was shouting at the Risen, brandishing his axe. “Teach’s got enough axe for all’a ya, so no pushin’!”

“I wish I had his confidence,” Yarne shakily admitted in a small voice, the young half-Taguel swallowing and mustering his courage.

“I think he’s just taken too many blows to the head,” Severa snorted, readying her own sword.

Lucina was forced to grin a little at the familiar banter, but the expression didn’t last as she looked out over their foes.

The Risen that were shambling towards the Shepherds were the regular variety, the masked and hooded ghouls that were weak yet outnumbered them easily five-to-one. None of the surviving Deadlords were present, which concerned the Princess, yet at the same time made her feel immense relief. They would have to track the monsters down eventually, however it would be easier to take them one by one rather than try to face them in the cramped confines of the Sanctum.

Frederick stepped forward, clearly taking command. He wasn’t the keen tactical mind that Robin or Morgan were, but he hadn’t been promoted to Knight Commander for nothing; he had been watching Robin carefully for the past few years, and often participated actively during the strategy sessions. Lucina had no doubt that with him in command they could beat back the Risen, but whether they could do it fast enough to help her father and Robin…

“Shepherds!” Frederick shouted. “Form a line and prepare for glory! Advance on my signal! Keep the formation tight and remember that we fight to defend our Lord and our Kingdom! For Ylisse!”

 “For Ylisse!” the Shepherds all echoed at the tops of their lungs, even the usually quiet Gerome and Tharja.

The Risen took this challenge as their cue to charge, increasing the rate of their shuffling and racing up to the line. Tharja lashed out, purple flames dancing along the front ranks of the Risen and causing many of them to explode into ashes almost instantly. Laurent joined her, and soon the two mages had opened a large space between the Shepherds and their enemies.

Laurent sagged, the young mage breathing heavily and still exhausted from the battle with the Deadlords. Tharja continued to cast smaller spells, targeting those Risen with bows or trowing weapons, but even she was clearly still spent.

“Armour, form a line! First rank forward!” Frederick bellowed, hefting his greatsword and opting to use one of Robin’s favoured strategies. “Second rank, prepare to leapfrog!”

Sully, Stahl, Kjelle, Lucina, Gerome, Severa and Vaike all surged forward, forming a line shoulder to shoulder. The Risen, undaunted by the magical attack that had decimated their front ranks, raced forward and came to a crashing halt when they met the Shepherds.

“Oh baby, come and get it!” Sully growled, swinging an axe in one hand while she stabbed with one of Stahl’s spare short-swords with her other.

Stahl just grinned and shook his head at his wife’s bravado, circling his own sword in a figure-eight and decapitating two of the Risen with the movement as Kjelle silently ran one of the creatures through with her lance.

“Hold firm!” Frederick shouted.

The moaning, inexorable tide of Risen was brought to a grinding halt when they met the blades of the Shepherds, Lucina alone cutting through at least four of the Risen in short order. Gerome seemed a little unsure, fighting on foot and sweeping his axe back and forth in great arcs as if he were still atop Minerva, but Vaike’s obvious enthusiasm more than made up for the other man’s shortcomings, the bare-chested warrior leaping and rolling through the Risen press, striking out like a man possessed as he whirled and laughed in the Risen’s masked faces. Severa just calmly watched Lucina’s flank, striking down anything that came within reach.

“Advance!” Frederick shouted once a gap had been made, thanks mostly to Vaike’s over-enthusiasm.

Cordelia, Cynthia, Say’ri and Yarne leapt into the space, their lighter armour making them faster than the others as they rushed the staggered Risen. Yarne exceeded Vaike’s battle-lust, moving like furry lightning as he tore through the Risen before him. Cordelia and Cynthia moved in concert, one ducking forward and lashing out with their lance before swapping with the other, a common foot-tactic for Pegasus Knights that had been de-mounted. Say’ri was a whirlwind of death, one sword in each hand as she ripped through the Risen horde.

None of the Risen could stand against the Shepherds, and dozens had fallen by now, but still they came on.

“Prepare to fall back!” Frederick shouted, striking down a few of the Risen that got past the lighter second rank.

The second rank retreated, passing through the heavier units before they bunched together again. The Risen barely slowed, wading through the spreading ashes of their fallen comrades to continue their attack.

“Is there no end to these things!?” Severa growled in exasperation as they took up their positions again.

“Perhaps I might be able to provide some respite,” Tiki offered from behind them a moment before a huge shadow fell over them.

“Back! Frederick shouted. “Give her some room! Watch the flames!”

With a blistering blast of heat the ancient manakete blew the majority of the Risen away before reverting to her human form. However even for all the intense strength of the Voice of Naga Lucina watched as more Risen climbed out of the staircases or leapt down from the overhead galleries, heedless of their own fates.

“There really is no end to them,” she heard Nah mutter from Tiki’s side.

“Stand firm!” Frederick ordered. “We will prevail!”

*

“Robin why do you insist on these games?” Validar asked, lazily slashing through the space that his had been in seconds ago.

“Why delay the inevitable? Besides, have you not considered what would happen should I fall? The followers of Naga will spurn you and Morgan both now that the truth has been revealed. Kill me, and you will incur the wrath of the Grimleal as well, not to mention all of Plegia! Have you forgotten I am King, boy!? Would you truly choose to be so utterly alone!?”

Robin growled in response, backpedalling and holding his dagger up at chest-height.

Validar was scrawny to the point where it looked like a strong breeze would knock him down, but he was a demon with a blade; it was easy to see who had taught Robin how to wield the weapon at first, and while his newfound skills and experience far out-classed the sorcerer there was only so much he could do with nothing but his dagger. Every time he began to cast a spell he felt the mana frustratingly wrestled from his control by some other force, adding it to the growing orb of red magic still hovering above the altar. He was still being energised by the life-force of the Plegians Validar had sacrificed, but he couldn’t put that energy to use beyond the physical thanks to the sorcerer’s interference.

“Humans are such weak, pathetic creatures!” Validar went on, sweeping his sword back and forth a few times lazily. “Your bonds with them will only blind you! You are destined for a greater purpose! The greatest purpose! You are to be a god!”

“Not your god,” Robin replied, stepping back and crouching into a ready stance. “Not today. Not ever.”

He dashed forward, stabbing out for Validar’s heart. The sorcerer smiled at him, sidestepping and forcing Robin to turn his lunge into a tumble. He spun, catching Validar’s black ceremonial sword on his silver dagger’s blade, turning his father’s blow to the side and driving his shoulder up into the skinny man’s stomach. Validar staggered backwards, coughing and spluttering as he tried to suck in breath, caught unaware by Robin’s brutal underhanded tactics. The older man was obviously a fencer, not a warrior; he didn’t think of a battle as anything besides sword-on-sword like a duel.

“I’m kicking your arse with a measly dagger, father,” Robin mocked, spinning and slashing at Validar. “That’s pretty weak-sauce for the ‘King’ of Plegia.”

He spun twice, slashing at Validar’s throat and missing before taking a gamble and using a spinning kick-flip he’d practiced a little with Lon’qu. Validar had managed to block the dagger strikes, but was unprepared for such an athletic physical attack as Robin practically spun upside down in the air, his foot connecting solidly with the sorcerer’s cheek and throwing him to the ground in a heap.

In the background Robin could hear the continuous clashing of steel as Morgan and Chrom duelled, the younger tactician keeping Chrom at bay by combining her swordsmanship and magic. Every time Chrom appeared to gain the upper hand Morgan would throw him off-balance with a quick spell, forcing the Exalt back. Chrom was obviously holding back, but Morgan had already landed a number of light blows and he was beginning to get desperate.

Robin looked back as Validar spat black blood onto the stones of the Sanctum, glaring up while a small trail leaked from the corner of his mouth and down his dagger-sharp chin.

“Well done, boy,” he growled, his eyes beginning to take on a familiar red glow as he slowly climbed back to his feet.

Robin let out a cold laugh at the sight.

“Oh? This makes so much sense!” he chortled. “You’re not even alive, are you!?”

Validar snarled, lunging forward again. Robin was ready for him and let the sword pass beneath his arm, giving him the opening to bring his elbow down on Validar’s sword hand. He added a knee to the older man’s ribs for good measure, forcing him back again as his black sword clattered to the ground.

“We really did kill you in Ylisstol, didn’t we?” Robin went on, kicking the sword up and catching it in his off-hand, pointing it at the unarmed Validar’s chest.

“You’re a Risen, aren’t you father?”

Validar straightened, smiling disarmingly at Robin again.

“Well done, boy,” he said, his skin paling as his eyes took on the familiar red glow of a Risen. “It took you long enough to figure it out, but I am no mere Risen. I am the fourteenth of the Deadlords, the most powerful in service to Grima!”

“Yeah, they all seem to think that,” Robin chuckled, twirling the sword as he started to circle Validar. “And I already suspected it, to be honest. How else could you have come back to life after we put you in the ground? Hell, I watched them bury you.”

“As perceptive as ever, boy,” Validar chuckled, his voice becoming a barely recognizable raspy whisper. “You get that from your mother, you know. I almost feel bad about killing her when I see you like this. You look just like-”

Robin felt something inside him snap and cut the rest of the sorcerer’s statement off, roaring and charging with both weapons. Validar danced between the storm of enraged blows, Robin managing to do little more than shred the man’s clothes. It was obvious that now that he wasn’t hiding his identity Validar had gained a significant boost to his power; Robin judged that he needed to pull back and come up with a better strategy for dealing with him before…

Without warning Validar’s hand shot out like lightning, hitting Robin square in the chest and sending him flying through the air. He absently noted the stunned looks on Morgan and Chrom’s faces as he passed between them before hitting the far wall. The tactician let out a weak cough as he settled at the base of the wall, already feeling the blood pool in his mouth as broken ribs ground in his back.

“Ow,” he managed to groan, looking back up.

“Robin!” Chrom shouted, moving to rush to the tactician’s side.

Chrom fell, though, when Morgan brought the hilt of her sword down hard on the Exalt’s back between his shoulder-blades, where his armour was weakest. She raised her sword to deliver the final blow, not an ounce of hesitation in her posture, but held back when Validar started to laugh again.

“Come now, dear granddaughter,” the mad sorcerer chuckled. “This is meant to be Robin’s fate, is it not?”

Morgan nodded, slowly lowering her sword and staring pointedly at her father with cold eyes. Chrom made a move to get up, staggering when Morgan brought her heel down on his back without even looking at him.

“Robin, come,” the Validar-Risen offered, holding his hand out to the tactician. “Seize your destiny. Become the god you were always meant to be.”

“Like I said,” he laughed weakly. “Make me.”

Validar clicked his tongue, shaking his head sadly.

“I see you still require some more motivation,” he said lightly, bending to retrieve the black sword Robin had stolen from him during their fight and subsequently dropped when he’d been sent flying.

Morgan kicked out at Chrom’s head, stunning the Exalt as he tried to rise again. She stepped back as Validar advanced, once more holding the ritual sword.

“Let’s see if your screams won’t make Robin reconsider,” Validar whispered to Chrom, holding his sword high. “Maybe he’ll have enough compassion to put you out of your misery when I’m done with you!”

Chrom looked up, his eyes meeting Robin’s for a brief moment. To the Exalt’s surprise Robin was smiling, and gave him a quick wink.

Validar lunged, his blade coming down and stopping just short of Chrom’s exposed back. His glowing red eyes widened as his arms went slack, dropping to reveal the tip of Morgan’s sword protruding from his chest. The sound of Validar’s sword clattering to the ground was deafening in the silence that followed.

“I may be your granddaughter,” Morgan growled in his ear. “But I’m just as stubborn as my father.”

Validar started to roar, raw dark magic flaring around his empty fist as he moved to strike Morgan down. His blow barely even started before he flew backwards again, a bright flash of a Thoron spell tearing right through him and leaving a gaping, smoking hole in his chest as he fell to the floor.

“Checkmate,” Robin grinned, his raised hand falling to his side again.

“Robin!” Chrom called out again, leaping to his feet and dashing over to his fallen friend.

“Father!” Morgan cried out, following suit.

They both skidded to their knees at his side, Robin’s weak laughter turning into a coughing fit as more blood trickled down his chin.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, waving them both off as he moved to get up.

He fell back against the wall with a pained hiss, gripping his ribs with one hand.

“On… second thought… Chrom, give me a hand here,” he added with a tired grin.

The Exalt nodded, draping one of Robin’s arms over his shoulders and supporting him as the three of them got back to their feet. Chrom stepped back from Morgan, however, eying her warily as he gripped Falchion.

“Lord Chrom I’m so sorry I had to make it look convincing and I really didn’t want to hurt you and thank you for not impaling me on Falchion I’m so sorry I never meant to hurt anyone!” Morgan said, her words tumbling out in one breath.

“She’s fine,” Robin said, smiling at his daughter as she stopped to take a deep breath.

“You’re sure?” Chrom asked, raising his eyebrow at the tactician.

“Remember what she said out in the ruins?” Robin chuckled, coughing again a few times.

“Death from above,” he explained, wiping the blood from his chin with the back of his hand when the coughing stopped. “That’s what I shouted when I saved you all from Walhart, remember? That was her signal.”

“Really?” Chrom asked, the surprise evident on his face.

“I’m so glad you caught that, dad!” Morgan sighed. “I was really hoping you would, but I needed to send the signal without being too obvious.”

“So he wasn’t controlling your mind?” Chrom asked, head quirking slightly.

Morgan smiled embarrassedly, reaching into her shirt and holding up a small amulet on a leather cord; the same amulet that Tharja had taken from Noire and given to Morgan to hold onto while the other girl ‘toughened up’. An amulet that looked almost exactly like the one Robin was wearing.

“He was at first, but lost focus when you guys showed up on the plateau,” Morgan explained. “His hold was never really that strong over me to begin with, not like the other guy’s, but I had to take the opportunity while I could…”

“See? She’s fine,” Robin repeated, briefly holding up his own amulet. “We planned for this. I had a feeling he’d go after Morgan if the two of us were separated, and it looks like I was right on the money. Good call, honey. I might actually have killed Chrom if you hadn’t intervened.”

“Gee, thanks,” the Exalt deadpanned.

“Hey, I’m not about to lie to you about how close we just came to losing,” Robin huffed. “I’ll have you know it was my perfect predictions and flawless planning that saved your blue-haired-butt, so-”

“Okay, enough patting yourself on the back,” Chrom said with a grin, offloading Robin on to his daughter’s shoulder. “I’m sure the others will do enough of that for you once we get back to camp. And now both of you have kicked me in the head and I’m beginning to sense a trend forming here.”

“Argh!” Robin hissed, holding his ribs again as he was jostled. “I am not a sack of flour, dammit! Be more gentle or you’ll get a second kick!”

Robin hissed again when Morgan wrapped her arms around his chest, a slight squeak following as she buried her head in his shoulder.

“Dad, I’m so sorry!” she sniffled. “I… Donny… and… and Anna… they…”

Robin sighed, gently rubbing his daughter’s back. He’d been expecting this outcome from the beginning, of course, but…

“It’s okay. We’ll talk about it later,” he said quietly, breaking the embrace and standing on his own.

He took a few shaky steps towards the barrier, where he could see the other Shepherds fighting desperately against a seemingly endless horde of Risen on the other side.

“Come on,” Chrom said, stepping in front of Robin. “We need to figure out how to get this barrier down.”

“It should have dissipated when Validar died,” Morgan said thoughtfully, sheathing her sword and taking a closer look at the barrier. “Maybe one of the Dark Mages is still maintaining it himself…?”

Robin’s eyes went wide as he turned to look at the sorcerer’s corpse. It was still lying there, inky black blood spreading around it slowly in a wide pool. But… he was a Risen now. If he were dead he would have…

Robin’s warning never made it past his lips as he stumbled towards Chrom, his knuckles turning white on his dagger’s hilt.

“Robin?” Chrom asked. “Why are you-”

Chrom never finished his question, Robin moving faster than ever and burying the beautiful silver dagger in the Exalt’s chest, just like in his dream so long ago. The blue-haired man grunted, blinking a few times as his hand came to a rest on Robin’s shoulder.

“R-obin…” he managed to gasp before falling to his knees.

Robin stepped backwards, horrified at the sight of his dagger protruding from the gap between Chrom’s armour plates.

Morgan stared, stunned, wordless horror writ on her face as Robin fell to his own knees.

“I don’t blame you,” Chrom managed to mutter, a smile crossing his features. “This… this wasn’t your fault… promise… you’ll take the others… and… and flee…”

The Exalt of Ylisse closed his eyes and slumped to one side, the impact of his armoured shoulder hitting the stone floor like the tolling of a bell in the sudden silence. Robin noted that at some point Validar had lowered the barrier, probably to allow the Shepherds to see this turn of events.

The Risen backed away from the Shepherds, stepping back into the shadows and waiting for further orders from their leader. Validar sat up, apparently ignoring the gaping hole in his chest below his heart from Robin’s spell as he climbed back to his feet.

A uniformly shocked expression spread through the Shepherds, mouths hanging open as they gaped at the corpse of their Exalt. No one moved, afraid to break the spell that had fallen over the silent hall.

“No…” Lucina whispered finally, her sword dragging against the ground from nerveless fingers as she drunkenly staggered towards Robin.

“No… No!” she said, her voice growing in volume and desperation until she dropped Falchion and gripped the sides of her head and screamed.

“No! Father, no!”

“With the power of the gemstones and the Table at my command my magic knows no bounds!” he announced, walking to stand over the catatonic Robin and Chrom’s corpse. “Robin is powerless to resist me. Do you all see now!? Your human bonds are nothing in the face of Grima’s might! Submit and be consumed! It is folly to fight destiny!”

Stunned shouts of denial began to come from the Shepherds, along with the sounds of clattering weapons or armoured knees striking the floor.

Lucina fell to her own hands and knees in despair, her head hanging low as she shut her eyes tight and willed herself to wake up form this nightmare.

“This isn’t happening…” she said, shaking her head from side to side. “We were supposed to change this! Everything I have done is… worthless!”

“The hell it was!” a deep voice shouted from the galleries.

“Now!” Robin shouted, grinning up at Validar.

A confused look passed over the Risen sorcerer’s face before it changed to one of outraged pain as throwing axes and arrows began to rain down on him from one of the high galleries above them.

“Don’t you put any stock in his ‘destiny’ bull-shit!” the deep voice called out as Validar backpedalled.

There was a familiar flash of light from a teleportation spell, and when it cleared three figures were standing between the Shepherds and Validar.

“Mercy, this stupid ring is difficult to use,” Virion groaned, slouching as his hand dropped, Excellus’ magic ring still glowing on his index finger.

“Let the dead whine about their fate,” Khan Basilio said, holding himself up proudly and resting his huge axe on one shoulder.

He turned and winked over his shoulder at the grief-stricken Lucina.

“As long as I still draw breath, I’ll keep on fighting! That’s what life is all about!” he announced, turning back to face Validar with a mad grin on his face.

“Khan… Basilio?” Lucina asked, shocked.

“The one and only!” he laughed, thumping a fist on his bare chest.

“Later!” Robin shouted desperately. “Take down Validar! Hack him up if you have to! Kill him now!”

“Hack him up?” Khan Flavia, repeated, a feral grin spreading across her own face as she readied her sword. “Robin, I think you just made me fall in love with you.”

Validar’s shocked expression changed back to one of rage as his glowing eyes flared brighter.

“This does not matter!” he roared at Basilio. “You merely changed the method of your demise! I will end you here and now myself!”

“Try it, snake-eyes,” Basilio scoffed. “You’re no Walhart. You’re not as strong, or as clever.”

The big Khan’s face took on a glint of mischief as he grinned at the sorcerer.

“For instance,” he said as if sharing the funniest secret in the world. “You still don’t realise you’ve been tricked.”

Validar’s pale grey face dropped a few more shades when Robin darted up, racing past him faster than he could react. Without hesitating for a moment Robin dove into the flames around the Emblem, snatching it up and standing proudly as his body was wreathed by a fiery black halo.

“You know,” he said, dropping his ‘too wounded to walk’ act. “An Awakening only works with all five gemstones.”

With deft movements he popped the gemstone Gules out of the socket and dropped it to the altar before bringing his heel down on it and shattering it. All at once the dark flames went out, but the red mana-orb remained hovering above his head.

“Here, Chrom! This belongs to you!” Robin called out, throwing the Emblem through the air.

The ‘dead’ Exalt reached up and caught the spinning shield, a furious expression on his face aimed at Validar as he strapped the Fire Emblem back into its rightful position on his arm.

“Validar,” Chrom growled, climbing back to his feet and glaring spitefully at the Deadlord. “Anything can change! Your end has come!”

Validar clicked his tongue, a vortex of dark energy appearing in the hole in his chest and closing the wound as the red orb above Robin began to dim a little. With a flash Validar teleported safely behind his Risen at the other end of the Sanctum.

“Don’t let him escape!” Robin shouted, stepping down from the altar.

“That’s my line, boy!” the Validar Deadlord sneered, holding a hand up in the air. “You cannot kill me when I have the life-force of an entire nation at my hands!”

He maintained this pose a moment before looking up at his empty hand in confusion. His gaze snapped to the orb that was still hanging, its light dulling further as seconds passed.

“Yeah, about that?” Morgan shouted, stepping forward and holding up her finger. “Those magic circles only work when all of them are complete! You’ll be lucky to collect half of what you just harvested! That energy is meant to feed Grima! You can’t use something not intended for you without those seals, can you?!”

On the end of her waggling finger was dried red paint from the circle she had disrupted earlier.

Validar let out a wordless howl of outrage when he realised the scope of the deception against him, the Risen around him responding and charging back into the Shepherds with renewed vigour.

“Come on, oaf!” Flavia shouted gleefully as she raced to join the Shepherds. “We have to follow our tactician’s orders and kill that Deadlord! Keep up! You coming, Ruffles?”

“I am an archer, woman,” Virion said exasperatedly, readying his bow. “An. Archer. We’ve been over this. You go and charge, I shall kill things from here; far, far away from axes and swords and blood and… ick.”

The two Khans laughed as they raced off, already making bets on how many Risen they could slay, leaving Chrom, Robin, Virion and Lucina standing alone as Maribelle rushed over to them, the rest of the Shepherds resuming their fight against the Risen.

“Father…” Lucina said in a quivering voice, stepping up to him.

With a grimace Chrom pulled Robin’s dagger out of his armour and handed it back to the tactician, the tip glinting with the tiniest amount of the bigger man’s blood.

“How did you know my armour would stop it?” he asked the smaller man.

“Lucky guess?” Robin shrugged, choosing not to mention the time he’d snuck into Chrom’s tent and measured the thickest part of his armour. “Thanks for actually playing dead, by the way. Very convincing. You actually had me worried there.”

“Father!” Lucina repeated, wrapping her arms around Chrom’s neck in a desperate hug.

Robin flinched when he caught sight of Lucina’s ‘we’re going to talk about this later’ glare from over her father’s shoulder.

_I know Chrom wasn’t wearing the armour in my first dream, but… Maybe I shouldn’t have taken such a big gamble with his life…_ Robin realized, scratching his cheek and grinning apologetically.

“This all seems ludicrously complicated,” Maribelle muttered as she approached and began to heal Chrom’s wounds.

“I’ll explain my master plan later,” Robin chuckled. “After we kill Validar.”

“Good to see you got the hang of that ring,” he added, turning to Virion. “You didn’t have any trouble with it?”

The archer paused from shooting a hail of deadly-accurate arrows at the Risen across the Sanctum long enough to give Robin an annoyed look before returning to his grim task.

“If you do not count teleporting myself face-first into a tree and then into the middle of a lake, then no, I had no problems at all,” he drolled, shooting a continuous stream of arrows. “I told you I had not studied magic since my youth. I am no mage, and yet you forced this task upon me regardless. But I cannot fail, for I am still the archest of archers, after all! Your trust was, as always, well placed my friend!”

“And you are still annoying,” Maribelle snapped, finishing with Chrom and moving on to Robin’s wounds.

“I must find a better position,” Virion said, ignoring Maribelle’s remark and lowering his bow as he peered around at the melee ensuing in the Inner Sanctum.

Almost as an afterthought he tugged the jewelled ring off his hand, tossing it to Robin over his shoulder.

“I believe you will find more use for this than me,” he said casually before racing off to get around the Risen and attack from their flank.

“You planned all of this?” Lucina asked, awed. “All of this?”

Robin took a moment to grin as he felt his strength returning thanks to Maribelle’s healing magic. He’d kept a lot of his plan close to his chest, to the point that even Chrom hadn’t been in on much of it; there would be a lot of explaining to do later, but for now he would bask in their imminent victory. Validar was faltering; his Risen were being slaughtered, thanks in no small part to Basilio and Flavia tearing through them like Stahl at a buffet; they could do this. There was no doubt in Robin’s mind.

“Of course,” he said with a soft smile, reaching out to stroke the princess’ cheek. “I’m a tactician, after all. I’m sorry if we scared you. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Lucina reached up, resting her hand on Robin’s.

“You will definitely be getting a very stern talking to later,” she said, her voice halfway between a laugh and a sob of relief.

“Now who wants to teleport with me right on top of Validar?” Robin asked lightly as the two separated again.

“Me! Me!” Morgan chirped excitedly, throwing her hand in the air.

“By all means, lead the charge,” Chrom laughed, gripping Falchion and turning to face the battle.

“Are you coming?” he asked Lucina.

She nodded as she took hold of Robin’s arm. Morgan reached out, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder. Chrom turned and placed his hand on the tactician’s other shoulder.

“Get back to the others and keep your head down,” Robin said to Maribelle. “This won’t take long. Unless, of course, you want to come with us?”

The noble-born healer scoffed at Robin’s offer, turning her nose up at the suggestion as she smoothed her pink, frilled riding clothes.

“I would not wish to steal the heroic death you all so desperately seem to constantly seek,” she said, obviously trying to hide the smile on her face by turning away.

Robin laughed, channelling his mana through the ring, its bejewelled weight familiar on his hand again after so long. There was a brief moment of disorienting weightlessness before they exploded into the centre of the Risen horde, just in front of Validar. The Deadlord’s face became shocked again as Robin glared up at him.

“Keep the Risen off me!” he shouted, darting forward and drawing his dagger again. “Validar’s mine!”

“Right!” Morgan shouted, throwing the Risen around her off their feet with a wind spell aimed at the ground while Chrom and Lucina wordlessly started hacking at the surprised Risen, clearing a large space around them almost immediately with terrifying precision.

Robin darted forward, shrugging off Validar’s desperate attempts at flux spells as they dissipated against his coat.

With a defiant roar the tactician crashed into the Deadlord, plunging his dagger into the space its black heart was supposed to be in and bringing them tumbling to the ground. He punched out with his empty hand, repeatedly striking the stunned Risen’s face before he drew back, slashing out and cutting Validar’s throat in one smooth motion. A sudden burst of raw magic threw Robin backwards, but he somehow managed to awkwardly land upright as Validar crawled back to his feet.

“Why?” Validar gasped, needing to physically hold his throat closed to talk. “Why would… you squander your birthright? Robin… my… son…”

He was finished; Robin could see it, and Validar knew it. This was just him stalling for time.

“Take your birthright and shove it!” Robin shouted, dashing back into the tall Risen and striking again.

He managed to land three good hits, black blood practically coating his arm when he pulled it away. Validar’s hands reached out as Robin moved to retreat again, but the tactician changed direction suddenly and knocked them aside as he brought his forehead crashing down on the Risen’s nose, kicking out at his knee and dropping the creature to the ground.

“Stay dead this time, _father_ ,” Robin said breathlessly before he lashed out with his dagger.

Screaming with each blow, Robin began hacking at Validar’s neck until the Risen’s head was separated from its body and both finally turned to ash in his hands. As one the Risen faltered, looking around now that their leader was gone. Their reinforcements stopped, too, and the Shepherds made short work of the remaining creatures with the two Feroxi Khans at their head.

“Did… did we do it?” Robin asked, looking around cautiously as the last of Validar-Risen ashes scattered in the chamber. “Did we win? Can I finally relax now?”

“We did it!” Chrom cried, holding Falchion high in celebration as he laughed. “We actually did it! We altered fate!”

Cheering erupted from all of the Shepherds and congratulations began to be passed around, mostly focused on Basilio as he raucously reunited with the others, Flavia at his side the entire time smiling proudly. Morgan sagged, falling to her knees in relief. She glanced up just as a brown blur crashed into her, Yarne practically driving them back across the Sanctum with the force of his hug. Say’ri wasn’t far behind the half-Taguel, racing forward and grabbing both of the younger Shepherds in her own tight embrace as she cast her dignified image she tried so hard to project momentarily away. Chrom was still celebrating as loud as he could while he waded into the Shepherds, leaving Robin to sag himself and run a tired hand through his hair.

“We did it…” he heard muttered from behind him.

Turning he saw Lucina, staring into space with an exhausted smile on her face.

“We actually did it…” she said, swaying a little.

Robin reached out, silently catching her and pulling her close to his chest. She looked up at him as he rested his chin on the top of her head, a smile of his own playing out on his face.

“You may have altered the course of history, but not its destination.”

Lucina pulled back and looked up at Robin in confusion at his cold tone.

“That wasn’t me,” he said, eyes darting about in confusion.

A bright flash of light from yet another teleportation spell in front of the altar caught everyone’s attention. There, standing before the altar and bathed in the blood-red light of the mana still floating above it, was the second Robin with brown hair instead of white.

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” Robin muttered, protectively tightening his hold on Lucina. “How did we forget about this guy? At least we can tell the two of us apart now…”

“You!” Chrom shouted, pushing back through the Shepherds to stand in the open. “What do you mean, Hierophant?”

The man with Robin’s face chuckled, shrugging off the heavy robes to reveal a bare, horribly scarred torso, the same lines that covered the tactician’s body when he lost control actually carved into the Hierophant’s flesh.

“It is written that the Exalt dies here by Robin’s hands!” the other Robin declared, holding his hands up. “Are these not ‘Robin’s hands’?”

The Hierophant gestured, sending an arc of lighting magic directly at Chrom. Robin was already moving, sending his own arc out to cancel the spells out in a spectacular aerial explosion.

“Who are you!?” Robin asked, reluctantly releasing his hold on Lucina.

“I am Robin,” the Hierophant said, his eyes taking on the manic light of madness. “I am the Robin that became the husband of Say’ri, the Robin that became the father of Morgan and the Robin that was chief tactician of Ylisse. I am the Robin that murdered my best friend in cold blood and became the Fell Dragon in the name of destiny! I am what you are meant to be!”

The Hierophant’s hand snapped up, pointing at Lucina.

“When ‘Marth’ chose to come back in time, I came with her,” he laughed, grinning manically as his head lolled to one side.

“Well, I’m not you in this timeline!” Robin said, drawing his dagger and cursing his stupidity for not retrieving his sword sooner. “See? White hair. Much more fashionable.”

The Hierophant let out a sigh, as if a particularly thick student was causing him trouble.

“I can be so daft sometimes,” he chuckled. “It’s really quite simple, actually. I’m still you. The only difference is the decisions we’ve made along the way. Those vivid dreams you have are our memories. We share those memories because we share the same heart. Grima’s heart.”

“So why don’t I have any memories of my own, then?” Robin asked. “Why am I getting them all second-hand from you?”

“Your memory begins the day I entered this world, yes?” the Hierophant asked. “That’s because I intended for us to unite then and there, for me to cast off this worn old shell and become young again. You see, the timeline is wrong here; this day was not supposed to happen for at least another ten years, when I am older and tired. But you… you were young, at the height of our power. I could not resist. In hindsight, it may not have been the best idea I ever had. Your heart was too weak to contain Grima’s power, and the shock wiped your memories clean. Hence our attempts to harden you over the last few years, and I must say they have been quite successful. Even pushing up the war in Valm worked perfectly; Validar was correct to force you to harden your mind by fragmenting it, too. He created the perfect killer; the perfect vessel for Grima.”

The Hierophant began to laugh. “And none too soon! After all, we are on a tight schedule. I had no choice but to step in every now and then to ensure our existence, like resurrecting our fool of a father after his botched assassination attempt of the Exalt.”

“Thank you for answering the mystery of why I don’t have any memories,” Robin said lightly, raising his hand slowly and deliberately. “Now, be a good… me, and die.”

Robin sent an Mjlonir spell arcing out towards the Hierophant, the other man simply brushing it aside to create a great crater in the corner of the Sanctum.

“Now was that really necessary?” the Hierophant asked in a disapproving parental tone. “Really. I was such a hot-head in my youth. This is making me feel nostalgic.”

“Gods I’m annoying,” Robin groaned, looking to Chrom. “How exactly do you put up with me?”

The Hierophant laughed at the stunned expression on Chrom’s face before turning back to Robin.

“Well, as fun as it is trying to provoke each other, we may as well skip to the part where you become Grima and kill everyone.”

“Pass,” Robin said without skipping a beat.

“Come now, young-me,” the Hierophant chided. “We have only to accept Grima’s power and we can become as one. We can reclaim your memories and my glory, and we-”

“Yeah, I’ma stop you right there and just let you know, old-me, that I’ve already had this conversation with myself once in this timeline,” Robin said, turning away from the Hierophant. “Pass. Now leave or die. Your choice. Personally, I want you to choose ‘die’. I had enough scars without you carving yourself up like a big ugly turkey, and it’s kinda gross to look at.”

Silence reigned in the Sanctum for a moment that seemed to last an age, the Shepherds collectively holding their breath until one of the Robins spoke.

“Strange. You were supposed to choose godhood over your pathetic band of servants,” the Hierophant said softly as if trying to make sense of events, reaching up and stroking his chin in a very ‘Robin’ motion. “Perhaps I was a little too hands-off as a guide for you… Ah, well. I suppose if you will not claim the sacrifice laid out to you at the Dragon’s Table…”

Robin decided he had had enough, spinning with his dagger in his hand as he prepared to throw it into the Hierophant’s heart with everything he had.

“I shall relieve my own glory days and claim it for myself!” the Hierophant announced, climbing backwards up onto the altar.

Robin faltered, cursing and sheathing his dagger as the red mana began to fall down on the Hierophant like raindrops, disappearing into his scarred flesh as the lines began to writhe and pulse beneath his skin, his eyes starting to shine with the same red luminescence that the fading red mana-orb had.

“Oh boy, this day just goes from bad to worse,” Robin muttered under his breath, darting out to grab Sol where he had dropped it before running back to the Shepherds.

“Run! Run away!” he shouted as the ground started to shake. “Aren’t you lot listening!? We’ve lost! Go! Move!”

“Make for the entrance!” Chrom shouted, catching on and whipping the Shepherds into an explosion of desperate motion. “Move! For the love of Naga, run!”

The shaking intensified, dust beginning to rain down from the roof as the stones above the stones were dislodged. A few of the Shepherds stumbled, the others righting them and continuing to run.

“Ah, this brings me back!” the Hierophant laughed. “The Fell Dragon and I are one again! And though my journey through time has diminished my power, I claim this offering as my own!”

An intense purple light began to shine behind the Shepherds as they ran, the Hierophant’s laughter following them the whole way out of the Temple.

“I. Am. Grima!” the Hierophant declared, his voice taking on a distinct otherworldliness.

*

Up in the galleries, staring down at the altar as he leaned heavily against the stone railing, Adri let out a sad sigh. All around him the Dark Mages had collapsed from the strain of harvesting so much life-energy and maintaining the barrier and the mana-orb for so long, many having suffered strokes or aneurisms and simply dropped dead on the spot. The strongest of them were still too drained to escape the destruction of the temple as the ceiling began to cave in on them. With one last glance at his niece as she escaped alongside the Ylissean tactician he smiled, the dark purple light from the Fell Dragon’s Awakening blinding him.

“Best of luck, Shepherds,” he managed to whisper before the railing beneath him crumbled and he fell into the dark light.

*

“Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap, oh crap,” Robin chanted as he ran, practically dragging an exhausted Tharja with him as they exited the temple.

Chrom and Lucina were just ahead of them, the other Shepherds spread out across the road.

“Make for the camp!” Chrom shouted. “Go! Watch each-other’s backs and run!”

Robin and Tharja spun, coming to a halt and watching as a torrent of fell magic shot into the dark and cloudy sky, lightning beginning to strike all around the temple. Chrom tackled Lucina out of the path of one bolt, both of the Ylissean royals rolling safely out of danger as the other Shepherds heedlessly raced into the distance.

“This is bad, isn’t it?” Robin muttered, staring up into the clouds as the torrent stopped.

“It is the end…” Tharja muttered, despair creeping into her voice. “It’s him… it’s Grima…”

Grima’s gargantuan form descended through the clouds, his wingspan blocking out the skies as he landed, his massive fore-claw crushing the Dragon’s Table Temple. A set of six baleful red, draconian eyes glared out across the land as his great horned head turned to survey his surroundings. Lifting his head high, Grima let out a horrible cry, the very earth shaking beneath the Shepherds’ feet.

“Run away!” Robin shouted, lifting Tharja up and physically carrying the exhausted mage from the destruction of the Temple.

“It’s him…” Lucina breathed as Chrom dragged her to her feet. “It’s the demon that destroyed my world…”

“Grima has returned!” she cried before Chrom dragged her away.


	60. Chapter 60

 “Get the wounded into the tents!” Mustafa roared above the howling rain. “I want half of the men not assisting the wounded report to Captain Algol for orders looking for civilian survivors in the dunes! The rest of you take up positions around the camp and prepare for immediate departure! Move, damn you! Pack up everything that’s not tied down!”

The big man wiped the rainwater out of his eyes, glaring around at the black-armoured men scurrying to follow his instructions. In the last hour he had seen the size of his force almost triple after the Grimleal soldiers all suddenly came to their senses, throwing down their weapons and begging forgiveness, claiming that they had no control over themselves. Considering the spells he had tried to stop Validar from casting over the entire nation, he was inclined to believe the Grimleal. Half of them had apparently simultaneously committed suicide along with the civilians, too, if the scattered reports were to be believed. Validar’s spell had been far-reaching indeed, if he’d even targeted his own soldiers. Even some of Algol’s Honour Guard had been affected by the spell, too; nearly half of them had been set upon by tremendous migraines, and some of the Guard that had accompanied Validar from the capital had been among the number that had lost their lives to the sorcerer’s spell.

“You!” he shouted to the first junior officer he spotted. “Find whatever horses you can and start sending riders out to every village you can! I want to know just how far-reaching Validar’s damnable spell was!”

The officer sped off with a rushed “yes sir,” leaving Mustafa standing in the press of rushing soldiers reminding himself that he really only wanted to know just how many villages he’d been unable to save. He and Adri had been so thorough, checking every tiny speck on the map and every inch of the buildings…

“They’re here!” someone called out towards the rear of the camp. “The Shepherds are back!”

Mustafa shoved the nihilistic thoughts to the back of his mind as he shoved through the press of soldiers, shouldering his way through a particularly crowded area and coming alongside Algol.

“Don’t you lot have orders!?” the Guard Captain was shouting, a frown on his face as rainwater pattered off his balding pate. “Get to it! Disperse, damn you all! Disperse!”

Reluctantly most of the soldiers began to return to their assigned tasks, but many more still lingered.

“It’s a far-cry from working with the Royal Guard,” the balding man grumbled when he noticed Mustafa next to him. “They actually follow orders, not like these bloody conscripts.”

“They are farmers and merchants, old friend, not soldiers,” Mustafa reminded him.

Algol humphed dismissively, the Guard Captain crossing his arms and looking into the rain-drenched desert in the direction of the Dragon’s Table Plateau where the forms of the first Shepherds were beginning to materialize out of the gloom.

Silhouettes drew closer, separating and becoming individuals trudging back and swaying in exhaustion.

“Prepare tents for the Shepherds!” Mustafa began roaring over the clamour of the camp. “Top priority! I want dry spaces for the Ylisseans and fires lit to dry their clothes! Algol, I entrust their wounded to you.”

The last of the lingering Plegian soldiers jumped to do as their General commanded, hurrying to empty out the Grimleal tents and ensure that fires were started.

“Ylisseans!” the Guard Captain called out once the Shepherds drew closer. “Bring your wounded and follow me! The medical tent is this way! Hurry now, damn your eyes! Get them out of the rain!”

A few of the Shepherds split off from the rest, two being carried while another leaned on the golden-haired priest drunkenly.

Exalt Chrom stepped forward out of the press of bodies, the other Ylissean warriors separating around them as the Plegians led them to the free tents.

“We have a prisoner,” the Exalt said simply.

Mustafa nodded, motioning forward two of Algol’s Royal Guards. Chrom repeated the motion, two of his own knights stepping forward with, to Mustafa’s astonishment, Lady Aversa tied and bound between them. The two knights wordlessly followed the Royal Guards.

“What happened?” Mustafa asked, leaning in low to the Exalt.

Chrom looked up, heedless of the rainwater running down his face. The Exalt had a haunted look in his eyes, his pale and exhausted face a mask of pain and despair.

“We lost,” he said simply, before stepping around the General and following the rest of his men.

*

Robin didn’t even bother changing out of his sodden clothes before he jumped straight back into work, taking the initiative and standing at the desk of whatever Grimleal officer had been in charge before Algol had taken the camp, leaning over the map on top of it with a gaggle of Plegian messengers waiting for his orders on the other side of it. Morgan was at his shoulder, refusing to leave despite being exhausted to the point of swaying back and forth on her feet.

Outside it was almost pitch black because of the rain and cloud-cover; one could be forgiven for mistaking what was supposed to be late afternoon for midnight in the wet gloom outside the comparative warmth of Robin’s appropriated tent.

“Mustafa’s already checking collateral damage in the nearby villages?” he asked in a hollow tone.

“Yes sir,” one of the messengers responded instantly.

The tactician nodded, the gears turning in his head.

“Listen very carefully,” he said, looking up with cold eyes at the messengers. “The orders I am about to give and how well you five carry them out may well be the difference between our very race surviving and the end of the world as we know it, and I’m not over-exaggerating to make a point.”

The only sound that could be heard in the tent now was the rain falling on the canvas roof and the crackling of the open brazier in the corner.

“You,” Robin said, pointing to the lightest looking one. “On behalf of the Khans of both East and West Regna Ferox you are to ride to the colosseum and rally their armies. Speak to none but the woman named Raimi, and tell her Robin said that ‘she had best get her frigid arse in gear’. If she hits you in response you have permission to return that message to me. Take five of the Royal Guard with you, stop for nothing. I don’t care if it kills you and your mounts both; you get that message to Regna Ferox in less than twenty-four hours.”

“Sir!” the messenger shouted, saluting with his fist over his heart before dashing out of the tent.

“You,” Robin said, turning to the next man and holding up two envelopes. “Go to Jagen, in the east of Ylisse. Take this letter, give it to either Captain Seth or the Duchess, I don’t care. This other one is a letter of safe conduct bearing the Exalt’s seal; it’ll get you past any and all Ylissean patrols or checkpoints. Go as fast as you can. Take another five Royal Guard with you.”

“Sir!” the messenger nodded, saluting in the same way the other one had before reaching out for the envelopes and disappearing from the tent.

“You, and you,” Robin said, turning to the other two men and holding up two more letters. “These are to go to Themis and Ylisstol. Same orders, but with those two towns it will be easier to just get yourselves captured by the guards. In Themis find either Sir Kellam or Duke Roark. In Ylisstol… well, it doesn’t really matter with Ylisstol. There are plenty of important people there to deliver this message to. You’ll both have better luck on your own, but travel to the border with the man going to Jagen just to be sure. Understood?”

Two of the messengers saluted, their fists banging on their light black chest-plates before they grabbed the envelopes and sped off into the pouring rain.

Robin turned to the last messenger, sighing.

“You, go west to the coast. Charter the smallest, fastest boat you can find and sail to Valm.”

“To… to Valm, milord?” the messenger repeated, his eyes widening a little and his thin moustache drooping. “That will take months!”

Robin nodded, sighing again as he held up a thick scroll.

“Your task isn’t to go for reinforcements,” Robin said sadly. “You are to bring this warning to General Keiji of Chon’sin. Should we fail, it will fall to the Valmese to continue the fight. This is probably the most important of the tasks I have to give, but I won’t force you to go.”

The messenger snapped to attention and saluted smartly.

“I swear it will be done, milord,” he said, taking the scroll and running into the night.

Robin groaned and sank back into one of the chairs at the table, Morgan silently doing the same.

“Did you see the way they were saluting?” he chuckled after a moment, staring up at the canvas roof dejectedly.

Morgan nodded silently.

“That’s the salute they reserve for the King,” Robin chuckled ruefully. “Damn. I was hoping to avoid this. Without Validar around I guess I’m in charge.”

“What?” Morgan asked, suddenly awake again as she bolted upright in her chair.

“C’mon,” Robin sighed, standing slowly and making his way to the tent’s entrance. “We should go and make sure Chrom hasn’t broken anything. And on the way you can help me come up with a plan to get out of being a monarch. I think Validar cheated to get that position, anyway.”

“King?” Morgan repeated as she followed her father. “You? Does this make me a double-princess now?”

They both stopped just before stepping out into the rain and the older tactician laughed, reaching over his daughter’s shoulder to pull her hood over her eyes before ruffling her hair through the thick fabric.

“Sure, honey,” he said softly. “Whatever makes you happy.”

*

As the two tacticians raced through the camp Robin realised that the Plegian forces had increased while he hadn’t been looking; no doubt they had gone and integrated the surviving Grimleal now that Validar was dead and his crazy mind-control schemes were gone.

Most of them gave him a wide berth the way they did the rest of the Shepherds; after all, with his hood up he was just another Ylissean soldier, but every time he passed a member of the Royal Guard they would stop and salute with the same fist-over-heart gesture that was beginning to become more commonplace. Each time he nodded in return more and more of the conscripts would take note and begin saluting, too.

He let out a sigh as he finally neared the tent that Chrom had decided to use, and obviously an important meeting had already begun inside. At least that’s the way it seemed considering the volume of the voices within. The guard’s snapped to attention as Robin passed, brushing through the thick, waterproof canvas and slipping his hood off his head.

“Orders are sent,” he said above the clamour of the tent. “In twenty-four hours everyone will know we failed.”

“We haven’t failed yet!” Chrom snapped, barely looking up from the map he was studying.

Along with Chrom, Basilio, Flavia and Mustafa were all huddled in the tent and, judging from the bald West-Khan’s red face, arguing over what to do next.

“He’s right, dammit,” Basilio growled. “It isn’t over ‘til we’re all in the dirt.”

“So what exactly do we do about it, then?” Mustafa asked irritatedly. “Grima is currently flying above _my_ nation; therefore wouldn’t logic dictate we worry about-”

“I think you mean ‘what’s left’ of your nation,” Flavia said disinterestedly as she studied the map with Chrom. “From what we heard back at the Temple, there isn’t that much of it left now anyway.”

Mustafa’s face went red, a vein in his brow twitching at Flavia’s careless words.

“Make no mistake,” the East Khan said quietly to placate the General’s rage. “This falls squarely on our shoulders for not being able to stop him.”

Mustafa faltered at this unexpected admission.

“She’s right,” Chrom sighed, finally looking up. “We were supposed to save the world; all of it. Not just Ylisse and Regna Ferox. I’m deeply sorry for your loss, General.”

“Okay, enough handing out blame,” Robin growled. “Now that Basilio’s got the idea in my head I’m not about to give up. Mustafa, what are your men telling the survivors?”

The big general blinked a few times before answering.

“We are telling them to hunker down and weather the storm; go about their daily lives as best they can-”

“Not good enough,” Robin said, cutting him off and crossing his arms. “Chrom, how is Ylisse poised to deal with refugees?”

 “We have the supplies, of course,” the Exalt said hesitantly. “But what we lack is the space.”

“It is still a few months before winter sets in,” Basilio said with a sour look on his face. “I suppose Western Regna Ferox could house a great number of refugees if we had the supplies.”

“Problem solved,” Robin said. “Send the Plegian civvies north and what’s left of the army to Ylisstol. Now we need to start deploying the Ylissean-”

“You can’t honestly expect the people of Plegia to flee just like that!” Mustafa said in an astonished tone.

“If they don’t then they will die!” Robin snapped angrily as what little composure he had left disintegrated. “Houses can be rebuilt and possessions replaced, but if these people die then Plegia dies too! Don’t you get it!? We do not have enough men to defend three whole nations! I can’t even move soldiers from Regna Ferox right now after the Valm Campaign’s losses, so I have the equivalent army of one single nation to work with in defeating an unstoppable horde of undead monsters, so if I say make my life easier and send the civilians north you get your bald arse out in the rain and _you send your rutting civilians north_!”

Mustafa stared dumbstruck at the tactician as he breathed heavily, Robin clenching his fists as his rant finished. He’d been on the edge for a while, now; this wasn’t what he needed. He needed people to listen to him for once, to just follow his freaking plans so that he didn’t have to worry about-

“Robin, we’re all under a lot of stress-” Chrom started calmly after a tense moment before the other man spun.

“You don’t get it!” Robin shouted. “My plans failed and the world is paying for it now! How much blood is on my hands!? An entire nation’s! Thousands of lives, snuffed out in an instant because I didn’t predict my own _father’s_ madness had progressed so far! How much more is going to be added before this is over!? You’re the one that gave me this job, so shut the hell up and let me do it!”

“Dad, that’s enough!” Morgan shouted, grabbing Robin’s shoulder and spinning him around. “What was the first thing you taught me!? We can’t save everyone!”

Robin blinked, Morgan’s words overlapping with something someone else had told him a long time ago.

_“Robin, I’m sorry, but you know we can’t save everyone!”_

“The girl is right,” Mustafa said quietly. “I forgot myself, Robin. This is all… a lot to take in. I will send messengers out the second we are done here.”

“And what’s all this ‘no soldiers from Regna Ferox’ business?” Flavia asked, a strained smile on her face. “Half of our forces were already leaving for Ylisstol when Ruffles came to find us.”

“What’s the point of having a tactician…” Robin muttered, stopping himself halfway.

“Actually, I can make that work,” Robin said mostly to himself.

“See?” Flavia said, punching him in the arm. “Cheer up a little and share the load. We’re all in this together, right?”

“She has a point, Robin,” Chrom said, indicating the chairs around his table. “We’re all responsible for this mess; we all need to work our way out of it. Ylisse, Plegia and Regna Ferox all.”

With a sigh Robin let himself fall into a chair, kicking one out towards Morgan.

“Then let’s get to work,” he said as the others all took their own seats. “Before I forget, Basilio please give Chrom Gules. Don’t let me stomp on this one.”

The big Khan grinned, fishing the small gemstone out of his deepest pocket and holding it out to Chrom, the glinting smooth surface of the gem reflecting the dull light and looking tiny in Basilio’s enormous hand.

“So you had it all along,” Chrom muttered, taking the gemstone and slotting it into the Fire Emblem. “I’ll admit, Robin, that I nearly had a heart attack when you stomped on that gemstone on the altar.”

“Hey, they were spying on us,” Robin shrugged. “Who better to hide something than a dead-man?”

“Yeah, a dead-man that missed out on a hot-springs vacation,” Basilio grunted, crossing his arms. “The way Flavia talks about it you’d think that I missed the second coming of Naga.”

“It was a great trip,” the other Khan chuckled. “We even got to kill a lot of Risen. That just tied the whole thing together for us.”

“You and I remember that trip very differently,” Robin deadpanned, frowning at Flavia.

“Oh, I’ll just bet I do,” Flavia said, her voice dropping as she grinned and waggled her eyebrows suggestively at the tactician before turning and winking at Chrom.

“As much fun as this reminiscing is, perhaps we had best focus on the matter at hand?” Mustafa said after clearing his throat to get everyone’s attention.

“I know you’re new to the little planning-circle, so I’ll let you in on a secret,” Flavia said, still grinning. “You can’t force these things. With War Councils always comes a certain level of banter. Best to just get used to it now.”

“You know, she’s actually right,” Robin muttered to Chrom as Flavia and Basilio burst into laughter.

“Yes, it’s a source of never-ending frustration for me that I have simply gotten used to over the years,” the Exalt deadpanned, rolling his eyes as Robin and the two Khans started laughing.

*

Night had well and truly fallen by the time Robin stepped back out into the persistent rain, Morgan still hovering at his shoulder even though the meeting had ended.

“Morgan, go and find a cot before you collapse and I have to find one for you,” Robin said as kindly as he could.

“Still have work to do,” she muttered in response, completely oblivious to the shadow looming over her from behind.

Robin sighed, supressing a grin.

“Okay, just remember you asked for this. Khan Basilio, as your new tactician I hereby order you to ‘escort’ Grandmaster Morgan to the closest free cot and ensure she remains in it.”

“Of course, ‘tactician’,” the looming shadow said in a deep, mirthful tone.

Morgan’s eyes went wide beneath her hood a moment before she was hauled up and thrown over a laughing Basilio’s shoulder, the big man continuing to laugh as he carried her weakly struggling form away to where the other Shepherds were resting.

“Remember! Staff meeting first thing in the morning!” Robin called after them, to which Basilio simply waved over his free shoulder and Morgan gave another half-hearted squirm.

“Daaaaaaad! This isn’t fair! Khan Flavia, save me!” Morgan howled weakly.

“Such a slave-driver,” Flavia chuckled, coming up alongside Robin. “Barely in charge for fifteen minutes and already giving orders to the new recruits… You know, that girl is just as stubborn as her father is.”

“Yeah, and I’m still trying to figure out if that’s a good or a bad thing,” Robin laughed back as they started walking after the other two.

Flavia strode alongside Robin in her usual clothes, the strong Feroxi woman all but ignoring the icy rain falling on them and running down her red and silver armour. Chrom and Mustafa were still in the tent, the Exalt offering to allay the General’s concerns over the supplies coming in from Ylisse by going over exactly what the refugees would need.

“How do you keep such high spirits?” Robin asked after a moment. “The world is on the brink of destruction, and-”

“And what good would be worrying over it do?” Flavia cut him off. “Robin, you’re all so young, yet you’re all so doom-and-gloom constantly. If I’m going to die it’s going to be with a smile on my face and my sword in my hand. I don’t care if that death comes from some no-name bandit or from the Dark Dragon himself. If you fight your hardest, that should be enough. And I have a secret weapon, too. You can have one if you want.”

Robin nodded slowly, hesitantly taking the bottle Flavia was offering him. It was another bottle of that potent Feroxi Ale that they had shared back in Valm.

“Besides, I basically gave you all the responsibility for this shit-storm back in that tent, so what have I got to be gloomy about?” Flavia laughed, slapping the tactician on the back so hard he stumbled and nearly dropped the ale bottle.

“I wonder where Lucina is,” Robin said to himself, refusing to acknowledge what the Khan had just said.

“You must be tired,” Flavia laughed, giving him a light shove. “You’re thinking out loud now.”

Robin blushed a little as he slowed, Flavia throwing back her head and laughing as she continued to walk.

“Just look and I’m sure you’ll find her no problem,” Flavia said over her shoulder as she walked away from Robin. “Start with the mess tent! You look hungry!”

The tactician watched the tall woman go, scratching the back of his head through his hood and letting the torrential rain simply wash off his magically water-proof coat.

“Sure,” he muttered, turning and walking into the forest of tents off the main path. “But I have some other stops to make first.”

*

The first thing that Robin noticed when he walked into the medical tent was the familiar smell of blood and antiseptic vulenaries. The tent was uniformly well-lit, and with the exception of the white-robed Libra and the ever-pink Maribelle, everyone within was wearing black. The dark-robed Brady and the other two Ylissean healers were working side-by-side with the surviving Plegian Dark Mages, who were apparently the healers in the desert country. A few of them looked up and nodded respectfully as Robin carefully picked his way through the neat rows of cots in the quiet space, but the majority just focused on their work. Apart from the occasional moan from wounded soldiers and the hammering rain on the canvas roof, the tent was mostly silent.

The Plegian Royal Guard Captain Algol looked up from the corner as he noticed the tactician, water droplets still holding doggedly to his armour as he checked casualty reports. The balding man silently offered Robin a respectful nod before he went back to checking the reports.

Robin stopped at one of the cots near the corner, a familiar white-haired form laying shirtless on the stretched canvas while Tharja sat next to him, slowly and gently cleaning him with a cloth. Sitting on the back of her chair, watching Henry with what approximated a worried look on its face was Huginn the raven, cawing softly in alarm every time the Dark Mage groaned.

“How’s Henry doing?” Robin asked in a low voice.

“He’s alive,” Tharja answered woodenly.

“He’s still out cold,” a light voice said from behind Robin. “He’ll live for now, but he keeps losing blood at a steady rate. We need to do something about those wounds quickly.”

The tactician spun, coming face to face with someone he never really expected to see holding a staff.

“Cynthia?” he asked, looking curiously at the blue-haired Pegasus Knight and the staff in her hands. “What are you doing in here?”

Cynthia wasn’t wearing her armour, instead standing in her boots and tan riding clothes while she cared for the wounded as best as her limited skills would allow.

“All Pegasus Knights a trained as low-level clerics, so the Wing Commander sent me here to help out some,” she huffed, leaning the short healing staff against one shoulder. “Even in the future that doesn’t change. It’s not as heroic as swooping and diving on the front lines, but mother always said ‘if you’re going to do something, do it right’.”

“I never imagined you as a cleric,” Robin snickered, leaning down to take a closer look at Henry’s wounds.

He carefully peeled the bandages back from the mage’s torso, realizing that his skin was so pale it was almost translucent. Robin sucked in a breath when he saw the extent of the other man’s injuries; great gashes all along his chest, the edges beginning to turn black from the curse that was afflicting him as the flesh began to necrotise. It wouldn’t look this way if it had happened that afternoon…

“How long has he been wounded?” Robin asked bluntly.

“Since Ylisstol,” Tharja said quietly, not even trying to hide the fact.

“Which one did it?” Robin asked, gently prodding at one of Henry’s wounds.

He already knew the answer, just from touching it; all of the Deadlords somehow felt different to him, no doubt another side-effect of his future-self summoning them, and these injuries had obviously come from Simia.

“The sword-wielding one,” Tharja replied.

Robin nodded. “I thought so. From the look of things he’s getting worse. Dammit… I wish I knew if Panne had begun to recover or not…”

“Why?” Cynthia asked curiously, tilting her head to one side the way her mother and sister did when they asked a question.

“Because then I’d know if killing the Deadlord lifted the curse,” Robin explained in a tired voice. “Quite often that’s how curses work; even a dunce like me knows that. But with all this Grima stuff hanging over us…”

A soft shuffling made Robin look up to where Libra was approaching them, looking almost angelic with his platinum blonde hair and white robes against the backdrop of black armour and dark cloaks.

“That is the case,” he said in his soft, sing-song voice.

“How do you know?” Tharja snapped, still looking down at Henry.

“Because my wounds are beginning to close,” the priest said with a slight smile, tugging at the collar of his robe to show off the bandages wrapped around his shoulder. “They are not healing as fast as normal, but they are healing.”

“So we just have to find the creature that wounded him and put it out of its misery!” Cynthia said excitedly.

“I doubt we’ll have to look hard,” Robin muttered, hand on his chin. “Grima’s probably going to throw everything he’s got at us now, the surviving Deadlords included. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it; what are we going to do about Henry in the meantime?”

“I’d appreciate a nice human sacrifice,” the mage in question mumbled from beneath them. “Maybe a little blood-offering…”

He snickered a little, his laughter turning into a fit of coughing as Tharja held him down to the cot.

“Noire is fetching my hexing tools,” Tharja said. “I will figure something out to stall the curse.”

“I’ll help!” Cynthia said quickly. “Having some healing magic running through him might at least make him feel better.”

Robin nodded, realizing he wasn’t needed there any longer; all of the other wounded Shepherds besides the healers were already either in the mess tent or asleep. Before he turned to leave he put a comforting hand on Tharja’s shoulder, the Dark Mage tensing momentarily before sighing and looking up at him with a tired, thankful smile on her face.

“I saw that!” Henry chuckled weakly. “Keep your dirty tactician hands off my lovely death-blossom, cur!”

“You must be delirious from pain,” Tharja said softly, her smile growing a little, prodding the other mage in the side lightly.

Robin grinned a little to himself as he threaded between the cots full of wounded Plegian soldiers on his way out of the tent. As he reached the entrance he ran into Noire, arms laden with her mother’s hexing tools. He gave the startled girl a little smile, which she returned before brushing by him and hurrying to her parents’ side.

Gone was the hollow, haunted look on the archer’s face, replaced with the same timid determination she usually wore. Well, the determined look she wore when the switch hadn’t flipped and she was acting like Tharja on one of Gregor’s secret potions, anyway. Cynthia was already working, too, her face scrunched up in concentration as she channelled healing magics through the staff in her hands.

_I guess… they’re okay,_ Robin realized as he watched the two girls.

He’d been worried that the revival of Grima would be a little more traumatizing for the future children. So far Morgan had worked herself to the brink of exhaustion with him in a slightly more subdued fashion than she usually did, Cynthia was calmly helping out with the medics instead of running around and trying to smite everything that moved, and Noire was confidently assisting her mother with her work.

The tactician stopped, eyes widening as he glanced back into the tent.

_Crap,_ he realized. _They’re at breaking point, aren’t they?_

*

Owain leaned back against the small camp table, arms crossed and looking at the ground. He was bored, but he had an important duty to carry out; namely, the older woman sitting across from him doing her upmost to ignore him.

Aversa, the sour-faced, tan-skinned woman that was apparently Robin’s sister somehow, hadn’t said a word since she had spilled all of Validar’s secrets to the tactician earlier in the afternoon, shuffling along silently in front of him while they had trudged back to the liberated Grimleal camp with the wounded, before the knights had taken over her detention to give him a break when the others had caught up.

Owain had heard the stories, growing up, about what she and Mad King Gangrel had done to Ylisse; it had been Robin’s first big campaign with the Shepherds, so of course it had been one of their favoured bed-time stories. But the quiet, subdued and defeated woman was a far-cry from the confident and beautiful witch from the old stories he’d heard. It was almost disappointing in a way to see one of the villains he and the others had ‘slain’ as children in their imaginations so broken-down.

The young blonde man looked up as the tent flaps were drawn back and Robin stepped in, brushing the raindrops off the shoulders of his coat and frowning. Under one arm he was holding a basket, one of the small wicker ones that they used to transport food to the Shepherds on guard duty so they wouldn’t miss dinner at the mess tent.

“Owain, go and find Frederick,” the tactician said in a low tone. “You missed quite a bit and he’ll get you caught up. Then go and get something to eat. I need some time alone to talk to my ‘sister’.”

“Master?” he asked curiously, standing up. “What’s happened?”

Both men turned to face the prisoner sitting with her head bowed as she started to laugh softly; the first sounds Owain had heard her make.

“Oh? You have the younger ones calling you ‘master’, do you ‘brother’?” Aversa practically whispered. “That seems almost tyrannical, and yet I’m the one sitting here in chains.”

“They’re ropes, not chains,” Robin said without missing a beat. “Stop being so over-dramatic. Owain. Beat it.”

“Yes, Robin,” he said quickly, exiting the tent as fast as he could.

The tension in the small tent’s air was so thick if Owain had drawn his sword he could have cut it; the last thing he needed was to get in the middle of any family drama.

As he stepped out into the rain Owain realised that he had absolutely no idea where Frederick was. He knew the general idea of where the Shepherds’ tents had been set up, but he had already been guarding Aversa when the others had returned.

He had no idea what had happened at the Dragon’s Table. He just assumed that, seeing as everyone had come back alive, they had won. But… he’d never seen Robin looking like that before. His Master had been so serious, so grim. It wasn’t the face of a man that had just experienced victory.

Robin had looked like a man that had just lost.

*

Robin crossed his arms as he stared down at Aversa, setting the basket atop the table and drawing a bottle out of it.

“Want a drink?” he asked, holding it out to her. “It’s Feroxi Ale. I figured you might want something to wash today’s failure away.”

Aversa glanced up at him from beneath her fringe, her head only raising the slightest fraction as she looked at him as if he were stupid.

“Oh please, if I were going to kill you I would have done it at the Dragon’s Table,” Robin said, rolling his eyes and hopping up to sit on the table. “I definitely wouldn’t go through the effort of poisoning you by ruining such beautiful liquor, anyway.”

To prove his point the tactician tore the cork out of the bottle with his teeth and took a swig of the malty brew, the same way that Flavia always did. After a satisfied sigh he held the bottle out again, which Aversa took gingerly and held in her lap with her hands still bound, glaring at it as if it were a snake about to bite her.

“If you’re here to torture me for information I have already told you everything,” she said, leaning back in her chair and looking up at Robin with a haughty sneer.

“I just have some questions,” Robin said, spreading his hands innocently.

“I told you everything I knew, little man,” Aversa repeated in the same level tone.

“C’mon, play nice or I’m taking my fancy ale away,” Robin sighed.

“You may keep your watery barbarian swill,” Aversa scoffed.

“You say that, but you’re holding onto that bottle pretty damn tight.”

Her shoulders went rigid for a moment before she let out a sigh and relaxed, taking a long swig from the bottle in her hands.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” she asked after a moment of silence. “You couldn’t stop him, could you?”

“No, I killed Validar myself,” Robin corrected her. “Did you know he was a Deadlord? I honestly didn’t. And people wonder why I have trust issues when my own father doesn’t let me in on that kind of important information… Wait. Am I a Deadlord? Are you!?”

“This is why I never wanted to talk to you when we were children,” Aversa snapped. “You blabber on about inconsequential things and your point gets lost. I know you failed, I could feel Grima’s revival. I can still feel him.”

“Yeah, that was kinda my bad,” Robin shrugged.

Aversa took another swig from the bottle, making a face at the potent alcohol before glaring up at Robin.

“I know I’m going to regret asking this, but what do you mean by that?”

“Well, the Hierophant is technically me from the future…” Robin mumbled, crossing his arms defensively.

“Oh?” Aversa chuckled. “He finally showed his face again? And the coward even spilled the beans on his identity. So I take it he’s the one flying above Plegia right now, then?”

“Yeah,” Robin sighed, deflating a little.

“You know all he did was give orders and sit beneath the Palace, then in the Sanctum in the Temple,” Aversa laughed, going silent a moment and staring off into space before continuing.

“Now he’s swooped in and claimed all the credit for my hard work? Father was no better. He became obsessed with you the moment that… other showed up at the Temple. I mean more obsessed than before. Ever since mother spirited you off into the night he could think of nothing else.”

“Yeah, I really didn’t get the ‘obsessed’ vibe while he was trying to kill me,” Robin groaned, feeling the bruises beneath his coat.

“From the moment you were born it was all about you,” Aversa snapped, sitting forward on her chair. “It always has been. He chose me, he picked me up out of poverty and trained me as his second, treated me as his daughter for nearly six years before you came along. Then I was less than the dirt he found me in.”

“And that’s my fault how?” Robin asked. “Sheesh. Sorry for being born.”

“Apology accepted,” Aversa said with a sly grin, leaning back again.

Robin groaned, pinching the skin between his eyes as he realised she’d manoeuvred him perfectly into that trap.

“Look,” he said. “Let’s skip the complicated family drama and snarky word-games for now. I just want to ask you some questions about Validar’s plans. Like how far-reaching was the spell he used? Why do I feel like coffee beans have been crammed down my throat? How can we beat Grima now? That’s the kind of stuff I need to know.”

“I gave you information once and now I’m a book you can peruse at your leisure?” Aversa asked, grinning. “I was wounded and delirious from pain when you tortured me before. What makes you think I’d tell you anything now?”

“I see…” Robin nodded, lowering his head as if in deep thought.

“And getting me drunk will not work, either,” the woman added, indicating the bottle in her bound hands.

Aversa went to take another sip and Robin moved, reaching across the space and snatching the ale from her hands just as she was bringing the bottle to her lips.

“Ah-ah-ah!” he chided, waggling the bottle a little before taking another mouthful of his own and sighing contentedly. “Good girls that cooperate get booze and food. Pains-in-my-arse that won’t answer my questions get tepid water and mouldy bread. If I’m feeling generous. Which I’m not. What’s it going to be, ‘sister’?”

She glared up at Robin as he threateningly tilted the bottle in his hand, making as if he were going to tip the ale onto the floor for a moment before Aversa held her hand out expectantly.

“We put the life draining sigils at every single town in Plegia,” she said after Robin handed the bottle back. “We purposely made half of them easy for the resistance to find so they would miss the others. The Capital will be a ghost town, as will most of the port cities. It will be the farming communities and the oasis villages that the traitor Mustafa managed to save. A mere fraction of the populace.”

She took a deep swig from the bottle as Robin silently stared into the corner of the tent.

“You committed genocide,” he said at last in a low voice. “Thousands of people… thousands of our own people…”

“No, Validar committed genocide,” Aversa corrected him. “He just used me to do it. And ‘our’ people now? Have you finally come to terms with being a desert-rat like the rest of us?”

“It’s true weather I like it or not,” Robin snapped. “It’s not the people that are evil, just their rulers.”

“Evil is just a point of view, ‘brother’,” Aversa pointed out.

“Are you really trying to defend the murder of tens of thousands of people?” Robin asked icily.

“No,” Aversa said evenly. “Merely pointing out the flaw of your logic, something I’m glad to see is as satisfying as ever after all these years. The Grimleal are taught from birth that those that worship Naga are the evil ones; that the Ylisseans are foul invaders, and that by resurrecting Grima we are simply defending ourselves.”

“By killing. Thousands. Of innocent people,” Robin said, trying to make his point as clear as possible.

“You really are stuck on that one, aren’t you, little man?” Aversa scoffed. “Revolution is rarely a bloodless affair.”

“However,” she added, holding a forestalling hand up when Robin opened his mouth again. “I agree with you. There had to have been a better way to revive Grima, but father was intent on forcing the revival by using you as a catalyst. I spent years trying to research a way to do it without you, but father was the Hierophant at the time, not me…”

“I see,” Robin said, waiting for her to continue.

“It was a horrible waste, using all of that energy to try and force Grima’s will on someone unwilling,” Aversa went on, pointedly glaring at Robin. “I would have kept the citizens of Plegia alive; once the world found out we were reviving Grima they would have made a nice meat-shield.”

“Just when I was beginning to think you were a decent human being after all you come out with that one,” Robin sighed, momentarily hanging his head. “So then, question two; why do I feel like I just woke up in that field again? Why do I feel so refreshed when I should be practically dead on my feet? I feel like I could go toe-to-toe with Walhart again.”

Aversa took a look at Robin beneath her silver-purple hair before clicking her tongue in annoyance and taking another deep swig of the rapidly emptying bottle. She swayed a little as she lowered the drink, the ale obviously beginning to take effect.

“I have no idea, and that is the truth,” she said in a sour tone. “The best guess I can come up with is that you absorbed some of Grima’s mana by being in such close proximity to his revival.”

“And we stop him how?” Robin asked, leaning forwards and pressing his momentary advantage.

“We?” Aversa snickered. “You may feel free to commit suicide however you please, but I for one am getting as far away from that monster as I possibly can. I am not nearly drunk enough to throw in with your disgusting mercenary group.”

“Hey, you wanted to revive him,” Robin pointed out.

“Yes, and that was before I realised that he was just another iteration of you,” Aversa fired back. “I’m not worshipping my ‘brother’, no matter how powerful or god-like he is. I’d rather spend the rest of my life hiding in a cave on the southern coast and living off fish like a savage.”

“So how do _I_ stop him then?” Robin clarified.

“You? You’re an ant before him,” Aversa said. “The only ones that can stop him are the Exalted bloodline. Go perform an Awakening on the Exalt or something. Pray to and beg Naga for help. It’s not my problem.”

“Grima’s going to destroy everything,” Robin said exasperatedly. “You’re a part of this world, aren’t you?”

“Cave. Coast. Hermit,” Aversa said, motioning randomly with her hands as she talked, balancing the bottle of ale between her knees. “Like I said, feel free to go and get killed. I’ve fought my whole life to live, and I intend to keep living.”

“Fine,” Robin sighed, jumping to his feet. “Wallow in cowardice. I’ll stop Grima on my own.”

“Good luck with that,” Aversa sneered, downing the rest of the bottle and dropping it to the floor.

Robin hesitated before he stepped out of the tent, watching as Aversa stared into the corner with a blank look on her face. As he turned to finally leave she called out to him.

“Are we done now?” she asked.

Robin nodded, taking a step out into the rain and pulling his hood up.

“You’ll be left unguarded tonight,” Robin said, turning to face his ‘sister’ again. “Your hands will remain bound. Feel free to move about the camp, but if you try to escape I won’t show you any mercy. There’s a simple meal in the basket. See you at breakfast.”

“I look forward to it, brother,” Aversa called after him, her mocking laughter following him into the night.

*

Robin sighed, slouching beneath his coat as he stomped through the lake that was forming beneath the camp. Where all the rain was coming from, he had no idea. All he wanted to do was kick off his sodden boots, hang up his coat and crawl into his nice warm bedroll. He could worry about what to do about the whole Grima-thing in the morning; for once he was out of ideas. It would be nice for someone else to come up with a plan for a change, but he’d settle for hearing some suggestions in the morning at the staff meeting.

It irked him that the best option for defeating Grima, having Chrom perform the Awakening and petitioning Naga for help, had been suggested by Aversa.

However, there was one more person he needed to find before he could retire; the one person that would be taking Grima’s revival the hardest; the woman that had moved heaven and earth to try and avoid this outcome. Robin needed to find Lucina and make sure she was okay.

_Why do I always wind up doing this stuff at night?_ He wondered absently as he trudged through the camp and dodged around sullen black-armoured soldiers on guard patrols.

He quickly stuck his hooded head into the tent that had been set aside for her, finding it empty and cold. With a flick of his wrist he lit the brazier in the corner, just to make it more comfortable for her when she did retire, before withdrawing. She had obviously been there; her pack was sitting on the ground, but she was still absent.

His next stop was, as Flavia suggested, the mess tent. He found a few Plegian soldiers still awake and conversing quietly at a table in one corner, and Owain and Severa at the opposite side of the tent. Robin didn’t hesitate, realising how ravenous he was, and grabbed an apple and a small loaf of hard rye bread, the kind that was almost all crust. He started to walk over to where the two young Shepherds were sitting, Owain with his back to him, but stopped when the blonde swordsman said something in a quiet voice that made Severa blush, before reaching across the table and taking her hand in his.

Robin’s jaw almost hit the floor, but he managed to disguise his shock by stuffing his bread into his mouth and walking out of the mess as fast as he could, avoiding eye-contact with Severa as she spotted him.

Both kids were… well, complicated, and he didn’t want to get in their way; it might have been messy if he did. Still, it was nice to see the two getting… closer…

_Holy crap it really is the end of the world,_ Robin thought with wide eyes as he glanced back over his shoulder at the mess tent.

Severa and Owain were constantly at each other’s throats. Well, Severa was at Owain’s throat; Owain was too oblivious to realise how much he annoyed her. That they were getting cozy together…

_What next?_ Robin wondered as he doggedly chewed on his leather-like bread, trying to force it down while ignoring the rain still falling.

_Is Yarne going to come up to me and demand I put him on the front lines? Is Gerome going to go skipping through the camp without his mask and a smile on his face!? Oh gods if Kjelle starts wearing a dress I will have a heart-attack. I need to find Lucina before I freak out._

Robin came to a stop in roughly the central area that the Shepherds were using, spinning slowly and thinking to himself.

_Think, Robin. She wasn’t in her tent, but she’d been there. She wasn’t in the mess tent, but she’s still somewhere in the camp. After the day we’ve had she would be in the…_

His eyes stopped on one of the larger tents as a gust of wind blew the canvas about, letting a small flash of light from an oil lamp escape beneath the loosely secured tent.

_She’d be in the armoury_ , Robin thought, satisfied at his deduction as he stuffed the last of his bread into his mouth and pocketed his apple.

Sure enough, as Robin stepped out of the rain he caught a glimpse of blue hair bent over a crate of arrows in the dim lamplight.

“Little late to be doing a stocktake,” Robin said wryly as he crossed his arms and sunk to a hip.

“I am preparing these weapons,” Lucina said without looking up, barely pausing. “The Plegians seem to not understand the meaning of the word maintenance.”

“Well, the ones that were in this camp were conscripts,” Robin pointed out, slowly approaching.

Lucina stopped after she lifted the crate of arrows on top of another, apparently done with it. She turned and looked at Robin, a fierce look on her face.

“I know what you’re going to say,” she said as he stopped in front of her. “You’re going to say I should be resting. That I should be mentally preparing myself to take on that… monster… but I cannot. I cannot rest while he flies over us and there are-”

“Actually I was going to say it looks like you missed a crate of swords back there,” Robin said lightly, cutting her off as he brushed past her.

“I’ll handle it. Can you start on the axes?” he asked, crouching in front of the wooden box of mismatched short-swords and scabbards. “If we get through this quick enough then we can still get to the storage tent behind the mess and make sure that’s all good to go afterwards. Gah, these swords are so blunt they wouldn’t slice butter. Can you toss me a whetstone please?”

Soft footsteps crossed the space of the tent as Robin began to sort through the swords, attempting to put them in some form of order so he could begin to quickly sharpen them. A light weight settled on his back as Lucina wrapped her arms around his chest, burying her face in his neck for a moment.

“Thank you,” she said in a small voice as Robin reached up to stroke her hair. “I love you, Robin.”

The tactician smiled a little as Lucina rose and dropped a decent whetstone into his hand before going back to where the axes were stacked up.

Robin knew that for her this was cathartic. It was therapeutic. Lucina would be too wound up to rest right now with the revival of the evil she’d come all the way back to the past to stop, so sorting through the weapons and supplies was better than just about anything else Robin could come up with to cheer her up.

He had only been looking for her because he was sure she would have been sitting somewhere and fixating on the day’s events, but this was perfect. All he needed to do was help out and keep her company.

They could both worry about how to kill an ancient god tomorrow. For now, they had an armoury in dire need of cleaning and maintenance.

*

_Robin blinked, turning in a circle to take in the round, domed stone room he was standing in. It was night outside, and there were only a few small candles in various sconces on the walls casting a flickering haze over everything. Outside in the moonlight he could make out the rolling dunes of sand, the whistling wind blowing the grains like sheets across the terrain as he watched absently._

_“What the hell is going on now?” Robin asked himself softly as he took a few steps towards a roughly hewn window._

_“Oh, there you are,” a woman’s voice called out to him._

_The tactician spun, hand dropping for a sword that wasn’t there._

_He just realized he wasn’t even wearing his coat._

_Because the woman smiling at him_ was _wearing it._

_“What’s wrong, honey?” she asked, still smiling as she approached._

_“Er… nothing,” Robin answered warily, unsure why he wasn’t more afraid of her._

_The woman, older than him by at least twenty years, stepped up beside him to gaze out over the moonlit sands._

_“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked in a soft voice, leaning forward to rest her palms on the windowsill._

_Robin nodded in agreement, watching as the stranger’s long brown hair was whipped about in the wind._

_He started momentarily when he realised that she reminded him of Morgan._

_However, unlike Morgan she didn’t have any of Say’ri’s facial traits. She was like Morgan if the girl had inherited nothing but Robin’s genes._

_“I think I’m going to miss this the most,” the woman went on, unaware of or ignoring Robin’s silent contemplation._

_“We need to move again, though. The Grimleal will find this place soon. I’m sorry to do this to you again, honey, but we can’t risk them getting you back.”_

_“I know,” Robin said, blinking a few times when he realised he’d spoken without meaning to. “It’s okay. I’m starting to get used to this, after all. Why don’t we try southern Ylisse this time? Think we can sneak across the border?”_

_Panic momentarily shot through the tactician when he realised he wasn’t in control of his body or speech, but unlike when Validar had done it with his curse Robin didn’t feel the malevolent presence within him. This was… just a dream._

_He glanced back up as the woman started to laugh._

_“Do you really think that anything can stop two master tacticians when they set their mind to something?” the woman answered, chuckling and laying an arm across Robin’s shoulders lovingly._

_“Jeez, you’re freezing,” the woman pointed out after a moment._

_Robin watched with a lump in his throat, unable to cry or even move, as the woman shrugged off the black leather coat she was wearing and wrapped it around his shoulders._

_“Here, this’ll keep you warm,” she said. “Don’t stay up too late. We have to move early.”_

_Robin nodded calmly, but inside he was screaming. This was… this was when he got his coat. This was why it was so important to him. This woman had given it to him before she’d-_

_“Okay,” he said lightly, still unable to control himself. “G’night, mom.”_

_“Good night, Robin,” the woman said as she disappeared into one of the back rooms._

*

Robin groaned, stretching out his neck and rubbing at his shoulder.

He and Lucina had wound up crashing out on the floor of the mess supply tent, where all the miscellaneous goods were being kept after they had sorted through and taken stock of everything; a task Laurent seemed thrilled not to have to do by himself.

Of course, Lucina was fine, standing next to him with her head high and only looking a little sleep-deprived. She had been plenty comfortable, under his coat and using him as a pillow; Robin was the one that had been propped up, cold and wet, against a crate. But such was the sacrifices a tactician made to ensure the wellbeing of his troops…

His dreams were apparently back in full-force now, too. He had no idea what was going on in his head any more, but as long as Validar was dead he was confident that nobody else could control his mind. Besides, now that he knew he was remembering his mother the dreams weren’t so bad. However he had to ask the question; was he remembering his mother, or the other Robin’s mother? It wasn’t important at present, though.

He had met with Chrom and the other leaders, as well as Morgan, Frederick and a number of the Plegian Officers, all of whom were currently sitting around or at the back of the mess tent waiting for him to start the staff-meeting. The future-children were quiet as their parents talked softly amongst themselves, waiting for everyone else to arrive. The last of the Shepherds, Nah practically dragging the taller Laurent into the tent as the mage tried to compile the notes that Robin had made with Lucina the previous evening, entered the tent.

Everyone was present; he could start the meeting now. Which was, admittedly, not something he was looking forward to.

The tactician looked around at the assembled faces. They were all tight and pale, bags under their eyes as they watched him, waiting patiently to hear his new plan while they chatted to pass the time. Unfortunately, for the first time in years, he didn’t have one to give them.

“We’re going to keep this short,” Robin announced, the talking dying down a little. “We need to be ready to move in a few hours, so I’m not going to waste a lot of time explaining the situation. But… first…”

“I’ll do this fast, like ripping off a scab,” Robin said, his expression silencing the room instantly. “Donnel is dead. Anna might be, too. Until we get back to Ylisstol, we won’t know for certain.”

The silence became deafening. Chrom sighed and placed his face in his hands. Flavia and Basilio both looked about ready to throttle something, gripping their sheathed weapons with white knuckles. Frederick just averted his eyes from Robin; the Knight Commander had already had his enraged outburst at the news during the pre-meeting meeting, after all. Morgan gripped Yarne’s hand so hard that the half-Taguel visibly winced. The other Shepherds wore faces ranging the gambit from heartbroken disbelieving to vengefully enraged.

“How?” Sully eventually growled, ending the shocked stillness.

Robin resisted the urge to sigh. From the look of things the first generation of Shepherds weren’t taking the news well; the tent was full of hard eyes and serious frowns, men and women obviously trying to maintain their composure. Mustafa, Algol and the two other Plegian officers lined up at the back kept a respectful silence, waiting for the Shepherds to get past their personal part of the meeting.

“Validar got them on the road,” Robin explained.

“Why were they even on the road at all!?” Sully exploded, rising to her feet and cutting the tactician off. “They were meant to be in Ylisstol!”

“It was part of a counter-insurgency plan!” Robin snapped. “Now are you going to let me explain, or are you going to stand there and yell at me!?”

Sully looked like she was about to reach for her axe, but grit her teeth and sunk back to her seat.

“In fact this will answer the question of Morgan’s sudden appearance at the Dragon’s Temple, too,” Robin went on, meeting everyone’s eyes in turn; it was hard, but they deserved that much from him.

“As you all well know by now, Validar has been specifically targeting me since before Valm because of my connection to Grima. Morgan and I deduced, correctly it would seem, that she would also be targeted if we were separated.”

“Which is why you wanted her to lead us on the field instead of you,” Virion stated, his usual flowery speech forgotten.

“Exactly,” Robin nodded. “Morgan and I planned for the eventuality he would go after her. When he did she spotted him right away and made the correct decision to minimize risk to the civilians and non-combatants in the capital by luring him out on the open road. Donnel and Anna knew what they were getting in for by going with her. I… briefed them on the risk of their involvement myself. To their credit, neither hesitated a moment. Morgan was captured and the same spell that they used used to control me was used on her; she broke free and used the opportunity to undermine Validar at the Dragon’s Table, as well as save Chrom’s life.”

The whole tent remained silent when Robin paused.

“So… why did you have to stab milord?” Frederick asked, crossing his arms.

“To deceive Validar?” Robin shrugged. “To be fair, I was still being controlled at the time.”

“Then how did you know you wouldn’t kill him?” Frederick asked pointedly.

“I saw that moment before,” Robin explained. “In a dream. Turns out that dream is probably one of future-me’s memories, and in it Chrom wasn’t wearing his armour when he- I killed him. So I made sure I stabbed in the thickest part of the armour, and he was kind enough to play along.”

“I’ll have you know you really did stab me,” Chrom pointed out.

“Bah, you cut yourself worse shaving,” Robin replied offhandly.

A few quiet snickers broke out in the tent, mostly from the future-children this time.

“So… you based the future of mankind on a… dream?” Gerome asked quietly, disapproval evident in his tone.

A few of the others made sounds approximating agreement with the dour Wyvern Rider’s question, a few unhappy glares beginning to turn on Robin now.

“In short, yes,” the white-haired man sighed. “However, we now know that they were really memories I was getting second-hand from the evil future-me, so… think of them more like visions. In any event, they were right, right?”

Gerome made a non-comitial sound, still looking far from convinced beneath his mask.

“And Basilio was alive the whole time?” Inigo asked in the ensuing silence, scratching the side of his head through the thick bandages wrapped around it.

“That’s ‘Khan’ Basilio, boy,” the big man grunted from the rear of the tent.

“Yes,” Robin nodded. “I saw the awakening that Validar used to revive Grima in my dream-memory… thing. He had all the gemstones, and I wanted to prevent that from happening. I wasn’t sure how or if he’d get the Fire Emblem, but it wasn’t something I was leaving to chance. I was hoping that we would be able to just walk him into a room and say ‘oh, by the way look who we found out back’ in a few months, but…”

“You guessed right again,” Lon’qu supplied when Robin went silent again.

“You left a lot to chance, though,” Tiki pointed out quietly.

Robin’s response was to shake his head.

“I didn’t leave anything to chance I wasn’t absolutely sure about,” he said.

“Our next course of action is, of course, deciding how to kill Grima,” Robin went on.

His suggestion was met with silence.

“We can mourn Donnel and worry about Anna once we return to Ylisstol,” Chrom said helpfully from the centre of the room. “We need to act now, though, before Grima realises his full power.”

 “Why the lies?” Cordelia asked, echoing the thoughts of all the other Shepherds in the room and ignoring Chrom’s suggestion. “Why the deception? We trusted you, Robin; why couldn’t you trust us?”

The tactician nodded. What she said was true, and the eyes of almost every face staring at him agreed with her.

“Partially to protect you all,” Robin said, spreading his hands wide. “Partially to protect myself. There were a lot of unknowns in the mix until very recently and I didn’t want to make you all excited with things I had no basis for except my feelings or vague dreams; and even if I had wanted to sit everyone down and explain things like this I didn’t have the time once all the pieces started falling into place.”

The tent was silent as everyone registered the extent of the deception Robin had pulled on not just their enemies, but the Shepherds themselves.

“For what it’s worth, I wasn’t happy about keeping so many secrets,” Robin shrugged after a few moments of silence. “But that’s it now. I’m out of plans and we’re back to square one. I… probably should have made some contingency plans in case we found ourselves in this situation, but… I really thought we’d win. Well, we haven’t exactly lost yet, but… yeah.”

He trailed off again, looking around.

“Did I leave anything out?” he asked lightly, desperately trying to change the sullen mood of the tent.

“I think that just about covered all of your plans,” Chrom said in the same tone. “Back onto the matter at hand, does anyone have any suggestions as to what to do now?”

“I’m kinda drawing blanks here,” Robin said apologetically to the crowd. “Anyone at all? Floor’s open.”

“I thought I made clear last night what you should be doing now, little man,” a voice said from the back of the tent, making Robin cringe.

“Anybody _but_ you,” he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Aversa stepped into the mess tent, ignoring the multitude of shocked stares, enraged glares and confused looks as she did so. Her hands were still bound by the thick ropes, but as Robin had promised she was free to move about on her own. And, of course he should have seen her attempts to undermine him coming a mile away.

“Didn’t I say something about performing the Awakening on your Exalt?” She asked, grinning as everyone’s gaze snapped back to Robin. “I can’t see you accomplishing anything until you do that, at the very least…’

“First of all, I was getting to that part. Secondly, I hate you so much,” he growled to the woman across the tent, earning a low chuckle in response.

“You invited me to breakfast,” Aversa said innocently.

“I still hate you,” Robin said flatly.


	61. Chapter 61

On the coast of Plegia, where the torrential rain had yet to hit, a lone figure stood waiting with her arms crossed on a rock that overlooked the sea. The sound of the waves gently lapping at the rocks and the smell of the salt spray did nothing to relax Simia the way she recalled that they had during her life, leaving her to stand bored and look out over the ocean impassively with her glowing red eyes as she waited for the rest of her kind.

Simia, in life, had once been one of the most celebrated swordsmen of her generation. She had never led men, but had always been at the forefront of battle, living a warrior’s life she had been proud to call her own. These memories, though, left her confused; they did nothing to inspire her the way they used to. Instead, lingering on them gave her a strange ache she couldn’t put a name to.

The life she had lived mattered not though; not any more. She couldn’t even remember her old name anymore. She was Simia, Twelfth among the Deadlords, and serving her Lord Grima was all that mattered now.

The grey-skinned woman glanced up as she felt the air stir at her back, momentarily tensing before she relaxed. Slowly and carefully, as if afraid he might fall, Draco scaled the rocks to stand with her.

The sniper had obviously seen better days; his cloak and leathers had a gaping hole in them, puckered, ashen scar-tissue visible beneath where the Ylissean Knight had skewered him in the back. His cyclopean helmet, too, was beaten and scratched, scuffed from his fall and his duel with the interloper-archer.

“Early,” he rasped in surprise when he noticed her waiting there, even though his tone of surprise was hardly different to the one he usually used.

“What else do we have to do right now?” Simia spat, uncrossing her arms and kneading the grip of her sword tensely.

Draco nodded, moving silently to sit on one of the rocks as they waited. She watched his progress with narrowed eyes, resisting the urge to growl as he simply ignored her presence and stared at the ground.

The archer was an enigma to Simia; most of the Deadlords were singular in their purpose, like Tigris or Lepus had been. They were engines of destruction and chaos, roles they relished in as they served their dark master. Even the semi-intelligent ones, such as Mus’ late-second Equus and the majority of the mages, had been little more than collared beasts when it came to fighting.

Only Mus and Anguilla, and now Simia, too, showed signs of any true intelligence they way they had in life. Simia put it simply to the personalities they had fostered during life; Mus had once been a great ruler of a forgotten kingdom, his personality alone his greatest weapon in life had been turned into the marshalling force that had controlled the psychotic urges of the Deadlords and Risen. Anguilla had once been a noted scholar, and notorious for her unbreakable will-power.

But Simia had been nothing special in life; just another soldier; a skilled and highly regarded soldier, but a soldier none-the-less. The question of why, now, she had been developing intelligence bothered her almost as much as the silent sniper sitting not three feet away from where she stood. She was worried what would happen when her master realised she was having these thoughts, but Draco was truly a mystery; he never removed his helm and spoke in mostly monosyllabic sentences. But for all that he displayed a cool rationality that was at odds with the slavering monsters that the rest of the Deadlords had been. It bothered Simia because she couldn’t grasp the depth of the dead man.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the surviving mage Anguilla appeared, materializing out of the dark shadow of an overhanging rock, glowering as she limped into the open.

“You’re late,” Simia pointed out smugly.

The thin mage woman snarled, tossing lank black hair out of her harsh face as she limped closer. Simia noticed for the first time as the mage stepped into the dying light that the right side of her face was rough, the grey flesh torn and the glow in her eye gone; obviously the mage hadn’t been spared damage when she had lost her mount during the fight with the Ylisseans. In fact she was no doubt lucky to be alive after the zeal the Knights had shown destroying the other Riders.

“Mus is not here yet,” she pointed out savagely, faltering a little and catching herself at the last moment. “You do not decide who is late.”

Simia continued grinning as she turned away from the other woman, looking back over the waves.

Right on cue there was a bright flash, all three of the Deadlords turning to face it as Mus stomped out of his teleporting spell’s circle, resplendent and noble as ever in his perfectly polished black armour.

Simia’s eyes widened for a moment when she realised that the armour wasn’t in fact, perfect any longer; a large scratch had been made in the pauldron by one of the blue-haired warriors he had been duelling, and it was scuffed in various places.

Mus followed her surprised gaze, snorting angrily.

“A nuisance for which they will pay,” he promised the swordswoman quietly as he strode by her.

Simia nodded in agreement with her leader; too much blackened blood had been spilled by the Ylisseans now for them to be forgiven. She would laugh and gleefully dance through the ashes as Ylisstol burned to the ground around them.

“We are gathered,” Anguilla spat, obviously failing at supressing her pain and frustration. “What would the master have of us?”

“Wait,” Draco rasped without moving or even looking up.

“Do not presume to order me, archer,” Anguilla snapped. “You are not yet so powerful I cannot-”

“Be silent, sister,” Mus rumbled softly, his voice like the growling of a bear. “He will be here momentarily.”

The mage’s pale face lost a few more shades as her remaining eye widened, her earlier bluster vanishing.

“Him…?” she asked reverently. “The master is… coming here?”

Mus nodded, looking out over the ocean with a neutral look on his face.

Simia felt a shot of dread pass through her. She was about to face their master after having failed him three times; once in Chon’sin, once in Ylisstol, and then again at the Dragon’s Table. Grima was far from a benevolent god, and Simia began to feel an edge of old fear creep into her mind.

“I’m already here,” a tired sounding voice announced as light boots pattered across the rocks.

The three lesser Deadlords spun as Mus slowly turned to glance over his shoulder. Grima’s avatar skipped up to the Deadlords, grinning manically at the Risen as if he were about to share a bag full of sweets with them.

“Thank you all for coming,” Grima announced, clapping his hands. “And more importantly, congratulations on surviving this long against the Shepherds!”

Simia sucked in a sharp breath as she and the other Deadlords fell to one knee.

“Yes, yes, get up already,” Grima groaned. “We don’t have time for this right now, the other-me is already on the move.”

“Milord,” Mus said, the first to regain his feet. “Am I right in assuming you want us to stop him?”

“Close, but not all of you,” Grima said, still grinning. “What I want is for two of you to go to Mount Prism and prevent the Awakening from happening; one Awakening is enough for this tale, and I’ll be damned if I let the Naga-hounds get that close to me again. At the very least I want you to delay it. The other two of you will go to Mount Origin and prepare a welcome for the Shepherds for when the first two inevitably fail.”

“We will not fail you again, lord!” Mus thundered.

“Oh, I highly doubt that,” Grima chuckled, sauntering past the Deadlords to look out over the ocean.

“I mean, this is me we’re talking about here,” he added, clasping his hands behind his back. “It might be a younger, misguided me, but I’m still brilliant a brilliant, wily bastard. As far as I’m concerned, the four of you don’t stand a chance alone, or even with a horde of the masked ones at your back.”

The Deadlords fell silent as their master’s words sunk in. Simia was always put off by how chatty the Avatar was, but he seemed to be in oddly high spirits at present, even going so far as to outright insult them.

“More… Deadlords…” Draco rasped after a few moments of awkward quiet.

“Yes, quick to the point as always,” Grima announced, clapping his hands happily again and rambling on. “I will create more Deadlords, and you will each take one under your wing and watch over them until they are fully realized in this dimension. Mus and Draco will each take two and travel to Mount Origin. Simia and Anguilla will each take one and delay the Ylisseans at Mount Prism; no dying, though. It won’t take more than a few days to actualize the new members of your little club, but we’re short on time and I don’t want to have to expend more energy than I need to making more.”

Simia nodded mutely as Anguilla stepped forward.

“Milord…” she said meekly, turning her face to present her wounds to their master.

Grima turned to glance over his shoulder, clicking his tongue in annoyance when he noticed the mage’s wounds.

“Savages,” he muttered softly, turning and crossing the distance to Anguilla. “I swear… I create perfect beings and this is how they are treated…”

Grima reached up to lovingly caress Anguilla’s ruined face, a soft smile on his lips as the grey flesh knitted and mended wherever his fingers touched. After a few seconds the red light returned to her wounded eye and she sighed in relief, standing straight again as Grima’s power healed the rest of her injuries. His hand lingered on the reformed cheek as he smiled down at the mage-Risen for a few more moments.

“Perfect,” he whispered, his hand finally dropping.

“Thank you, Lord Grima,” Anguilla said, bowing low and stepping back from him.

“Think nothing of it, my dear,” Grima said dismissively, turning away again as if bored. “I need you all fighting fit for what comes next.”

There was a loud crashing boom in the badlands behind the beach as Grima’s gargantuan true form landed, raising it’s maw to the sky and letting out an ear-splitting roar. The avatar’s grin widened into a full-blown smile full of far too many sharp fangs that sent chills down even Simia’s dead spine.

*

Robin let out a deep sigh, the cool air of the Great Hall back in Ylisstol saturating his lungs and bringing him peace for the first time in days.

A peace that was broken almost instantly by hurried shouts and echoing running footsteps.

“Chrom!” Sumia cried, throwing herself at her husband in a show of emotion far beneath what was considered appropriate for a queen.

The Exalt laughed in response, catching Sumia and spinning happily with her as they were reunited again at last.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Aversa groaned, watching the couple from Robin’s shoulder.

Sumia looked up, her happy and relieved expression changing to one of shock and confusion when she saw who had spoken.

“It’s a long story,” Robin said, holding up a forestalling hand. “One I would be happy to tell after she’s in the dungeon.”

“Oh, the dungeon now?” Aversa asked lightly. “Have I not been the picture of good behaviour for you, widdwe-bwudder.”

“First, don’t say it like that or _I’ll_ be sick,” Robin snapped. “Second-”

“Yes, yes, I know; you still hate me. Believe me, the feeling is mutual,” Aversa sighed, stepping forward. “Guards, if you would be so kind as to escort me someplace far, far away from my dearest brother I would be eternally grateful. I care not how dark or dreary the accommodations are, just so long as they are quiet.”

“Isn’t she just pleasant?” Robin asked a stunned Sumia sarcastically.

A pair of slightly confused-looking Ylissean Royal Guard stepped forward at Chrom’s nod, taking one of Aversa’s arms each and leading her away.

“Do be sure to keep me company at dinner, brother,” she called over her shoulder. “I’d hate to find out what happens when I become lonely and bored, wouldn’t you?”

“Hopefully you quietly drop dead and don’t stink up the dungeons,” Robin fired back without missing a beat.

“Oh dear, so cold,” Aversa said with over-exaggerated sadness. “I think I’m going to cry!”

Her cackling laughter faded into the distance as she was led away, leaving Robin feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He sighed and slouched in relief, closing his eyes as he finally relaxed for the first time in days.

“Obviously a lot has happened while you’ve been gone,” Sumia commented as the rest of the Shepherds that occupied the palace apartments began to trudge through the hall.

There was a loud, high-pitched squeal as Lissa appeared and threw herself at Lon’qu, the corners of the exhausted swordsman’s lips turning upwards ever-so-slightly as she latched onto his midsection. Robin winced, waiting for the ringing in his ears to stop before answering Sumia.

“Like I said, it’s complicated,” he sighed. “Can we maybe talk about it over tea in a few hours? I think I speak for everyone when I say we’re dead on our feet.”

Sumia nodded, allowing Chrom to lead her back towards the Royal apartments, the two already whispering to each other about how much they missed one another.

“I hate to agree with Aversa,” Robin said to Lucina as the princess stepped up beside him, smiling wistfully as she watched her parents’ behaviour. “But I think your parents are going to make me sick.”

She grinned as they watched Virion attempt to subtly race up the stairs looking for Cherche while still attempting to project the same aloof aura he usually did, and failing miserably.

“I truly do not think that we would be any different had we been separated like that,” Lucina said, leaning into Robin as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. “Do you not recall Valm and the siege at the Capital? Where you-”

“Yes, yes, ‘leapt off a flying pegasus to save you’,” Robin groaned into the top of her head. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Of course not!” Lucina laughed. “You leapt off a flying pegasus!”

“It seemed. Like a good idea. At the time,” Robin said, drawing the sentence out. “How many times do I have to explain that? Usually when I have a gut feeling like that it turns out alright, and hey-presto, it did, didn’t it?”

“It was still foolhardy,” Lucina chuckled, leaning slightly more into Robin’s chest.

They remained that way for a few moments before Lucina sighed and stepped away from him, her face troubled.

“What’s wrong?” Robin asked.

“The Dark Dragon has returned and here we are acting… acting as if…” she said, faltering as she tried to give form to emotions.

“As if we’re two young people in love?” Robin supplied lightly. “Come on, we can’t be tense and on edge all the time.”

“But-”

“No buts!” Robin said, spinning Lucina and forcing her to start marching towards the stairs. “I know how you feel, but I was there when both of us burned out before, so we’re relaxing! Now you’re going to go upstairs and treat yourself to a proper bath to relax, or I’m going to force you to.”

Lucina dug in her heels and stopped momentarily, her shoulders tensing momentarily. The time-travelling princess let out a sigh as she obviously struggled with her thoughts before turning to face Robin with a mischievous smirk on her face.

“I suppose you will just have to force me, then,” she said in a low tone, looking up at him from beneath her lashes.

“Challenge accepted!” Robin cried, picking the smaller woman up over his shoulder and racing up the stairs, their laughter echoing around the once-more silent Great Hall.

As one all of the usually silent Royal Guard standing at attention in their positions blushed or groaned at the couple’s behaviour; a few of the braver ones even made over-exaggerated retching sounds. However, their feelings were as clear as the Shepherds’ had been; it was good to have them back.

*

A few hours later Robin sat beside Lucina at the large round coffee-table in the middle of Chrom and Sumia’s living area, the Exalt and his wife present with Lon’qu, Lissa, Cynthia and Owain all looking down at the polished mahogany table with dour looks on their faces.

“I… see,” Sumia said at length.

Robin nodded mutely. He had just spent what felt like an eternity catching the Queen and Princess of Ylisse up on matters, and now he wanted nothing more than to be able to stop talking for the rest of the day. The story left a bitter taste on his tongue, one that even Lucina’s hand in his own did little to dispel.

Judging from the looks on Sumia and Lissa’s faces they weren’t overly-impressed by his decision either, however there were obviously more pressing matters to think about, and much to Robin’s relief Aversa’s fate was quickly swept aside.

“We are going to go to Mount Prism next,” Chrom said, breaking the silence. “I will probably leave with Robin this evening. We can be there in less than a week if we travel light, and-”

“And we’re coming, too,” Lissa interrupted, a fire in her eyes.

Sumia nodded in agreement, reaching over to take her frowning husband’s hand.

“If these… are indeed our final days, I’m not going to be away from you for a moment,” she said softly, a small amount of her old timidness creeping back to the fore.

“Right,” Lissa chimed in, making a show of scooting closer to Lon’qu.

Cynthia and Owain both responded by making over-exaggerated retching noises; the only thing stopping Robin from joining them was the simple thought that he was currently within striking distance of both Lucina and her father.

Owain apparently over-looked that fact, Lon’qu’s open palm snapping up like lightning to slap the back of the boy’s head.

“Be silent before I tell your mother what I saw you doing with Sev-” the swordsman started, cut off by a wide-eyed and panicked Owain’s loud, wordless shout of alarm.

“Don’t worry honey, you can tell me later,” Lissa said, grinning first up at Lon’qu and then over at a now paling and silent Owain while Cynthia laughed openly in her cousin’s face.

Robin couldn’t help but smile. He was truly blessed to be able to witness this simple moment between family; it was a stark contrast to the grim mood that had settled over the Shepherds on the return trip from Plegia. It made him remember why he was fighting, what he was trying to protect, and as he looked over and met Lucina’s azure gaze he could see his thoughts reflected in her own eyes, the mark of Naga shining in her left eye. He felt his resolve hardening.

“So we’ll leave tonight then,” he said as Cynthia’s laughter finally died down. “Just us. We’ll leave Morgan and Frederick in charge of Ylisstol and travel light. It’ll be your job to keep them busy until we leave.”

Cynthia and Owain both paled when Robin looked directed his statement to them, neither being in a hurry to cross the Knight-Commander or young Grandmaster.

“What about Lucy?” Cynthia asked curiously.

“Yeah, right, like I could tear her away from Chrom’s side if I tried,” Robin snorted.

Lucina went slightly pink as the other members of her family laughed, shooting an evil glare at Robin.

“I’m sure that’s exactly what it is,” Cynthia deadpanned, making a point of glaring at both Robin and a blushing Lucina equally.

“You gave in relatively easy, there,” Chrom pointed out, obviously expecting his tactician to have backed him up.

“What the hell, we only live once,” Robin shrugged, eager to change the subject. “Or in my case twice. Mustafa’s busy leading the refugees and reorganizing the Plegian army right now, not to mention there’s not a lot we can do until we muster the soldiers from Themis and Jagen. I say let’s do something stupid for a change.”

“Alright, I can tell when I’m beaten,” Chrom sighed. “I’m not going to argue with all of you. Do you really think that the others will let us just walk out of here, though?”

“With the note I’m planning to leave for them? Sure,” Robin said, leaning back and waving a hand nonchalantly.

Chrom sighed again and shook his head.

“Knowing the rest of our army, how do you think an excursion with the entire Ylissean royal family is going to go for you?” he asked.

“It’ll go perfectly if you just keep quiet about it,” Robin insisted, doing his best to shush the Exalt in case one of the others overheard him.

“At least tell Morgan and Frederick in advance, please,” Chrom sighed.

*

“Absolutely not,” Frederick said, crossing his arms and glowering down at Robin.

“Yeah, Dad, that’s a kinda crazy plan even for you,” Morgan agreed, imitating the imposing Knight-Commander’s posture.

“Okay, one; ouch. That hurts my feelings. Two; at least hear me out before you shoot my plan out of the water,” Robin pleaded.

“No,” Frederick said flatly.

“Please?” Robin asked as innocently as he could. “Just humour me?”

Frederick groaned and rolled his eyes, Flavia, Basilio, Say’ri, Tiki and Cordelia behind him snickering a little as the Knight Commander very obviously caved.

They were all sitting or standing in the office that Chrom had set aside for Robin to work in years ago, the tactician preferring to only use it for delivering bad news to the others. Such as the current predicament he found himself in.

“I was initially going to just go with myself and Chrom,” Robin explained to the assembled group. “Travel light and fast; no tents, no supplies, two horses. We’d stop in Jagen to resupply and go on to Mount Prism. However, they didn’t like that plan.”

Robin said the last part with a nod over to Lucina, Owain and Cynthia, leaning patiently against one wall and smiling brightly. Cynthia even gave a cheerful wave, which only served to intensify Frederick’s frown.

“Anyway, what are you so worried about?” Robin asked Frederick and Morgan at the same time. “No one’s even going to miss us, not to mention we’re going with one of the best healers in the Haildom. Do you doubt my skills so much that you can’t trust me with my Exalt and Queen for a week?”

A vein above Frederick’s eye twitched, a common occurrence when the stoic Knight was deliberating with Robin. He was being baited and he knew it; Robin’s tone of voice hadn’t even been sincere in the least.

“It is not about your plans, it is about propriety,” Frederick ground out, attempting to save face when he knew he was beaten. “The Exalt and his Queen must be escorted at all times by a squad of Honour Guard or at the very least a squad of Knights.”

“Plus, ya know, Grima’s floating above our heads and could be anywhere right now,” Morgan chimed in. “What if he catches you unawares?”

“I’m pretty sure I’d see that behemoth coming a mile away,” Robin deadpanned, still a little unsettled to see Morgan siding with Frederick, even if he was on better terms with the Knight-Commander now.

“The girl raises a valid point,” Frederick nodded. “As Knight Commander of Ylisse and the Exalt’s closest retainer I cannot condone this course of action.”

“And, uh, as… Grandmaster of the Ylissean army I agree with him,” Morgan added.

“I can get Chrom to order you both to stand down,” Robin pointed out, leaning back in his chair.

_Checkmate,_ Robin thought with satisfaction as he watched Morgan and Frederick’s faces change.

Frederick was brought up short, his eyes widening slightly as he realised the Chrom would indeed do just that. Morgan sighed as if she had been expecting such a measure from her father in the first place. It was his ace-in-the-hole; he hated going to Chrom to back him up, but sometimes the soldiers and knights he was stuck commanding just wouldn’t listen to reason. Sometimes, people needed their ruler to shout a few orders to feel better about things.

“I didn’t have to call this briefing, either,” Robin went on. “I was originally going to just disappear in the night and leave a scrap of paper with my orders on them.”

“So what are your orders then?” Cordelia asked curiously.

“Hold the capital until we get back?” Robin shrugged.

A collective groan rose up from the world-leaders in the room at being given such ambiguous orders.

“Fie. I assume we would not be here were it so easy,” Say’ri added, crossing her arms and sinking to a hip.

Robin nodded, leaning forward excitedly.

“Yes, finally someone moves the conversation along!” he practically cheered.

“I am not done-” Frederick started before Robin shut him up.

“Shush, you. We get it, you don’t like my plan. Tough. Deal with it. Moving along,” the tactician huffed. “I’m effectively taking the entire Ylissean power structure with me this time. So I would respectfully ask the Queen of Chon’sin and the Khans of Regna Ferox to assist the Grandmaster and the Knight Commander in the daily running of the realm.”

Flavia and Basilio shared a glance, fidgeting a little as Say’ri nodded slowly.

“I would have you know that I do not agree with your plan,” she said after a moment. “However, I understand the level of trust you place in me with this task, and will do my upmost to live up to your expectations.”

Robin nodded excitedly, his gaze falling on the two Khans.

“I don’t wanna play ruler…” Flavia moaned, slouching a little.

“C’mon, Flavia, I need you on this one,” Robin pleaded.

“Fine,” the blonde woman groaned. “But take the oaf with you at least. He’ll just get in my way here.”

“What?” Robin and Basilio both asked incredulously.

“How many years did I spend running Regna Ferox while you sat in the forest nursing your bruised pride after every defeat at the Colosseum, woman?” Basilio growled to the other Khan. “I’m twice the statesman you are!”

 “Yet I’m in charge now, and as your ruler I’m ordering you to go on the dangerous mission potentially involving a lot of fighting and killing in my place,” Flavia snorted.

Basilio paused for a moment before breaking into a wicked grin and backing down.

“Well when you put it that way…” he said, looking at Robin expectantly.

“Fine, whatever,” the tactician grumbled. “Not like one more is going to slow us down at this rate.”

“Make that two more,” Tiki said, stepping forward.

“Oh come on!” Robin exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “You see!? This is why I didn’t want to have a meeting! Why don’t I just have all the Shepherds come with us!?”

“That was sarcasm,” he said quickly, pre-empting Frederick’s comment.

Frederick’s eyes narrowed as he snorted again.

“You’re going to perform the Awakening, right?” Tiki went on. “I have to go with you.”

“Do you now?” Robin asked, leaning an elbow on his desk.

The ancient manakete nodded grimly, her lips a thin line. Robin waited for her to elaborate, but when she didn’t he realised he was beaten and slouched in his chair a little more.

“Fine,” Robin sighed, defeated. “Everybody go and… do stuff. Tiki, Basilio, I need to talk to both of you before we leave this evening. I hope you can both ride.”

_Now I just have to figure out how to explain our final party member to everyone else…_ Robin thought to himself as the others began tromping out of the office.

*

Aversa glanced up when she heard footsteps approaching, clicking her tongue in annoyance when she saw Robin round the corner to the cell she had been put in as soon as they had arrived in Ylisstol the previous evening.

The Shepherds had avoided her like a leper for the entire trip, only Robin, the blue-haired Princess and the smarmy archer had been brave or bored enough to treat with her; Robin as her self-appointed jailor and the others mostly just to spend time with him.

Her brother’s face was a rigid, neutral mask as he glared down at her, Aversa grinning up at him haughtily for a moment, her pearly white teeth practically glowing in the darkened cell.

“Here I was hoping to at least go twenty-four hours without having to answer any more of your juvenile questions,” she sighed theatrically.

“I’m leaving,” Robin said without preamble.

“Good. Go,” Aversa said dismissively, looking back down.

“You’re coming too,” Robin said in a careful monotone.

“Oh?” Aversa asked, genuinely somewhat surprised. “You’re going to trust me as one of your little mercenary comrades already?”

“No, I don’t trust you, and that’s why I’m not letting you out of my sight,” Robin said, his eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly.

Aversa burst out laughing, doubling over and shutting her eyes in case the tears of mirth escaped. She couldn’t help herself; Robin was just being hilarious now.

“Oh, that’s rich,” she chuckled sarcastically when she finally calmed down. “So where are we going? A little scouting mission? Slaying some Risen in the forests? Oh, I know! Let’s go and  provide relief aid to the poor villagers!”

“We’re going to Mount Prism to perform the Awakening,” Robin said, crossing his arms.

Aversa stopped cold, looking up at the tactician with wide eyes before her expression turned stony.

“No,” she said, turning away from Robin.

“You don’t get a say in the matter,” Robin growled. “It’s that or the hangman’s noose while I’m not here to protect you. Once I leave I doubt you’ll last the night. You’re a war-criminal, Aversa. A lot of powerful people want you dead.”

“Oh how noble of you to try so hard to keep my evil bones alive,” Aversa said, her sickly-sweet voice dripping sarcasm. “I may have been drunk, but I was serious about not getting involved in your little crusade. There are worse things than death out there, and having your soul consumed by that… monster is one of them. I would take my chances with the noose.”

Robin stepped forward, his face becoming a mask of barely contained hatred as he crouched down to stare into Aversa’s eyes on her level. A small shudder passed through Aversa at the familiar glare, making her grateful that her cell was so gloomy.

“Let’s get one thing straight, ‘sister’,” he said in a low, dangerous tone. “You still have answers that I want. Until I get them, you may as well be my property. I will get the information I want out of you if it kills me, and I won’t be gentle about how I go about doing it. I’ll tear it from your mind if I have to. Until I get what I want you’re just going to have to keep on living. You can die when I tell you that you can die.”

Robin stood, glaring down at Aversa.

“I’ll make sure I hand you over to the citizens of Themis once I’m done with you, if you’re so eager to find a noose. You won’t have to face Grima. I can promise you that much at the very least.”

Aversa glared back at Robin, her expression matching the tactician’s before her eyes flitted away and she let out a soft sigh.

“You really are his son, you know that?” she muttered softly.

“Get cleaned up and prepare to ride,” Robin said, ignoring her comment and standing. “If you behave yourself maybe I’ll leave your hands unbound. Piss me off and I’ll chop one of them off to make my point. The guards will bring you up to the stable in a little less than an hour. You know, to give you time to primp or something.”

“You are an ass,” Aversa snapped as Robin walked away.

“Petty insults like that mean I win!” he called brightly over his shoulder. “Besides, this whole plan was basically your idea to start with! Take responsibility!”

*

Orange sunlight, the colour of a dying day, streamed into the hallway atop the dungeons from outside, casting long black shadows and making Robin think of, strangely enough, carrot soup. How long had it been, he wondered, since he had gotten to enjoy something as mundane as cooking? For so long now his life had been nothing but running from one battlefield to the next, doing his best to ensure that his carefully laid plans didn’t fall apart. However now that all his plans had effectively amounted to nothing he entertained the idea of possibly treating his closest friends to something on the road while they travelled to Mount Prism. Not that they would eat his horrible cooking, especially when a culinary master like Sumia was travelling with them, but still…

Robin sighed and ran a hand through his hair, realising with a start that it now fell well past his shoulders.

“Haircut,” he mumbled, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty hallway. “First thing I do when I get back. Haircut.”

“Yes, your mane is starting to look like a nuisance, man-spawn.”

Robin stopped dead in his tracks, slowly turning to look over his shoulder. His face broke into a childish grin as he beheld the woman softly padding towards him barefoot and wearing new, yet still recognizably familiar leather jerkin.

“Panne!” Robin cheered, spinning on his heel. “You’re okay!”

“Of course I am,” the Taguel woman said as she crossed the last of the distance. “It would take more than a few Risen to slay me. I would never be able to face my ancestors had that creature felled me so easily.”

“How are your wounds?” Robin asked, falling into step with the woman as he walked towards the stables.

“Healed almost to being a distant memory,” she said bluntly. “Which is why I will be joining your party.”

Robin was brought up short, stumbling and faltering as Panne walked on unperturbed.

“Forget it, I’m not even going to ask,” Robin moaned, shaking his head as he jogged to catch up to Panne. “Just meet us in the stables in an hour. It’s good to have you back, Panne.”

The Taguel woman stopped, turning slightly to smile at Robin over her shoulder; a rare expression on her severe face that never ceased to amaze the tactician.

“It is good to be back,” she said quietly.

*

Robin let out a groan as he sunk down to his bedroll later the next evening, his aching legs practically burning after spending all day riding.

_It’s been too long since I’ve ridden anywhere,_ he thought, staring up at the stars.

He had been travelling incognito all day, along with the rest of the small group of Shepherds now scattered around the fire that was the centre of their campsite in a small clearing. It was much the same as the one that he, Chrom, Lissa and Frederick had been in when Lucina and the Risen had both first appeared, and the sense of nostalgia brought a weak smile to his face.

The Exalt, his daughter and his wife had gotten a small fire going and were busy preparing a makeshift dinner while the others rested and tended to their mounts. Well, Sumia was cooking. Chrom was merely passing her the ingredients and utensils she requested, trying his best not to catch fire in the process, and Lucina was staying close at hand in case her father really did light himself on fire again. Basilio had disappeared as soon as they had made camp, the same way he had the previous evening, claiming he would do his own hunting and Panne had joined him, curious to see how a Feroxi Khan hunted. Tiki was sitting beside the horse she and Robin had shared, feeding it the shiny red apples she had apparently been carrying in her pack for just such an occasion and giggling when the beast licked her hands. Lissa and Lon’qu were patiently waiting for their dinner, talking quietly together and catching up after being separated for so long; it was honestly the most Robin had seen Lon’qu talk in a long time.

A rustling in the bushes heralded the return of Panne, back from an obviously successful hunt with a small deer hitched over her shoulder. Robin marvelled at the fact that she was carrying the animal herself and barely seemed to be strained by the weight; the Taguel had been insistent she be allowed to join Robin’s little band now that she was feeling better, and had been doing the scouting and hunting of at least three other people the entire journey.

“Have you seen the lady Aversa since we made camp?” Virion asked, settling onto the ground next to Robin and distracting him.

Robin glanced up at the other man. Of course Virion had invited himself along to what was supposed to be a ‘secret’ mission; the archer just couldn’t take ‘no you can’t come’ for an answer, no matter what the context was. He had even been waiting in the stables, an innocent look on his face as he readied his own mount. Robin wasn’t even entirely sure how he had heard of the mission, but he knew there was no arguing with him once he made his mind up.

At least he was lucky enough to not have had to argue Tharja down from joining them; the Dark Mage had been unusually scarce since they had returned, busy taking care of Henry however she could, making Robin feel almost lonely in her absence. Her replacement sure didn’t make him any happier, anyway.

“She’s off sulking in the bushes,” Robin said. “I think she’s afraid someone might try to kill her in her sleep or something.”

The group had taken to the idea of Aversa joining them about as well as he had expected them to; Lissa had sulked, Basilio, Sumia and Chrom had looked non-pulsed at the very least and out-right pissed-off at the worst; Lucina, Virion and Lon’qu had merely accepted the fact, and Tiki had treated it like a chance to make a new friend, something that the manakete apparently loved doing.

“I would not put the idea past some of our compatriots,” Virion muttered, sipping from a small cup of tea that he had brewed on the opposite side of the fire to Chrom and Sumia.

“However none would act so brazenly against your wishes while you still claim she is important, no?”

Robin sighed and scratched his head.

“Maribelle and Frederick both want blood,” Robin explained softly. “But it’s not them I’m worried about. There are a lot of other important Ylisseans that want her head for the sacking of Themis, and Frederick’s just pissed off enough to follow such an order. Hell, right now I’m worried about what happens when we get to Jagen and someone recognizes her there, and that’s on the other side of the country!”

Aversa was one of the most well-known war criminals in Ylissean history; she was part of the stories parents told their children, one of the great villains in the ‘Saga of Chrom and the Shepherds’ alongside Gangrel and Walhart. The entire country would celebrate her death, and Robin was currently the only thing stopping it from happening.

With word of his lineage no doubt spreading throughout Ylisse despite his best efforts, Robin knew that protecting both him and Aversa would put Chrom in a dangerous position. A ruler couldn’t possibly betray his citizens’ trust by safeguarding a war-criminal and the enemy nation’s prince; he would lose all credibility as a ruler overnight. Robin had to accept that if the call came to him from the Ylissean Council then Chrom would be powerless to do anything but order Aversa’s execution, and Robin would lose the last link to his past.

“What knowledge is it she possesses that makes her so important?” Virion asked curiously. “Did you not get all the information from her regarding the Risen and Validar that you needed?”

“It’s not that stuff,” Robin admitted. “Although I’ll admit I’m playing it up to sound like that. I’m… doing this for purely selfish reasons. She’s the only one left besides the psychotic future-me that knows me. I mean really knows who I am, the pre-amnesia me. It’s kinda stupid to be worrying about this after so long, but I finally have a chance to answer some questions I’d honestly forgotten about. I’m putting us all in danger to satisfy my own selfish curiosity.”

“Hell, it’s been four years and I don’t even remember my mother’s name,” Robin added in a dejected tone, looking away. “How sad is that?”

Virion made a thoughtful sound as he sipped from his cup, staring into the fire.

“I do not believe you are being selfish, Robin,” he said after a moment. “I believe you are being human. Were I in your shoes I would not have given up so easily after merely a year of wandering in search of a cure for my amnesia; I would still be doing so now. That you put your own desires behind the needs of so many others for so long speaks of just how truly amazing you really are.”

“Stop flattering me,” Robin huffed.

“I see I can’t distract you that way this time,” Virion chuckled. “I would not worry about it. If you explained your desires to any of the others, even the lovely Maribelle or brooding Knight-Commander, I harbour no doubts in my mind that they would understand.”

“When did you become such an optimist?” Robin asked with a chuckle, cheering up slightly.

“It happened after I spent so much time around you,” Virion replied flippantly.

“Well I guess I can’t be a bad influence all the time,” Robin snickered, leaning back. “Thanks.”

“Dinner is prepared,” Panne announced, interrupting Robin and Virion’s conversation.

As the tactician watched Sumia and Panne begin to hand out portions a thought came to him. He darted up, thinking that it was a long shot, but it had worked for him in the past. Lucina gave him a questioning look at his erratic movements, but Robin just smiled and winked at her.

“I’ll need two servings,” he said to Sumia, taking his own bowl from her. “In separate bowls, please.”

*

“Aversa? Aversa, where are you? Yoo-hoo!” Robin called out, shambling through the thick forest as he tried not to spill the two bowls of soup in his hands.

An equine snort drew his attention to a small clearing where he came face to face with the glowing red eyes of Aversa’s strange and apparently angry mount.

“Whoa, boy!” Robin placated the black pegasus. “Easy! I’m just here with food!”

The black pegasus lowered its head slightly, obviously not impressed by Robin’s presence.

Aversa had summoned the creature back in Ylisstol with magic that had made Robin’s stomach churn. He had been incredibly wary of letting her use her own mount, not to mention one that could fly, but she had so far done exactly as ordered and followed Sumia’s instructions while they both acted as outriders. After her reaction to Robin forcing her to come with them he had been expecting her to bolt the first opportunity she got; the fact that she hadn’t made him suspicious.

“And what makes you think that the tripe your bumpkin mercenary Queen prepared will be fit for my palate?” Aversa sneered, stepping around her over-protective mount with crossed arms.

“Because it’s warm and, you know, food?” Robin shrugged. “Why are you out here in the forest, anyway?”

“I prefer my throat to remain intact,” Aversa said dismissively, turning her back to him. “Now take your tripe and be gone.”

“Aw, c’mon. I promise I had less than nothing to do with its preparation or even its serving. This soup is about as far removed from me as it can possibly get, and it actually tastes pretty good.”

“My, but you are persistent,” Aversa growled, her mount stomping in tandem with her agitation.

“Look, you need to eat to keep up your strength,” Robin said, placing one of the bowls carefully on the ground. “I can tell when I’m not wanted. Just be at the campsite at first light so we can move out. And don’t get eaten by any bears overnight. We’re bypassing Jagen Castle and moving directly on Mount Prism tomorrow, so don’t sleep in.”

Aversa crossed her arms, still not turning around as Robin departed. Once he had moved a fair distance back to the campsite he stopped.

“Panne,” he whispered. “Keep an eye on her tonight. If she does anything even remotely suspicious, kill her.”

There was a light rustling in the bushes as a rabbit nearly the size of a horse silently padded towards him. Panne’s Taguel form nodded, moving further back towards Aversa’s resting place. Robin watched the rabbit-woman disappear before taking a long sip from his bowl.

“Damn,” he muttered, looking at the bowl with a slight frown.

His soup had gone cold.

*

Robin let out a loud yawn the next morning as they began to climb into the mountains that marked the beginning of Jagen’s territory.

“Gotten too used to sleeping in soft beds, huh?” Tiki asked playfully from her position perched behind him.

Robin blew a breath out his nose.

“No, just couldn’t sleep knowing a genocidal maniac would be flying recon for us again today,” he muttered, rubbing at his tired eyes.

“I’ve never seen you second-guess one of your own ideas like this before,” Tiki said, her voice becoming slightly more serious.

“I’ve never had to vouch for a war-criminal before,” Robin admitted with a tired grin over his shoulder.

Tiki nodded, lowering her gaze.

“You know, it might just be wishful thinking, but from what I’ve seen from here it looks like she’s really suffering,” the Manakete woman said, her long pointed ears twitching slightly.

“Good,” Robin said coldly, facing forwards again. “That’s the least she deserves after what she’s done.”

Tiki went silent for a few minutes, and the mountain terrain continued to fly past them as they moved quickly through the passes.

Robin noticed that it hadn’t changed all that much since the war with Gangrel’s Plegia back in the beginning. In fact, he even remembered marching along this exact same path four years ago. The sense of nostalgia it brought back made him smile a little as he fondly recalled marching with the other Shepherds, laughing and making fun of the others while they weren’t listening until Frederick overheard them and forced them to march double-time as punishment. He glanced over at Chrom, recalling the confused look on the then-Prince’s face as Robin, Vaike, Virion and Lon’qu had run past him ahead of the main army, Frederick right behind them atop his horse with his lance levelled at their back as ‘motivation’… It felt like a lifetime ago, now.

“Robin,” Tiki called out softly, snapping him out of his memories.

“What’s wrong?” the tactician asked, the sad tone of her voice worrying him.

“Did I ever tell you about how I met Marth when I was a child?” she asked, the pain in her voice making Robin attempt to turn around as best he could in the saddle.

“Do not stop,” Tiki said as their horse slowed.

Robin nodded, shifting back and urging their mount onwards as Tiki gripped the back of his coat.

“I… when I first met Marth, I attacked him,” Tiki said after an awkward pause. “I even… killed some of his soldiers.”

“What!?” Robin asked, astounded by her confession. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Please, let me finish,” Tiki insisted. “I was being controlled and manipulated by Gharnef, and was forced to attack them. But once I was saved, Marth never once blamed me. A few of the other soldiers, those I had wounded and friends of those I had killed, spoke out for retribution. They demanded me punished for the lives I had taken. I’ve long since… forgotten what it was Marth said in my defence. But I’ll never forget the way he said it; the passion in his voice and the fire in his eyes as he vouched for me. I’m telling you this because I know what it’s like to be a pawn of darkness, Robin. All I needed was for one person to believe in me to redeem me.”

“I see where you’re going with this, Tiki,” Robin said stonily, facing directly ahead. “But for Aversa’s crimes the only redemption is death. She’s the one that made her decisions, and it’s the only way for her to atone.”

“I agree with you that she’s committed many atrocities,” Tiki said softly, gripping the fabric of Robin’s coat tight in her fists. “But… just think about what I’ve said. That is all I ask. Everyone needs that one person to believe in the good in them, Robin.”

*

“I think it was a good idea bypassing Castle Jagen,” Chrom said conversationally. “We can’t really afford the delay right now. Besides, it’s been a while since we’ve survived on leaves and roots. It will be good for us.”

Robin gave the Exalt a sideways look, Tiki giggling form her perch behind him. Robin began to snicker a little too when he noticed a similar disdained look on Lucina and Virion’s faces on the Exalt’s other side.

They had been travelling at a steady pace for the last few days, only stopping to rest and eating in their saddles during the day. They had made good time, too, and would be upon Mount Prism before the end of the day.

“Once we get over the next hill we should be able to see it in the distance,” Chrom went on. “There’s a beautiful field that stretches all the way to the foot of the mountain, one I was going to take Lucina to see once she was a little older.”

“I remember it,” Lucina said from her father’s side. “In the future you did take me to see it. It was amazing.”

Robin looked up to the top of the hill they were climbing for a moment, surprised to see two pegasi flying towards them.

“Sorry to interrupt family time, but I think we have a problem,” Robin said, kicking his tired horse into a gallop with a sinking feeling.

The others followed his lead, meeting Sumia and Aversa a small way from the top of the hill.

“What’s wrong?” Chrom asked, bringing his mount to a stop next to Sumia’s.

“Something your tactician didn’t plan on,” Aversa said, her face practically beaming.

“Sister, wipe your face. You have a little evil on it,” Robin said sarcastically.

“Refugees and pilgrims,” Sumia reported, eying Robin and Aversa. “Thousands of them camped at the base of the mountain.”

“You could probably see them from the top of that hill,” Aversa purred, grinning triumphantly.

Robin and Chrom both shared a glance before urging their mounts onwards to the top of the hill. Robin noticed Panne waiting there beneath the trees to one side of the road, sitting in her Taguel form and still managing to look tense.

Both the tactician and the Exalt’s jaws dropped when they reached the peak, looking down at the scene bellow them. In the dying afternoon light Robin could make out the shapes of countless rough tents and lean-tos arranged around bonfires and cooking fires covering the entire field below them; some obviously from Regna Ferox, a couple that were somewhat separate from the rest even looking Plegian in appearance. People moved about, and Robin could clearly see a number of priests and clerics wandering around in their distinctive white and silver habits. Behind the camp, at the base of the mountain, sat a beautiful stone temple dedicated to Naga. The temple was an ancient, short building, only a single bell-tower rising above the first story, but was obviously well cared for. Around the perimeter of the building was a ring of stone statues in the shape of warriors at rest, standing vigil over the temple and the mountain pass. Robin noted that the refugees or pilgrims or whatever they were seemed reluctant to be too close to the statues, and even the camp itself had maintained distance from them.

“This… complicates matters,” Robin muttered.

“Off the road!” Chrom ordered as the others started to join them. “Get into the trees before somebody spots us!”

They did as Chrom ordered, leading their mounts into the trees until they could barely see the road any longer before dismounting and breathing a collective sigh of relief.

“What are they all doing there?” Lissa asked, looking back over her shoulder to the road.

“There have always been some pilgrims that flock to places like the Mila Tree or Mount Prism,” Tiki pointed out. “But the sheer number of them here…”

“Psychological warfare,” Robin said almost to himself as he stroked his chin in thought. “There were Plegian tents down there; Grima’s been spreading fear and dissent with the Risen and with word of his immanent return. I bet if we had gone to Jagen the populace would have been in a similar state of unrest.”

“Ylisstol was fine, though,” Lissa said in a shocked tone.

“Ylisstol is also the closest city to the Exalt and his family full of Holy Blood,” Aversa yawned. “Did you stop at Themis or any of the other villages on your return trip? No? Well I’d hazard a guess that they’re all in a similar state of panic.”

“Would Grima really plan so far ahead to undermine us like this?” Basilio wondered out loud.

“Yes,” Robin sighed. “Yes I would. It’s the same as when we spread rumours around Valm.”

An uncomfortable silence descended on the small group until Sumia broke it.

“What do we do now?” the young Queen asked. “We could fly some of us over them, but-”

“Hate to interrupt, but Malice will not let any other sit atop him but me,” Aversa interjected coldly, stroking her black pegasus’ neck affectionately.

“We can’t go around them,” Chrom said, staring intently at the ground as he thought. “The only pass to the summit is behind the great temple at the base.”

“We could sneak through,” Lon’qu suggested.

“With the Exalt, his queen, their tactician, one of the Feroxi Khans and a foreign war-criminal?” Aversa snickered. “I’d like front row seats when that plan goes south.”

The older woman had a point; if these refugees were Naga-adherents then seeing Chrom, said to carry Naga’s bloodline, or any members of his entourage would whip them into a frenzy that would completely undermine the reason they had attempted a speedy stealth mission in the first place. Alternatively, if they spotted Aversa they might even descend upon her and Robin intent on violence, especially if they were desperate. She had a point, but Robin didn’t have to like her tone.

“You’re not helping,” he said warningly.

“I’m not trying to,” Aversa sneered back.

“I think that sneaking might be the best course of action,” Basilio rumbled thoughtfully. “We all have cloaks; pull ‘em low over our faces and just walk right through them.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Virion nodded.

“We should at least do some scouting first,” Robin suggested. “Get a feel for the mood, figure out the easiest path through them.”

“We don’t have the time,” Chrom sighed. “We’ll have to chance it and hope for the best.”

“The mood is terrified,” Panne said quietly. “The whole valley reeks of fear and despair.”

“Brilliant,” Robin groaned. “Well we should go tonight, once night has fallen. Split into groups, enter the camp at various points and meet back up at the temple. Any complaints?”

“I still wish to point out that I am against this course of-” Aversa started.

“Then it’s settled,” Robin declared, cutting her off with a glare when everyone else shook their heads.

“Get some rest now, while we can,” Chrom ordered. “It’s not long to nightfall, so be ready. We’ll have to leave the horses here.”

*

Robin stood leaning against a tree overlooking the camp in the valley below, arms crossed as he watched for movement patterns among the people and tried to pick a few possible insertion points that would attract the least attention.

He’d been doing so for nearly an hour now as the sky had gone from pale blue to burning orange while the sun set, and he had only come up with one thought.

A refugee camp was not like a military camp in the slightest.

The resident’s movements, when they actually did move around, seemed almost random and eclectic, as if the people had no destination in mind. While he watched, many just sat there, only looking up when some of the priests would walk by to beg for a blessing. Many looked starved and wounded, and it hurt to watch the mess of desperate people. It made him wonder if this was what was in store for the entire world if the Shepherds were to fail; if by failing to kill Grima, Ylisstol and Chon’sin and Chengshi would be reduced to little more than tent-cities full of the destitute and the dying. He already knew the answer to that question, and it made his heart hurt for the woman he loved to have suffered so much.

“So lost in your thoughts you did not even hear me approach? Hardly top form for the ‘world-famous tactician’, little man.”

Robin resisted the urge to jump, snap and groan all at once as he finally registered Aversa’s presence behind him.

“I knew you were there,” he lied, not looking up from the camp. “I just choose to ignore you.”

Aversa snickered as she drew up alongside him.

“You know you’ll never make it through them unnoticed,” she said in a sweet tone. “I’m sure, along with fear, Grima’s spread the knowledge that you are Plegian, not to mention its Prince, and next in line for the throne. They will eat us both alive down there, and maybe even the Ylisseans for harbouring us.”

“Nice try with the scare tactics, but you’re not getting out of this,” Robin deadpanned.

“It was worth a shot,” Aversa shrugged. “I am serious about us being dead if the horde figures out who we are, though.”

“I know,” Robin sighed. “But they won’t. Just keep your trap shut and stay close to me and we’ll get through them fine.”

Aversa sunk to a hip, crossing her arms and looking at Robin curiously as the silence between them stretched out.

“Why are you keeping me alive?” she asked suddenly. “One minute you treat me like vermin, the next like I’m one of your little mercenaries. It is beginning to annoy me. What further purpose do I serve your plans?”

“Asking outright?” Robin chuckled. “What happened to the witty word games and intelligent deductions?”

“I have grown weary of being a pawn,” Aversa ground out.

The younger man let out another sigh, lowering his head a little out of the dying sunlight as the beams began to shine with the sun’s last rays.

“Who am I?” Robin asked, still looking down.

“A pain in my perfect arse?” Aversa snorted in response.

“No, I mean who am I really?” Robin asked, rounding on her. “I have no memories; I’m an amnesiac, and here stands my adopted-sister, the woman I was raised with, and my last chance to get some answers about who I am and where I come from. Everyone else is dead except you. Nobody else can give me the answers you can.”

Aversa looked at Robin for a few moments with wide eyes and a shocked expression before her bottom lip began to quiver and she burst out laughing so hard she had to hold her sides as she doubled over.

Robin frowned, rolling his eyes and going back to watching the refugees below them until Aversa calmed herself.

“Are you serious?” she snickered, wiping tears of mirth out of her eyes. “That is truly pathetic, little man! I thought you were keeping me around to use as fodder against Grima, or at the very least you were misguidedly thinking that I yet still held some secret to defeating him, but… oh, this is truly rich!”

Robin snarled, drawing Sol from over his shoulder and spinning on Aversa so fast she didn’t realise the blade was pressed to her throat until a small drop of blood tricked down her slim neck.

“I have no memories from before I woke up in that field,” Robin told her over his sword in a harsh whisper. “I have lain awake at night, wondering who where I come from. Now I finally have a chance to find out who I am, where I was born, what my bloody mother’s name is, and you laugh in my face at that? Maybe you’re right and I should just kill you. It would definitely make my life a lot quieter.”

The final rays of sunlight reflected off the pale red blade of Robin’s sword as he and Aversa glared at one another across it until the sky turned purple with twilight and the two found each other standing in the deepening gloom.

“It is nightfall,” Aversa said finally, her voice carefully even. “Don’t we have a mission to carry out?”

Robin growled, holding Sol steady a moment longer before finally relenting and drawing back, sheathing the long sword over his shoulder and stepping around his sister.

“The others were right about you,” Robin snapped over his shoulder. “There’s nothing left inside of you but hate and evil. Let’s get this over with so I can lock you back up where we’ll never have to look at each other again.”

*

Simia resisted the urge to snarl at the refugees pressing around her cloaked figure, the scarf wrapped around her face as stifling as the vile humans invading her personal space.

She and Anguilla had separated almost immediately upon reaching the mountain, the mage and her charge infiltrating the camp from the north while Simia circled around to the south with her own follower.

At present the newest Deadlords were little more than the mindless masked ones, but they were beginning to show signs of growing mentally with each passing hour. The one following Simia in particular, a large man with a big two-handed sword slung over his shoulder currently wrapped up the same way that she was, seemed to bear a sharp mind and keen reflexes. However, Grima hadn’t created the same kind of black-steel weapons for him or the other newer Deadlords, choosing instead to marshal his power for the showdown he was sure was coming. The young Deadlord following Simia only had a plain steel sword.

The refugees gave the strangers little notice, still milling about and trying to get as close to the priests and clerics or the temple as they could for evening prayers. The bell was ringing in the temple, signifying the end of the day and the start of the evening prayer cycle, and the hustle intensified.

Simia let out a low growl as she shoved a few of the slower refugees out of her way, pushing through to the front of the group to where a bald priest wearing tattered old robes was standing, giving a service and leading the rest of the faithful.

In one movement, Simia tore off her hood and unsheathed her blade, beheading the stunned priest before turning around to smile at the crowd of refugees.

“In Grima’s name, death comes for you,” she announced, sending the refugees into a panicked frenzy.

 In the crowd the other Deadlord drew his own blade and began to swing it in great sweeping arcs, adding to the terror and devastation with each movement. In the distance Simia made out the flashes of Anguilla’s magic and the booming explosions that accompanied each flash, like a lightning-storm at ground level. She watched as the new Deadlord with her kicked over a torch, lighting one of the nearby tents on fire almost instantly.

After all, she reasoned as the refugees began to panic and scatter; what better way to delay the Ylisseans than to deny them access to the mountain in the first place with a wall of bodies?

Simia grinned, her fangs glinting evilly in the torchlight as she set about hacking and slashing along with the new Deadlord, stopping almost immediately as a familiar scent reached her over the blood and the smoke.

“He’s here,” she whispered, excitement taking her black heart again.

*

Robin hadn’t even made it twenty meters into the refugee camp when he stopped cold, the first screams reaching his ears, flashes from the north snapping his head around as a familiar cold knot of anxiety settled in the pit of his stomach.

Chrom and Sumia were infiltrating in the north with Virion and Panne.

“My, my, it looks like we weren’t the only ones that had this idea,” Aversa giggled beneath her hood. “It looks like you’re one step ahead of yourself yet again.”

Lucina stared aghast to the north, obviously debating whether or not she should run and try to save her parents or to stick with their plan.

Robin allowed himself a grin.

“No, the future-me is an even bigger idiot than I thought if he really expected this to hinder us,” he explained, resting a hand on Lucina’s shoulder. “The panic will make it that much easier for us to slip through unnoticed.”

“But the refugees-” Lucina started, before Robin gently cut her off.

“Will have to survive until we perform the Awakening,” he said sadly. “There’s no other option.”

Lucina bunched up her fists for a moment before nodding.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Aversa muttered.

“Jealous, much?” Robin asked over his shoulder.

“Hardly,” Aversa deadpanned, brushing past the other two.

Robin gave Lucina’s shoulder one more encouraging squeeze before he rushed to follow Aversa, the princess right behind him.

Together they pushed through the panicking and confused refugees, occasionally having to go around large, tightly packed clusters of people flocking to the many priests shouting out passages from the Book of Naga or simply telling the refugees to remain calm.

Robin could tell that all around them in the torch-lit evening things were getting worse; more people were screaming that Naga had abandoned them or throwing blame around at the members of other nations. Fights were starting to break out among the refugees as fear and panic began to boil over, the sense of desperation around them beginning to feel choking to Robin as he led the two women through the camp.

A few times Robin had to pull Lucina back and stop her from intervening in the chaos, her face growing more and more pained each time.

Lucina surged forward again as they came onto a large thoroughfare, tents to either side blazing as their occupants brawled in the dirt between them. Robin grabbed Lucina by the arm and led her across and to the safety of the next cluster of tents, leaning close to her.

“The faster we get to the temple and perform the Awakening, the faster we can stop this madness!” Robin shouted in Lucina’s ear over the roaring around them. “There’s nothing we can do now!”

Lucina looked up at him, the frustration evident in her eyes as she nodded.

“Thank you, Robin,” she shouted. “It is… hard for me to witness this kind of scene again.”

Robin patted her on the back as he looked around for Aversa, not being able to see her anywhere. A brief flash of panic coupled with rage at the thought she would slip away like that assailed him before he noticed a cloaked figure beckoning him from across the next thoroughfare.

“Come on already!” Aversa shouted, her voice cutting through the madness around them.

Robin and Lucina crossed through the next open area, ducking low as flames licked the air above them.

“I thought you’d used that chance to escape,” Robin said breathlessly once they were relatively safe in the next group of tents.

“And go where?” Aversa snapped. “In case you didn’t notice the only way out of this mess is through it. Now shut up and get me out of here.”

Robin grinned and shook his head, taking the lead again and forcing their way through another tightly grouped knot of refugees fleeing from a burning makeshift altar-tower, at least five metres high and blazing to the tip. As he pushed out beyond them he was brought up short when he noticed the bodies lying strewn about the ground in the light from the burning tents.

“Oh crap,” he managed to curse before Lucina dragged him backwards by the scruff of his cloak, sparks dancing off Falchion as she parried a blow aimed for his neck.

Stepping out of the smoke like a creature from a nightmare was the snarling, red-eyed face of the Deadlord that had hounded him since Chon’sin.

“You again!?” Robin groaned, drawing Sol from beneath his cloak. “How many times are we going to do this?”

“Silence!” she roared, darting forward.

Robin spun, planting a foot in her stomach and forcing her back and just as he was going to begin gloating about winning so easily another shrouded form leapt through the smoke and ashes lunging with a huge two-handed sword at Robin’s neck. Lucina was there, though, parrying for him again and driving the Risen back.

“I’ll keep you safe!” she shouted, pressing her attack on the newest Risen.

“Robin, give me a weapon!” Aversa pleaded.

He cast one glance over his shoulder before pulling his dagger out and tossing it to her.

“I’m going to want that back,” he said, turning back to face a recovered Simia. “Help Lucina.”

Robin didn’t watch Aversa move to help Lucina, shrugging off the plain cloak he was wearing over his coat and beginning to circle the Risen. The Deadlord glared at him with hate oozing from her every movement, holding her sword ready in a two-handed grip. With a lusty battle-cry she surged forward again, slashing low. Robin hopped back, bringing his knee up to smash the creature in the face. She anticipated this, though, and turned her lunging strike into a roll, swinging for Robin’s legs in the process.

“You’ve gotten better!” Robin said. “I’m impressed. I didn’t think Risen could learn, but you’ve proved that hypothesis wrong.”

“We do more than just learn,” Simia quipped, darting forward again and bringing her face within inches of Robin’s own as they locked blades.

“We adapt! We change! We form an unending horde that will cover the land from one coast to the other! Just the way you created us to!”

Robin frowned, forcing Simia’s sword low enough for him to bring his forehead crashing down on her face in a brutal headbutt. The Risen went reeling, but Robin staggered back as well.

“I’ve gotta stop doing that before I start talking like Vaike,” he muttered, trying to blink the stars out of his vision, everything going fuzzy around the edges.

Simia roared again, ignoring her smashed nose leaking corrupt blackened blood as she charged back into Robin. They traded blows for a while, Robin putting the greater reach of his own sword to use fending off the more numerous blows from Simia’s lighter sword, the Risen woman snarling at him the entire time.

“Why won’t you just die!?” Simia roared as they locked blades again.

“My sentiments exactly,” Robin ground out through clenched teeth as they struggled to push the other off balance.

Robin was surprised to admit that the Deadlord had improved markedly since the last time they had faced off. In Ylisstol he had been in too much of a hurry to fight her himself, and at the Dragon’s Table he had decided she wasn’t even worth his time, but now she was like a completely different creature. Her strength and ferocity had nearly doubled, and the way that she spoke was completely unlike the rasping, halting speech she had used when they had first encountered each other in Chon’sin. She was indeed growing and adapting at an incredible and worrying rate. He realised he’d let her live far too long already and resolved to fix that mistake.

Robin stepped back, throwing Simia’s blade to the side and spinning in an attack he’d seen Say’ri use before to get behind the Risen.

“You know,” he growled as he slid his sword along her back in a spray of black vitae.

“You’re really starting to…” he went on, pausing as he spun and slashed her upper arm.

“Piss me off,” he finished, cutting her hamstring with the tip of his blade before dancing backwards.

Simia roared again, more in rage and frustration than pain as she tried to turn to face Robin, flailing on the ground crippled and bleeding. She paused when she felt the cool steel of Sol pressed up to her throat.

“This time I’m not letting you get away,” Robin whispered, drawing his sword back to his shoulder for the decapitating swing.

Robin swung his sword with all his strength, prepared for the jarring sensation of hitting bone and forcing the blade to follow through-

“Robin, look out!”

He glanced up mid-swing at Lucina’s warning cry, dropping slightly to avoid the blade flying through the air but leaning into the kick following it. All the air left his lungs as he flew backwards, skidding along the ground and coming to a stop just shy of rolling into one of the burning tents.

“We must… go…” the big Risen with the wrapped up face said, hoisting Simia over his shoulder.

“Let me go!” Simia cried instantly. “Kill the Ylisseans! Kill them!”

“Orders were… to delay and… survive, no?” the big Risen mumbled.

Robin could just hear its voice above the shouts of the refugees around them and the crackling of the fire.

_It can’t be…_ he thought to himself as he noticed the shock of washed-out red hair sticking out of the cloak it was wearing, and the square jawline beneath the rags wrapping most of the Risen’s face.

“This one… a free… pass, yes?” the Risen rasped, pointing its blade first at Robin and then at the two women cautiously advancing on it.

Simia dropped from its grip, limping and retrieving and her sword with one final glare at Robin before they both disappeared into the flames.

Robin let out a breath as he massaged his bruised ribs, glancing up when he felt strong hands beneath his arm pulling him back to his feet. Lucina smiled at him as Aversa twirled his dagger between her fingers and walked towards them, Robin relaxing momentarily before he noticed the altar-tower above them leaning dangerously.

“Move!” he shouted, pushing Lucina down and out of the way.

With a thundering crash and a cloud of ash and embers the burning altar crumbled, the flaming logs falling between them and Aversa. Robin coughed as he and Lucina climbed back to their feet, and looking around at the inferno surrounding them he realised that they were completely cut off from the other woman.

Judging from the victorious smile on her face, Aversa had realised the same thing.

“Aversa!” Robin shouted, holding his hand out and steadying it by gripping his wrist, readying a spell. “Don’t make me kill you now after all this!”

The sorceress’ smile faltered, her eyes growing cold as she stopped twirling the dagger and frowned, looking down. With an easy underhanded toss she threw the silver blade over the fire, the weapon clattering at Robin’s feet.

Their eyes locked across the flames, and Robin’s mana flow wavered as he looked into the soft, warm eyes of his sister for the first time in more than ten years.

“Our mother’s name,” Aversa shouted over the noise around them. “It was Alexia!”

With that she turned, drawing her hood back up and walking away at a brisk pace, back in the direction they had come from.

Robin grit his teeth, his mana ebbing and flowing with his indecision until he finally dropped his hands.

“Robin?” Lucina asked curiously.

“Let her go,” he said quietly as he bent to retrieve his dagger.

Lucina nodded, looking out over the flaming altar at Aversa’s figure as it vanished in the haze.


	62. Chapter 62

Simia let out a vicious roar, smashing the tree she was standing next to into pieces with one swing of her black-bladed sword. The nameless-one stood silently off to one side of the small glen that was their rendezvous point with the others, his arms crossed as he watched Simia’s tantrum.

She’d been defeated by the tactician! Again! Never before, in life or in death, had she been so humiliated!

The sudden sound of dry chuckling made her spin, teeth still bared in a feral snarl as she glared at Anguilla and the other new Deadlord approaching with her. They were both coated with soot and gore, a triumphant smile on the mage’s face as the other simply looked on impassively.

“I assume the tactician defeated you agai-”

“Be silent!” Simia roared, cutting Anguilla off mid-speech and levelling her sword at the undead-mage.

 The Mage-Risen’s glowing eyes narrowed as she let out a barely perceptible growl.

“I will kill him!” Simia thundered, eyes burning with hate. “My blade will be the last thing that he sees!”

“All evidence to the contrary,” Anguilla snorted, slapping Simia’s sword out of her face and stepping in towards the other Deadlord.

“How many humans did you have to feed off to heal the wounds he gave you?” the mage asked, quirking one blood-stained eyebrow at the red smear on the side of Simia’s chin. “How many times has he bested you? Cease your foolish, pride-driven prattling and leave him to Mus.”

Simia let out another wordless roar of frustration before spinning and stalking back in the direction of the burning refugee camp. The hulking Deadlord that had been following her looked alarmed for a moment, caught between following her and following their orders.

“Let her go,” Anguilla snapped, ending the other’s confusion. “If she wishes to be defeated again then that is her business. We have orders to return to Mount Origin.”

The bigger Deadlord frowned beneath dirty gauze wrappings, a movement that was not lost on Anguilla.

“She will not be alone,” the mage assured the other. “We are Risen. As long as Lord Grima yet exists, we are never alone.”

The bigger Deadlord nodded slowly, glancing over his shoulder at the direction of the refugee camp one more time before turning and following the other two deeper into the forest.

*

“Robin! Lucina!” Lissa cried when the two Shepherds emerged from the blazing refugee camp, their cloak and coat singed and covered in ash.

The blonde princess ran forward, wrapping her arms around Lucina in a tight hug before moving on to Robin.

“What took you so long? We were so worried about you!” she said as she stepped back from the tactician.

Robin nodded silently, leading her back to where the others were waiting at the edge of the ring created by the warrior statues.

“So I assume, then, that we’re the only ones that encountered the Deadlords?” he asked without preamble.

“Forget it, don’t answer that; those shocked looks on your faces are answer enough.”

“They were here?” Basilio asked, kneading the grip on his axe and glancing excitedly back towards the camp.

Robin nodded in response.

“I fought Simia, the one that seems to hate me so much, and another one that didn’t introduce himself. I assume Grima’s filled in the ranks a little while we’ve been travelling. But they’ve withdrawn for now. The fire was their doing.”

“Things in the camp are getting desperate, and this explains much,” Virion pointed out. “Is there nothing we can do to quell the tide of greatest violence?”

“This place was a hot-pot from the beginning,” Robin sighed, looking back at the flames. “He knew this would happen with the slightest nudge…”

“All the more reason to perform the Awakening and strike back at the monster,” Chrom said hotly. “That he uses refugees as bait to try and delay us… we need to stop him.”

“So what are we waiting for?” Robin asked, stepping towards the temple. “The faster we do this the faster we can do something to help these people.”

“Wait,” Sumia said, hesitating and looking around as the others started moving. “Where’s Aversa?”

“Gone,” Robin answered without turning back. “We lost her in the fire. She got away.”

“Shouldn’t we look for her, then?” Sumia asked, concern evident in her tone.

Robin slowly shook his head.

“There’s no point. She’s long gone by now.”

An awkward silence settled over the group as they exchanged glances with Lucina. The Princess shook her head slightly, and Chrom nodded his understanding.

“Very well, Robin,” Chrom said, breaking the silence. “Let’s press on.”

They moved forward with Chrom at their head, stopping when they reached the first of the statues; a striking woman with a long pony-tail and clothes and armaments similar to Say’ri’s stared out over the crowded and blazing plain before her with a proud expression on her face, next to a younger looking man in light armour with a huge sword and a regal cape.

“I don’t recognize any of these warriors,” Basilio muttered under his breath as they moved along the row of statues heading towards the path that led into the temple.

“They are the einherjar,” Tiki said reverently. “Carved in the likeness of the greatest heroes, they are said to protect this hallowed place from evil in times of great need. Your ancestors are no doubt among their number, too.”

They walked in silence, a newfound respect for the heroes watching over them as they moved along the stone ranks. The story also explained why the superstitious refugees were giving them such a wide berth, even now that their camp was burning down around them.

“I found him!” Lucina said from a small way ahead of the others.

There, standing guard over one side of the small paved path leading up to the temple, was King Marth the Saviour, the distinctive blade of Falchion held at rest, its point sticking into the ground. The weapon’s guard and hilt were different, but it was undoubtedly the same sword Chrom and Lucina wielded. Robin noticed with a slight smirk that the clothes the statue and Lucina were wearing were very similar.

“Wow,” Robin breathed, coming up behind Lucina. “You do bear a striking resemblance to him.”

“It is just the clothes,” Lucina said lamely, slapping Robin in the stomach lightly with the back of her hand as her cheeks darkened slightly.

The others laughed a little as they all moved further towards the seemingly abandoned temple.

Now that they were closer Robin noticed just how much loving attention to detail was on every surface and every ledge; painstakingly carved columns depicting Naga’s various feats during the time before humans had become the dominant species lined the building, holding up the domed ceiling in a similar pattern to the ruins that Robin had explored in Plegia. A few torches burned towards the back of the open temple, making Robin guess that someone was indeed inside; a caretaker or something similar. With a sharp intake of breath Robin caught a glimpse of the path leading up to the mountain’s summit and the uncountable stairs that made it up through the temple’s columns.

“Can we just perform the Awakening down here?” Robin groaned, eying the stairs with a growing feeling of despair.

“No, it has to be at the summit,” Tiki said, a note of tired laughter in her voice. “And no, we can’t fly up; the Exalted Blood must make the pilgrimage properly. It’s part of the rite.”

“Why is it always stairs?” the tactician groaned, hanging his head.

“I’m not carrying you this time,” Lucina said as she stepped by him, earning more than a few chuckles from the others.

They proceeded slowly through the drafty temple, admiring the delicate architecture and murals depicting Naga on every surface. Out of respect for the holy place they were in no weapons were drawn, but hands lingered close to hilts just in case. Personally, Robin could say he wasn’t one of the believers in Naga as a god, but considering so many others close to him were adherents he had long ago learned to respect their opinions and keep his trap shut. Or face the wrath of a very irked Libra once more…

“Shouldn’t there be a priest, or a caretaker, or… something in here?” he asked in a low tone as they crept along through the shadows of the beautiful temple.

“I don’t see anyone,” Basilio muttered, glancing around.

Lon’qu grunted agreement, doing the same.

“Panne, do you-” Robin started, looking back and abruptly trailing off.

“Panne?” he repeated, looking back to where the Taguel was still standing near the huge columns of the temple’s entrance. “What’s wrong?”

“Risen,” she said, sniffing the air before turning to face Robin and the others again.

The look on her face put Robin on edge instantly. She was terrified.

“How many?” Robin asked, dread growing in his chest.

“So many I can smell them above the smoke and the fear,” Panne said, striding over to the other Shepherds. “Hundreds, if not thousands.”

A collective curse rose from the Shepherds at their rotten luck as Robin ran a hand through his hair, altering his plans on the fly.

“Chrom, we have to do something!” Lissa cried, looking up at her brother with a stricken face. “Those refugees came here looking for protection, trying to get away from the fighting! We have to do something to save them!”

“We can’t,” Robin answered coldly in the Exalt’s place. “The only way we can help them is by performing the Awakening on Chrom. We need to keep moving.”

“They’ll die!” Lissa insisted. “This isn’t like Valm, Robin! There’s nowhere for these people to run to! The Risen will kill them all!”

“And everyone _in the world_ will die if we don’t perform the Awakening!” Robin snapped suddenly. “I hate to say it, I really do, but dammit Lissa you need to prioritize! The lives of a few hundred refugees, or the lives of everyone!? Because that’s what we’re here for!”

Lissa blinked a few times, stunned into silence by Robin’s tirade. In the old days, back during the war with Plegia, Lissa might have burst into tears from being spoken to so harshly by someone she was so close to. But after surviving not one, but two horrendous wars in the space of five years she had become a harder person, and accepted Robin’s point with a nod, lowering her gaze to the ground.

“I don’t like it either,” Robin added in a softer tone. “But we need to think of the bigger picture. What could the ten of us possibly do alone against a horde like that except die for nothing?”

Silence reigned for a tense moment before the Princess eventually spoke.

“I’m sorry Robin. You’re right,” Lissa muttered, turning and walking towards the stairs to the mountain’s summit as the others watched.

One by one they followed her, until only Chrom and Lucina were still standing with Robin.

“Not the way I would have worded it, but you are right,” Chrom said, placing a hand on the tactician’s shoulder. “And she needed to hear it. Now let’s go so we can actually save some of these people.”

Robin nodded, following after Chrom with Lucina at his side.

To Robin’s mind, this was the part of being a tactician he hated. It was no surprise that in a group full of varied individuals like the Shepherds emotions could run high, especially given the way things had been going lately. But as the tactician it was part of his job to remind people that they had a job to do.

Even if it meant berating a friend and feeling wretched for abandoning hundreds to suffer and die while he stood and watched, he would-

Strong, slim fingers wrapped around his hand, causing his dark thoughts to be instantly derailed. Robin looked over, Lucina silently facing forward and walking beside him with her hand in his. Even through her gloves Robin could feel her warmth, and it set his spirit at ease. Out of everyone she was the one that understood those types of calls the best, having made them herself countless times, too.

The thought that he wasn’t alone in this anymore gave Robin the resolve he needed to quash his self-loathing a little longer, at least until the mission was done.

Which, unfortunately, still did nothing about the thousands of stairs he still had to climb.

*

“Why… is it… always… stairs…?” Robin gasped, finally pulling himself up over the last of the stone staircase.

“Oh it wasn’t that bad,” Chrom laughed, out of breath too. “I’m pretty sure the Milla Tree had more…”

“Dying…” Robin groaned, falling to his knees. “I’m… dying… water… need water…”

The rest of the Shepherds with them were in similar states of exhaustion, gasping and falling to the ground now that they were at the mountain’s summit. Robin had set a punishing pace, and for most of the time they had climbed at a brisk jog taking two stairs at a time. In the distance Robin could see an altar, similar to the one he’d seen in Plegia at the Dragon’s Table, but no one seemed inclined to rush over to it just yet.

“Five… five minute break,” Chrom gasped, managing to half-sit, half-fall on the ground at the top of the stairs.

Robin took a few deep breaths before forcing himself back to his feet.

“No time, everybody up,” he said, much to everyone’s great and vocal dissatisfaction.

“I really… really hate you right now,” Lissa moaned as she used a silent Lon’qu to pull herself up to her feet.

The Feroxi swordsman gave Robin an apologetic look as his wife leaned against his back; they both knew Lissa was just upset she couldn’t do anything for the refugees, and he had quietly tried to calm her down during their climb, but apparently she was still a little mad at Robin.

“I’m getting to old for this crap,” Basilio wheezed as Tiki helped pull him up.

“It’s not that bad!” the unflappable manakete laughed. “If you’re too old for this, what does that make me?”

“An eternally-youthful manakete,” the Khan grumbled.

Robin winced as he was suddenly beset by bright light, throwing a hand up to shield his eyes from the glare. Looking at the others doing the same he realised that they weren’t under attack, and had merely been climbing the mountain all night and it was now dawn. As his eyesight began to readjust to the daylight now washing over everyone Robin heard a gasp from Lissa.

“It’s beautiful,” the blonde woman muttered, both she and Lon’qu standing in a small sea of soft green grass set in a hollow, much the same as where Tiki had awoken her powers in Valm.

A few soft noises of agreement came out of the others as they tentatively stepped off of the dry, rocky path and into the grassy field. It was a strange sight to Robin; a soft, grassy field surrounded on all sides by the craggy peaks that one expected from the top of a mountain summit. Yet everywhere he looked in between he saw green. Even the temperature seemed to be different; comfortably warm as opposed to the unpleasant chill that had assailed them on the mountain climb.

“The Divine Dragon’s power flows through every blade of grass here,” Lucina said from Robin’s side, the awe evident in her voice as she looked around in wonder, a soft smile on her face.

“It’s amazing,” Sumia whispered reverently. “I can’t believe a place like this could exist.”

“Really?” Robin asked with a laugh. “You have two time-travelling daughters living with you, and this little garden is what you can’t believe?”

Sumia frowned slightly as she cleared her throat, clinging to Chrom’s arm and looking away from the source of her embarrassment.

“It was a… figure of speech,” she muttered, earning a fresh bout of laughter from the others as her old timid nature crept back to the fore.

Robin grinned along with Lucina laughing at his side, basking in the strange, calming energy pervading everything around them. It was as she had said; the energy of the Divine Dragon, Naga, was flowing through the entire space. He could feel it, like waves crashing on him gently in time to what felt like a heartbeat, the origin of which was the altar about the size of the huge bed that Chrom and Sumia shared in the palace back at Ylisstol, built in what Robin had no doubt was the exact centre of the hollow. He knew in his heart that in the shadow of the mountain the pilgrims and refugees were no doubt suffering, that Grima was still out there, and that there were potentially more monstrous Deadlords being created, but at that moment it all just washed away and Robin felt that he was truly at peace for the first time in a long time.

The tactician was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost walked into Chrom’s stationary back without realising that the Exalt had stopped.

“Er, what’s up?” he asked, looking around to the others.

Robin’s heart dropped as he beheld the grim faces staring outwards. Then he began to feel it, too.

“Something’s not right,” Chrom muttered, his hand anxiously kneading Falchion’s grip.

Robin let out another characteristic sigh, something he felt to be almost sacrilegious given the calming atmosphere, switching back into tactician-mode and drawing Sol from over his shoulder.

“Risen,” he said. “A lot of Risen. Just how close behind us were they…? Dammit, I hate it when Frederick’s right… I knew I should’ve brought the others… Nobody tell him I said that.”

“What!?” Tiki cried in dismay, spinning to face Robin as he continued muttering to himself.

“To arms!” Chrom urged the others. “They’ll be on us soon!”

“They… they’re trying to prevent the awakening!” Tiki said, her voice panicked. “We have to protect the altar!”

Chrom cast one look over his shoulder at the stone altar in the centre of the grassy hollow before nodding and drawing his sacred sword.

“You heard the Voice!” the Exalt said. “Protect the altar! Drive the Risen out of this sacred place!”

“Tiki, Panne, Virion, Lissa; protect the altar with your lives,” Robin ordered. “The rest of you, we’re the front line. Stick close. This is going to get… well, messy.”

“Define ‘messy’,” Basilio grunted, hefting his huge axe.

“The same kind of crap we always put up with,” Lon’qu responded before Robin could.

Not that he was going to say anything different, though. Basilio merely nodded, a predatory grin growing on his lined face.

“Good,” Robin heard the Khan mutter under his breath. “I was getting tired of waiting.”

The ill feeling in the air was beginning to become an audible sound; moaning and scrambling, falling rocks and pounding feet.

“There’s only one way into this hollow,” Robin said, falling back into one of Say’ri’s defensive stances he’d picked up second-hand from Morgan. “We’ve bottle-necked the bastards. Don’t worry if they get by us; the others will handle them. Just kill what’s in front of us and don’t hesitate for a moment.”

Basilio grunted a harsh laugh, swinging his axe in circles a few times to warm up his arms. Sumia nodded resolutely as she stepped back, preparing to use the longer reach of her lance to maximum effect. Lon’qu became perfectly still, holding his sword point-up close to his chest, one arm tucked back, with his legs spread wide to root him. Lucina and Chrom both stepped to the front, preparing to act the vanguard as they adopted the exact same stance. Robin felt a familiar stirring in his chest watching both the Falchion in Chrom’s hands and the one in Lucina’s began to blaze with blue fire from within as the first of the Risen flooded into the hollow.

“Into them!” Robin shouted.

“Shepherds! Charge!” Chrom roared, racing forwards in perfect sync with his daughter.

Arrows from Virion’s bow began to rain down on the Risen before they had gone more than a few steps, each shot a perfect kill as Risen began to dissipate into ash. The bolts stopped flying at the path, though, as Virion noticed a few of the braver or smarter Risen coming over the edges of the mountain into the hollow, and he was forced to start picking them off instead. Behind them there was a tell-tale draconian roar as Tiki shifted her form, Panne no doubt doing the same as they waited for the inevitable overflow that bypassed the main group. A blast of dragon’s fire mowed down the first rank of the Risen over the top of the others’ heads, the creatures flowing on unabated as if nothing happened.

Robin followed up Tiki’s attack with one of his own, skidding to a stop and doing something he hadn’t done in a very long time; he stabbed his sword into the ground and reached for his spellbook.

“Oh please Naga,” Robin prayed as he began channelling mana and flipping through his spellbook, “If you ever gave a damn about us let me get this spell right for once!”

A few times now he’d been forced to channel incomplete, rushed versions of this spell. He had learned most of the incantations by heart, but in the end magic was like cooking; if you rushed it, you’d get it wrong most of the time. Usually he could manage to get decent results even if he rushed, but he knew that if he wanted true destruction he would need to take his time. He could unlock the full power of the spell; he just needed to be patient.

Robin slapped his hand down on the page he was looking for, the others rushing by him as dark clouds began to gather overhead in a circular pattern.

“Echoes of lost ages,” Robin read, translating the ancient runic script inscribed on his page as he threw one hand up in the air. “Hammer of gods! Lord of storms I beseech you! Grant me your power!”

Electricity began to dance along the ground and rocks around Robin and the Risen, lighting flashing above them in the clouds in great white-gold forks. Robin dropped his hand, pointing squarely at the Risen.

“Mjlonir!” he roared, filling the hollow with a bright flash of light.

Bolts of lightning rained down on the Risen, shattering stone and turning the creatures to ash three at a time. Robin grinned savagely as he placed his tome back in its pouch and took up his sword again; just as he had thought, he was subconsciously harnessing the excess mana here, too, and the results were incredible to say the least.

Just before Chrom and Lucina met the first rank of the charging Risen the main part of the spell struck to the rear of the Risen formation, obliterating most of the innumerable creatures already on the summit of the mountain and clearing a huge gap between those Risen still charging up the stairs and those too close for Robin to have hit for fear of also hitting the others.

“Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow! That hurt like hell,” Robin muttered, holding his sword one-handed as he shook his still-smoking right hand.

Apparently he’d still managed to get the spell wrong somehow, judging from the blowback that had scorched his hand, or he’d simply misjudged just how much excess mana was floating around this place. Either way, he wasn’t about to argue with results.

Lucina and Chrom all but ignored Robin’s display of power and crashed into the Risen with all the force of a hurricane, the smaller creatures not turned to ash outright by the force of their charge sent flying through the air. Basilio and Lon’qu came next, spreading out wide and beginning to strike down the Risen flowing around the two royals, while Sumia struck like mercury around the others, the young Ylissean Queen’s lance a blur in her experienced hands.

However as the gap made by Tiki and Robin’s attacks was filled some of the masked creatures began to surge by the Shepherds. To Robin it looked like roughly one for every ten or so Risen felled was sneaking by; doing the math in his head he had no doubt that Tiki and Panne could handle them for a while, but if the fighting kept on too long they would all be overwhelmed.

With thoughts of ending the fighting as quickly as they could Robin charged forward, sword at the ready and…

“Wait… where’d all the Risen go?” he asked, coming to a stop just as Basilio stomped on the last of them in a cloud of purple ash.

“I don’t like this,” Chrom said, looking around at the deserted path.

Robin glanced over his shoulder, Tiki and Panne both having easily dealt with the Risen that had gotten by the defensive line, while Virion shrugged. So where, then, were the Risen reinforcements? They never travelled in such small groups.

The tactician crept forward to the stairs, the others fanning out around him, none of them knowing what to expect. When Robin got to the lip and looked down at an abandoned stone staircase and mountainside his brain tripped over itself, leaving him utterly at a loss.

“Uh… okay,” he said, scratching his head. “Is it just me, or is this getting a whole lot easier?”

“This isn’t right,” Chrom muttered, joining Robin.

“Are we really going to look a gift-horse in the mouth?” Basilio asked, kicking idly through the ashes and weapons left behind by the felled Risen while he waited for the others.

“Wait,” Robin said, squinting down at the camp below them. “What in Naga’s name…?”

A line of warriors had formed around the temple, but from so far away Robin couldn’t tell who they were or where they were from. Off in the south, too, it seemed like some of the refugees had formed an ad-hoc line to hold the Risen while the rest of them fled in the direction of Jagen.

“Reinforcements from Jagen?” Sumia asked, shading her eyes and looking down to the temple.

“Could be the statues for all we know,” Robin shrugged, turning and walking towards the altar. “Figures. The one time I don’t bring my spy-glass with me… Ah, whatever. Let’s make use of this time while we have it and worry about the Risen and whatever else after the Awakening. At least someone’s organized the refugees in the south, from the looks of things; there’ll be less deaths now.”

“That’ll make Lissa happy at the very least,” Chrom nodded, following the tactician.

“Lon’qu, watch the stairs,” Robin said over his shoulder.

The swordsman nodded once, leaning his blade against his shoulder before spinning and looking down at the path they had come from. As Robin and the others approached the altar Tiki and Panne both shifted back to their human forms, looking questioningly back over to Lon’qu.

“Don’t ask, I’ll explain later,” Robin sighed. “Let’s just get this show on the road before something else tries to kill us.”

“Okay,” Chrom said, unstrapping the Fire Emblem from his arm and holding it to his chest. “So… how do we do that?”

Robin almost fell over at the absurdity of his friend’s question, turning a shocked gaze on him as he collected himself.

“Are you kidding!? How long did you spend researching the ritual again!?” Robin half-shouted.

“Hey, books are your job,” Chrom said, frowning and looking away in embarrassment. “I learned the incantation, didn’t I? You’re the mage, you do the rest.”

“If your plan was to make me cast a spell to start the Awakening I kind of needed prior warning,” Robin groaned in exasperation. “You know, to actually learn the spell? What am I supposed to do, waggle my fingers at the altar and just throw raw mana at it?”

“I thought, seeing as you’d thought about literally every other scenario possible, you would have already looked into this,” Chrom responded hotly. “Or did your master plans and machinations not extend that far?”

“I… uh… shut up!” Robin came back lamely. “My master plans and machinations were supposed to prevent us from needing to do this in the first place! I never thought we’d actually have to do the Awakening so… I… kinda skipped it…”

“Unbelievable,” Virion muttered, face-palming while Panne and Basilio chuckled next to him.

“It was a complicated spell and I had better things to do at the time!” the tactician insisted to the laughing Shepherds.

Robin and Chrom’s argument was interrupted by Tiki’s laughter as the manakete stepped forward.

“I guess it’s a good thing that I came after all, huh?” she asked, grinning at the two men’s antics.

Robin grunted, shooting Chrom another dirty look.

“Fine. Tiki, do… whatever the Awakening… is,” Robin groused, crossing his arms and jerking his head over in Chrom’s direction.

“Pay attention in case we have to do this again,” Chrom said, pointedly looking at a surprised Lucina.

“Well, we’ve seen one already, so he’s bound to pick it up,” Tiki said, taking the Fire Emblem from Chrom and holding it gently. “In fact, you were the one Awakened in the first place, Robin. In Plegia.”

“Wait, what?” Robin asked, quirking one brow as everyone turned to look at him. “No I wasn’t. I seem to recall rejecting Grima rather forcefully.”

“You jumped into the flames,” Tiki said hesitantly. “When you grabbed the Emblem. I thought… you knew what you were doing.”

“Of course I didn’t know what I was doing!” Robin shouted, eyes growing wide now. “I never know what I’m doing! Ninety percent of what I do is made up on the spot!”

“There’s a comforting thought,” Basilio muttered, rolling his eye.

“That does explain why I’ve been so energetic lately, though…” Robin said, holding his chin in thought as his mood shifted suddenly. “And why that spell got away from me like that…”

“So does Robin hold the same power as Grima then, even though he rejected him?” Lucina asked.

Tiki shook her head sadly.

“He only absorbed a small fraction of the power,” she explained. “Much was lost while we were fighting, and the future-Robin stole the rest. It was an imperfect Awakening to begin with…”

“Well, it doesn’t really matter now,” Robin said with an exaggerated shrug. “Chrom, get going. C’mon, if I can do it, so can you.”

“There’s another comforting thought,” Basilio added with a chuckle.

“Alright,” Chrom nodded. “Tiki, lead the way. The rest of you, wait here.”

“Be careful, Chrom,” Lissa urged, clutching her staff close to her chest protectively.

“We must have faith in him, Aunt Lissa,” Lucina said, placing a comforting hand on the other woman’s shoulder.

“He’ll be fine,” Sumia said in the same airy, love-struck tone she used to use when she was talking about Chrom before the war in Plegia.

Robin rolled his eyes, the rest of the group pressing in close as Tiki and Chrom approached the altar. Something in the air changed as they neared the flat stone; the mana in the area began to swirl where before it had been a pulse. An invisible whirlpool of energy that Robin doubted anyone besides Tiki and himself could feel centred on the altar as she and Chrom stood before it.

“Mother!” Tiki called out in a clear voice, her personality shifting back to that of the holy maiden she was supposed to be and setting the Fire Emblem down in the centre of the stone slab.

“These humans have gathered the gemstones and present you with the ancient pact, the Shield of Seals! They seek your aid! Will you not answer them?”

_Mother?_ Robin thought, glancing at Tiki in a new light. _Is she… really the daughter of a god? Did we talk about this earlier? I thought it was figurative. Gah! Focus! Speculate later!_

“Hear me, Naga!” Chrom intoned, displaying Falchion proudly. “I bear proof of our sacred covenant! In the name of the Exalted Blood, I ask for the divine dragon's power! Baptize me in fire that I may become your true son!”

Robin felt, rather than saw, the mana in the air come to a stand-still before converging all at once on the altar. Emerald green flames, the same colour as the ones Tiki had created in Valm when she had marshalled her power during the war, burst out of the altar and into the sky, enveloping the slab and shooting into the sky.

“Go, Chrom, and prove the purity of your cause,” Tiki said solemnly, placing her hand on his shoulder for a moment before stepping back.

To the Exalt’s credit he didn’t hesitate a moment, planting his sacred sword in the ground and putting one foot on the lip of the blazing stone before launching himself heedlessly upwards and disappearing into the green flames.

For a moment that stretched on for what seemed like forever the group held their breath, waiting to see what happened as Chrom slowed, his silhouette stopping in the centre of the altar.

Robin felt his heart stop, though, when his best friend threw his head back and let out a roar of unimaginable pain, his hands clenching into claws and reaching upwards as he screamed.

“Chrom!” Sumia cried, stepping forward.

“Father!” Lucina shouted in tandem with her mother, actually running forward a few paces before stopping.

All at once the fire froze in mid-air before exploding outwards, leaving Chrom standing unharmed on the gently smoking altar before he fell to his knees.

“I’m… alright,” he said, his voice full of wonder as he opened and closed his fists.

Robin and the others looked around in wonder as small green embers danced around them, caught up on the soft flow of mana that had started whirling around the altar again.

“Incredible,” Virion breathed, reaching out and catching one of the green embers in his open palm.

The small light vanished, sinking into his hand. The archer flexed his fingers and made a fist, staring in wonder at his appendage.

“Dammit, that was so much cooler than my Awakening,” Robin sulked, crossing his arms and pouting a little as Sumia and Lucina rushed to Chrom’s side.

The Ylissean Queen and future-Princess helped him down from the altar, supporting the shell-shocked man between them.

“He is fine,” Tiki said, appearing beside them and holding Falchion out to him hilt first. “Naga has found you worthy.”

Chrom smiled tiredly, taking his arm off of Lucina’s shoulders, accepting his holy sword before returning it to its sheath.

All at once everybody turned back to the altar as another bright flash of green light appeared above the Fire Emblem. Robin had to blink a few times before he registered what he was seeing.

There, floating just above the Fire Emblem, was a woman in white robes with familiar green hair.

“Holy Goddess,” Virion breathed, his eyes fairly bulging in astonishment.

“Literally,” Basilio added, quirking one brow.

Panne averted her eyes quickly, dropping her head and staring at the ground as she quaked at the deity’s presence much like Yarne used to around Robin.

The ethereal, translucent woman floated down from the altar, her feet remaining an inch off the ground as she hovered in space.

“Be welcome, Awakener. Your heart has been tested and deemed worthy. Cleansed in my fire, your desire has proven to be the stronger.”

“Naga?” Chrom asked, his eyes wide as he lifted himself off of his wife’s shoulder to stand on his own.

“Yes,” the spirit replied, nodding gracefully.

Her every move spoke of millennia of wisdom and power, and yet still she was graceful as a dancer as she floated towards the humans. For the first time in his life Robin found himself truly speechless in the face of another being. Her gaze passed over the group, lingering for a few seconds on Robin. As her eyes bored into his Robin felt as if his soul was being tested and he was being judged, a jolt of electricity travelling down his spine; apparently satisfied, the corners of Naga’s lips quirked ever-so-slightly upwards as her gaze continued to sweep across the others.

“Divine Naga, grant me the power to defeat Grima! The power to slay a god!” Chrom begged after a speechless moment, actually falling to one knee before the ancient spirit.

“Please,” he added in a small voice. “Grant me the power to protect the world my family lives in.”

Naga watched the grovelling Chrom impassively for a moment before her face broke into a sad grin. With fluid tenderness she knelt down in front of the Exalt, still floating in mid-air, and placed both hands on his shoulders.

“I will grant you what power I can,” she said softly. “But know this, Awakener; I cannot give you the power to slay a god.”

Chrom’s shocked face snapped up, but it was Lucina who spoke first.

“But milady, you are the divine dragon!” she cried. “You are the Goddess!”

Naga turned her sad smile onto Lucina before floating back to her upright position.

“So do sons of man name me,” the spirit explained, as if lecturing a favoured student. “But I am no creator. I possess not the powers of making or unmaking. And neither does Grima. Neither of us bears the power to destroy the other utterly.”

“So he talks a big game, but he’s not really omnipotent or all-powerful,” Robin said, mostly to himself, as he stroked his chin in thought again.

“Yes, very astute of you, Fellblood,” Naga chuckled, her smile changing to one of humour as she looked over to the tactician.

Robin had to admit, when Naga’s spirit smiled her resemblance to Tiki was uncanny.

“Fellblood?” Robin repeated, his brow quirking on impulse.

“Then what power can you grant me?” Chrom asked respectfully as he rose to his feet.

“With my blessing, thou may draw forth Falchion's true might,” Naga said, drifting over to Chrom’s side.

Naga’s spirit reached down to where Chrom’s hand was resting on Falchion’s pommel, clasping his larger hand and holding it in place before continuing to speak.

“The blade of the Exalts shall again strike like the dragon's fang. Your strength will then be my equal,” she said, a soft light enveloping Chrom’s hand before spreading to the sword beneath it.

“Will that be… enough to destroy Grima?” Chrom asked, his gaze falling to his hand as Naga drew back.

Naga looked away, her eyes settling on the ground as she drifted back towards the altar.

“Alas, Grima cannot be slain,” she said quietly, as if deeply ashamed of her own inability to provide further help. “Sleep alone can be your victory, just as your ancestor put the fell dragon to sleep a millennium ago. But you must weaken him first. Only as the final blow can my power be used to bind his.”

Silence settled on the group as Robin racked his brain for a plan, any plan, any scrap of knowledge that he could use to help them destroy Grima permanently.

“Isn’t there any way to destroy him for good?” Lissa asked desperately, echoing Robin’s thoughts.

“We must find some way to break this unholy cycle!” Chrom declared. “There must be a way! We can't just keep putting Grima back to sleep every few centuries. Otherwise we merely will his vengeance on our descendants.”

“There is, perchance, a power that could end Grima,” Naga explained hesitantly. “However... 'Twould be his own.”

“So he has to, what? Kill himself?” Robin asked, fairly certain smoke was about to start pouring out of his ears as he mentally flipped through every book on tactics or magic he had ever read.

“There is a way,” Naga said, staring pointedly back at Robin.

“Why are you staring at… me?” he asked, looking to make sure he wasn’t standing in front of someone.

“You are his avatar, Fellblood,” Naga explained, drifting towards Robin. “You are literally of Grima’s bloodline. You also absorbed a portion of his power, his essence, during his Awakening ritual. You and Grima are linked in this timeline in more ways than one.”

“So I could kill him?” Robin asked in astonishment. “Me? Then why the hell did we bother coming all the way out here!?”

“Because we didn’t know that,” Tiki laughed.

“But we do now!” Chrom said, his face lighting up. “If you and I are at the forefront of the attacking force nothing could stand in our way now that we’ve both been Awakened! Robin, you and I could end this cycle forever!”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ here…” Robin muttered, looking to Naga.

“Could it work?” Lucina asked excitedly. “Could Robin strike a killing blow?”

“How? Where? He’s freaking huge!” Robin reasoned, being ignored by the excited Shepherds.

“There is a chance it may work,” Naga said, quieting the others. “But there would be consequences. Grima's heart and his avatar's are inexorably linked. The very soul of dragon and man can no longer be separated. Therefore, slaying Grima would also cause the end of Robin's life.”

Silence fell again as Naga’s news set in. Everyone looked to Robin at once, ten sets of eyes watching for his reaction as he took a deep breath.

“Piss off, dying once was enough for one lifetime,” he half-barked, half-laughed.

“There is...a chance you could survive, but it is small indeed,” Naga went on, grinning slightly at Robin’s crudeness. “You have bound your heart to those of many others in this world. If those ties prove strong enough, they may yet keep you in this reality. But I would not give you false hope. The chance you would live is insignificant. In truth, you will almost certainly cease to exist.”

“Is that supposed to encourage me?” Robin deadpanned, crossing his arms.

“No,” Chrom said flatly. “We will find another way. We’ve already lost enough to this monster.”

Lucina nodded agreement, moving to take Robin’s hand comfortingly.

“Can we worry about it later?” Robin asked. “We did what we came to, and we still have a valley full of Risen to kill.”

“He’s right, we can talk about this once the refugees are safe,” Chrom said, looking over at Naga.

The spirit smiled at the Shepherds for a moment and nodded as if impressed, floating back towards the altar.

“Very well, Awakener,” she said. “My Einherjar will protect the temple and the mountain, but can go no further; you must save the people. Use the power I have given you to protect these people, and then travel to Mount Origin, far to the west. I shall slumber within the Shield of Seals until then.”

“Wait, so it is the statues fighting down there?” Robin asked, being ignored again.

Naga looked over to Tiki, giving the manakete a maternal smile. The gemstones on the Fire Emblem flashed, and suddenly the Shepherds were alone on the mountaintop again. Chrom tentatively stepped forward to retrieve the Emblem, strapping it back to his arm before looking back at the others.

“Alright, let’s go kill some Risen!” Basilio cheered, running towards the stairs suddenly invigorated.

“We… we just met the Goddess,” Sumia breathed as the rest of the Shepherds followed the Khan. “We met Naga, the goddess…”

“Yes, and Robin just told her to ‘piss off’,” Virion said, obviously trying not to laugh at the thought.

“Oh Naga, I’m going to go to hell, aren’t I?” Robin moaned, slapping his palm to his forehead as they ran.

The others laughed while they began descending the stairway, Robin groaning and shaking his head. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but it sounded like there was an extra feminine voice laughing at him, coming from the general direction of Chrom’s wrist.

*

Robin crept forward from the temple at the base of the mountain cautiously, just behind Chrom.

Mid-morning sunlight broke through the clouds still lingering from his grand spell, and he had to admit that the refugee camp didn’t look a whole lot better in the light than it had in the dark.

“Where did the Risen go?” Robin asked, his voice a whisper. “Or the warriors that were holding them off?”

“I don’t know,” Chrom said, kicking at the discarded weapons on the ground and throwing up a small puff of purple ashes.

“It was the Einherjar,” Tiki said, looking up at the statue of Marth and smiling as they passed out of the ring of stone figures.

As she passed, Tiki reached up and stroked the statue’s arm, her fingers just barely brushing its surface.

“The statues came to life and protected the temple while we performed the Awakening, then went back to standing guard?” Robin asked disbelievingly, stopping and looking back at the manakete woman.

Tiki nodded, grinning sheepishly.

“You know, whatever; it’s still not the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to us lately,” Robin sighed.

“The refugees were holed-up in the south,” Chrom said, starting to walk towards the camp. “Let’s try going there and bringing them to Jagen.”

“Alright, let’s go play hero,” Robin said unenthusiastically.

Lucina hesitated a moment as the others started making for the camp, staring up at the face of the statue of Marth that was once more looking out into the distance.

“I don’t look that much like him…” she muttered to herself before hurrying to catch up with the others.

*

A hasty barricade of sharpened poles and splintered wood had been set up by the refugees, a few exhausted men in civilian clothes with battered and improvised weapons still standing guard as the Shepherds approached, no longer trying to conceal their identities.

Robin was honestly amazed they had been able to hold out against the numbers they had faced with such fortifications. Whoever had taken charge and made all this possible was obviously a very skilled tactician, or a very lucky leader; perhaps someone ex-military or something similar. Either way, it seemed like for the moment the refugees had held out and were taking some much needed rest.

Panne had confirmed, as they had stalked through the abandoned camp, that there were still a large number of Risen lurking in the vicinity, something that the refugee leader obviously had expected, too, judging from the fortifications and the fact no one was making a run for the forest. All around the fortified ‘wall’ had been cleared away, too, to create a space where the refugees could actually fight in.

“Whoever’s in charge here has a pretty solid grasp of the situation,” Basilio muttered from Robin’s side. “The fortifications are pretty good, too, considering what they had to work with.”

“Find the leader,” Robin suggested to Chrom. “I doubt the rank-and-file are going to know what’s going on besides ‘scary things are trying to kill us’.”

The Exalt nodded, picking up his pace to stand ahead of the Shepherds.

“You there!” Chrom called out in his most authoritative voice once they got closer. “Who is in charge here!?”

The refugee being spoken to, a man of middle-age sitting with his back to the closest pole with a sword across his lap looked up at the Shepherds. His jaw dropped after a few seconds when he recognized Chrom and Sumia and he scrambled into a kneeling position.

“Mi-milord!” the refugee said quickly. “It’s… I… what are you doing here?”

“Saving you,” Chrom answered simply, coming to a stop in front of the kneeling man. “Now please, sir; rise and show us to your leader.”

“O-of course, Lord Chrom,” the refugee said, head still bowed low as he dashed further into the fortified area. “She’s… she already left, along with the wounded and the people that couldn’t fight. They were heading to Jagen. We’re getting ready to follow them now, too.”

“What about the Risen?” Robin asked, coming alongside Chrom.

“We don’t know,” the man said. “They just… stopped attacking. The lady that took charge decided it was the best time to get the wounded out, but we had to hold as a rearguard to give them time to get away.”

Chrom nodded understanding, looking over his shoulder at Robin. The tactician shrugged, already knowing what he was thinking.

“Gather up the rest of the rearguard and go now,” The Exalt said. “We’ll cover your retreat. Make for the forest and link up with the others.”

“Y-yes milord, right away!” the refugee man said, falling over himself in his haste to carry out Chrom’s orders.

“Why can’t everyone we deal with be helpful like that?” Robin asked lightly as the rest of the Shepherds gathered around.

“So we don’t get to fight?” Basilio asked, doing his best to sound overly-disappointed.

“It appears that way,” Chrom said thoughtfully.

“I do not smell any more Risen,” Panne said helpfully.

“Yeah, I can’t sense any of them either,” Robin added.

“Damn,” Basilio huffed dejectedly.

“Putting aside the crazy Feroxi battle-lust for now,” Robin said slowly, “What do we do now? Just… travel to Jagen a whole hell of a lot slower than we intended to? Do we even have time for that now?”

“We’ll make time,” Chrom said. “I don’t trust the fact that the Risen suddenly vanished. They never pull back.”

“Sumia, do you think you could fly some recon?” Robin asked, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“Of course,” she replied quickly. “I just have to go back to the horses to get Palla and we’ll be in the air in moments.”

“Right,” Robin agreed. “Virion, Panne, go with her and bring the horses back here. Sumia, try not to get bogged down fighting anything; if you get attacked, come right back here. Understood?”

A trio of affirmatives rang out before the Shepherds in question disappeared into the abandoned and still-smouldering refugee camp.

“So what do we do now?” Lissa asked curiously.

“We’re the rearguard,” Robin shrugged, leaning heavily back against a pole. “We wait and we guard the rear.”

*

“And what, exactly, is going off and getting yourself killed going to accomplish?”

Simia spun, the perpetual snarl finally melting off her face in the presence of her master’s glib tone.

She had made it as far as the now-abandoned refugee camp, but had felt the presence of the mindless ones around her steadily decreasing the further she went, contrary to her mental orders of ‘attack’; by now they should have overwhelmed the camp, but all the evidence pointed to the contrary.

Now, sitting before her on a fallen pole was a shade of Grima’s avatar, grinning at her as it rested lazily.

“I know you heard me,” the shade, a form of ancient Dark projection magic, said, leaning forward slightly. “It wasn’t a rhetorical question.”

“I… I will kill him,” Simia insisted, finally feeling some of her seething hatred giving way to logic.

“No. You won’t,” the shade said, lithely hopping to its feet. “You can’t face him alone, which is what you are now that I’ve pulled the mindless ones back.”

“But lord, I-” Simia started, cut off when her master’s presence appeared behind her now.

“Who gave you permission to summon the mindless ones here?” he whispered into her ear in an icy tone.

“You are pressing my patience, Simia,” the shade added, suddenly perched atop one of the thin poles that had once held tents. “My orders were clear. Follow them.”

“I can kill him!” Simia insisted.

“I said no!” Grima thundered.

Suddenly the shade changed, a massive shadow of a dragon looming down on Simia with baleful glowing red eyes staring right through her. Simia quailed before Grima’s fury, stepping back and nearly falling to the ground in her terror.

“You are my servant!” Grima roared. “Mine! You will do as I say, or I will unmake you and use the energy to create another servant! One that follows orders! You are not privy to my great plans because you are a weapon! Nothing more!”

Just as sudden as his rage had started it dissipated, Grima’s shadow appearing again leaning with crossed arms against another pole.

“So what’s it going to be?” he asked lightly. “Revenge later, or death now? I assure you, you will get another crack at getting yourself impaled on his big fancy sword, don’t you worry about that.”

Simia lowered her gaze, nodding.

“I assume that means you’ll be a good girl and _do as you’re told_ ,” the shade said with a victorious smile as it started to dissipate.

“Don’t let it happen again. Next time I will not be so merciful,” it added just before disappearing completely.

As she cast one final look in the direction that she felt the tactician’s presence in Simia spun on her heel and began stomping off back towards the west.

“He can’t keep running forever,” she promised herself. “He’ll have to come to me eventually.”

Until then she would bide her time.

Finally, after all this time, she had found a man worth killing.

She wouldn’t let him get away again.

*

Robin leaned with his back against one of the sharpened posts marking the refugee fortifications, watching the exodus of their rearguard while he and the others waited for their horses.

The fact that the Risen had mysteriously pulled back made him nervous. Especially considering that their favoured tactic was ‘throw bodies at the problem and hope for the best’.

For a few minutes there he had felt like something was coming through the ruined camp, perhaps even one of the Deadlords coming to make a second pass at him, but after a while the presence had just faded, leaving him to lean and contemplate his current predicament in solitude. He almost would have preferred the attack, in all honesty.

He hated that he had been backed into a tactical corner, made all the worse now that Grima literally knew all his tricks. No doubt once he returned to Ylisstol Morgan would have a stack of reports up to her chin detailing the exact same thing that had happened here at Mount Prism, except all over the rest of Ylisse.

Robin sighed as he watched the small column of armed refugees disappearing towards the forest for a little longer.

He couldn’t be everywhere at once. He couldn’t do everything at once.

He was having rings run around him and his strategies for a change, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“Now I know how Gangrel must have felt,” Robin muttered to himself with a derisive chuckle.

“There’s a scary thought,” Chrom said as he walked up to Robin’s side, his boots crunching the gravel and debris beneath them. “Tell me you don’t want the Emblem now, too.”

“Not while it has a passenger that apparently shares her daughter’s sense of humour,” Robin muttered, eying the shield on Chrom’s arm and feeling pretty sure Naga was smiling at him in amusement.

“Heh, I can scarcely believe it,” Chrom muttered, resting his hand on the edge of the shield for a moment. “The Divine Dragon, Naga. It seems like a dream. Perhaps now we have the power to defeat Grima.”

“Yes, your shield is possessed by a goddess, and it’s still not the weirdest thing to happen to us,” Robin sighed theatrically.

“Oh?” Chrom laughed, giving Robin’s shoulder a light nudge. “And what takes the ‘number one weirdest’ spot then?”

“A monarch that takes in random amnesiac vagabonds and gives them unreasonable levels of power and authority because they outwit a few Plegian bandits?” the tactician shrugged, doing his best not to smile.

“And here was me being worried about you,” Chrom said, shaking his head with a grin. “Your horrible sense of humour is, as always, intact at least. You may just end up joking your way out of a job at this rate.”

“I do my best,” Robin added lightly.

The two men burst into laughter at that, Chrom so hard he had to support himself on his knees as he doubled over.

Robin looked off into the camp for a moment as their laughter died off, sighing.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started.

“That is what I pay you for,” Chrom said lightly.

“Another point to make later is when _was_ the last time I was paid?” Robin deadpanned. “But right now I wanted to say… what if Naga was right, and the only way to kill Grima is-”

“Stop right there,” Chrom said seriously, cutting Robin off mid-sentence.

“You are not, under any circumstances, to think of this again,” he added. “That is a royal order from your Exalt. There must be a better way to kill Grima, one that does not cost your life. And, speaking plainly as Lucina’s father, it would crush her. And know that I would go into the very depths of hell to punish you for hurting my little girl.”

“That is an intensely terrifying thought,” Robin said, a slight grin rising to his face for a moment.

“But I’m not making any promises, Chrom,” the tactician added, looking away. “If the time comes, and we don’t have a better plan, I’m taking him down. No matter the cost.”

“I will stop you,” Chrom warned.

“You can try,” Robin said, grinning back at the Exalt’s threat. “We should argue about this after I do the research to find a better method, huh?”

“I can at least help you, right?” Chrom offered quietly.

“If the results of your last attempts at research are anything to go by, I think I’d be better off alone on this one,” Robin laughed.

“It’s what you pay me for, right?” Robin added, smiling up at the taller man.

Chrom just sighed, shaking his head at his friend’s stubbornness.

“I offered,” the Exalt said, leaning back against the same pole Robin was.


	63. Chapter 63

Robin involuntarily shivered, climbing the last of the steep dirt path up to Castle Jagen. The air always seemed so cold in Jagen; it was a mountain city-fortress, after all, and it was pretty high up compared to Ylisstol or Themis. But the logic didn’t make Robin like the temperature any more; or the city itself for that matter. The shivering had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he didn’t particularly like the cold, dreary militaristic Ylissean city-state, he told himself; not at all.

“It is nice to see that Jagen will not change much in the future,” Lucina muttered suddenly from his side. 

“It’s seriously still this… grey in the future?” Robin asked curiously.

Lucina actually chuckled a little as the spread-out group walked under the great stone siege-gates of the city’s outer wall, the day turning into twilight as they were met and led by dour-faced and sky-blue armoured soldiers through the torch-lit gloom.

“It gets much more crowded,” Lucina said, looking around nostalgically. “We retreated to Jagen after Themis and Ylisstol fell. It does have the thickest walls, after all. But apart from that, yes, I’m afraid the grey remains.”

“You seem to be in strangely high spirits this morning,” Robin pointed out as they stepped into the outer ring of Jagen, momentarily blinded by the weak sunlight.

Usually it was an incredible chore just to get Lucina to tell him or anyone else about her future. It was hard to get any of the children to talk about **it** , in fact; except for Morgan, for whom it was almost a game to see how much she could remember. But Lucina was always extremely tight-lipped on the subject. Robin could understand why they would feel that way and usually left well enough alone, but for Lucina to be freely revealing information like this…

“I am in a good mood,” she said, smiling when she looked at Robin.

The blue-haired princess stopped, pulling him to one side suddenly, ignoring the curious glances from the other Shepherds, and pointing to a knot of guards tending to the refugees that had arrived just ahead of their group. Guards wearing blue Jagen plate mingled with the rags and tattered leather armour of the refugees, handing out supplies and giving instructions on where the other refugees that had already arrived, led to Jagen by their mysterious leader, had been set up.

“Look,” Lucina said, gripping Robin’s arm and holding it close to her chest, clinging to him in a way she usually refrained from. “It is a small victory, but by my count we managed to save over half of the refugees. Even after the Risen attacked, and after the fire. They are safe.”

Robin nodded, smiling a little at Lucina’s good cheer. He opted not to mention they hadn’t really done anything to help, merely operating as the rearguard and chasing off a few straggling Risen. The look in her eyes said that she had needed this win, and Robin tended to agree with her. After the losses they had suffered in the last few weeks it was nice to see something going right again.

“I’d very much like to meet the woman that led the refugees to safety,” Robin said conversationally as they started walking again.

“As would I, if time permits,” Lucina agreed.

“I’m afraid you’d be waiting a long time,” one of the passing Jagen guards said in a bored monotone as he checked a clipboard. “She disappeared as soon as the refugees were in sight of the walls. Didn’t even come into the city.”

The guard didn’t look up as he spoke, simply continuing to walk and read without even glancing at who he was talking to.

“You don’t think…” Lucina began before Robin cut her off.

“No,” he said with an air of finality. “She’s not that kind of person.”

“You don’t know that for certain,” Lucina persisted, looking up at him. “She did tell you your mother’s name in the end.”

Robin just grunted evasively, beginning to lead Lucina after the others before they got too far ahead.

*

“I hate Jagen,” Robin mumbled under his breath nearly an hour later.

He and the rest of the Shepherds had been led through the outer residential ring of the city-fortress and were now being brought to the Duchess’ Keep. Funnily enough, not a lot had changed since the last time he had been there. Civilians had barely looked up as the armed procession had passed through their streets, a few muttering to each other in surprise as they recognized Chrom and Sumia but otherwise ignoring the warriors. Soldiers were still running around in the military ward, drilling with weapons or just being yelled at by their superiors as they ran laps. Blacksmiths could be heard pounding metal, the clanking hammering sound serving as an accompanying undercurrent for the rest of the incredibly militaristic city, almost like a steel heartbeat. It was easy to see why Frederick was who he was, but it never ceased to amaze Robin just how jovial and laid-back Duke Aerir had been.

That thought alone made Robin intensely curious as to what kind of person Frederick and Aerir’s cousin, the current Duchess, was like. In fact…

“Probably a bad time to ask this,” Robin leaned over and whispered to Sumia. “But what’s the Duchess’ name again?”

Chrom snorted, barely restraining his laughter as Sumia’s eyes went wide in amazement. The Queen settled for sighing and shaking her head.

“The fate of the world is in your hands…” she muttered fatalistically.

“Hey, I usually dealt with Seth,” Robin said, drawing back and crossing his arms indignantly.

“Duchess Azolla will probably meet with us before we get to leave,” Chrom said, valiantly trying not to snicker at the clueless tactician as he threw the shorter man a bone.

“Thank you,” Robin said exasperatedly, drifting back from the royal couple.

He nodded a few times, pointedly ignoring the snickering from the other Shepherds around him and some of the braver guards escorting them as he tried to commit the name to memory.

_Who the hell names these poor kids?_ Robin thought to himself. _Sheesh, Frederick got off easy, didn’t he? Unless… that’s not his real name! I must investigate this when I get time. I’ll add it to my ‘To Do’ list. Urgh. That list is getting long._

They continued on towards the keep, the massive stone edifice looming above them like a jagged grey mountain surrounded by thick walls and countless soldiers. Robin found himself stealing a glance at Lucina, suddenly understanding well why Jagen had become their final refuge against the Risen in the future. The tactician doubted that even Grima himself could tear this city-fortress down alone.

Themis was built on a wide, open field; it was a beautiful city, one of peace and artistry despite being the closest to the Plegian border. The city itself only sported walls as a formality, much of the residential space spilling out beyond the old walls; which, Robin surmised, was why it had been so easy for the Plegians to raze it during the first war. In his mind’s eye he could see the Risen simply running over the village without slowing, and it wasn’t a pleasant thought. Ylisstol was a cross between the two cities; both militaristic and beautiful, Ylisstol could probably withstand a siege for quite some time. But all it would take was one fallen gate and the Capital would be doomed. Jagen, it appeared, had been designed by knights, for knights, with the intention of being harsh enough to create even more knights.

Jagen’s cavalry had, in fact, been one of the deciding factors of the war in Valm. Where the Valmese used quantity, the Ylisseans had made up the difference in the quality of their cavalry, and the elite Knights and outriders from Jagen had run rings around the more numerous Valmese riders.

It made Robin surprisingly sad to think that this militarism was exactly what he needed to take advantage of to save the world at present, and not the calm rationalism that called Ylisstol home.

Suddenly, the group veered, heading along one of the massive keep’s outer walls and towards the stables and interrupting his thoughts in the process.

“Er… what’s going on?” Robin asked, stepping forward with Chrom and Sumia.

“The Duchess was made aware of just how short on time we are,” Chrom said over his shoulder. “How long were you zoned out for?”

“A while,” Robin admitted.

“Well, we’re heading right for Ylisstol at the head of a thousand Knights,” Chrom explained. “With another four thousand coming behind us in the next few days, not to mention the infantry and support squads. Jagen is committing everything they have to our final showdown with Grima. We just need to meet up with-”

Whatever Chrom was about to say became lost in a loud, high-pitched squeal as they neared the stables, a flash of red darting out and barrelling head-long into Sumia’s chest.

Robin’s heart jumped into his throat as he recognized the woman now hugging the laughing Ylissean Queen like they were long-lost sisters.

“How’re my favourite royal customers doing!?” Anna cried happily as she gave Sumia what appeared to be an incredibly tight one-armed hug.

“Aren’t we your only royal customers?” Chrom laughed.

“Hey, I’m standing right here,” Lissa sulked from behind Chrom, earning a fresh bout of happy laughter.

Anna laughed along with the other Shepherds as she finally released Sumia, giving Robin a chance to get a good look at the merchant while she greeted the others in much the same fashion; even Basilio, who hardly knew the woman, got an awkward hug.

She was wearing her usual red travelling clothes and her favourite yellow cape, but her right arm was tightly slung to her chest and she was clearly trying not to put too much weight on her right side as she moved around.

“What happened to you, Anna?” Lissa said into the merchant’s chest as she was gripped in another hug.

“I got shot by one of those freaky Risen arrows,” Anna shrugged nonchalantly. “You know, the kind that won’t heal? Fortunately, I’m a businesswoman first, and a soldier second, so I don’t really need this arm! I can always pay people to carry stuff, and I can count coins with my off-hand, but…”

She trailed off when she came to stand in front of Robin, looking up at the man. The tactician wore a stricken, guilt-laden look on his face as Anna blinked up at him with a neutral expression.

“I’m sorry, Robin,” she said finally, looking down. “I don’t want to say this, but I don’t have a choice. That… madman cursed me or something, and…”

“What?” Robin croaked around the lump in his throat.

Anna looked back up at him, her eyes glazing over as her face went slack.

“I broke your promise,” she whispered to him, her voice magically superimposed with Validar’s.

*

Chrom huffed, loading the last box onto the back of Anna’s new wagon. Basilio was already sitting in the driver’s seat next to her, patiently waiting for the call to travel again as he explained the finer points of fighting one-handed to the merchant. Tiki would ride in the back with Robin and Lucina, while the rest of them would ride fresh horses provided by the Duchess herself. All except for Sumia, who assured them all that her mount, Palla, would be able to handle the stress of all the travel she had endured lately.

“Is he… alright?” Anna asked quietly, suddenly at Chrom’s side.

The Exalt started, recalling why Robin constantly gave the sneaky woman the stealth missions. She was looking out to the entrance to the stables, where Robin’s shoulder could just be seen leaning back against the wall.

“It’s not like I wanted to say that…” Anna went on. “I didn’t have a choice. I was getting a headache just going through greeting the rest of you.”

Chrom nodded as the merchant trailed off. She had been obviously cursed, but now that she’d delivered her message it appeared she was fine. Lissa had given her the once-over, and she’d been cleared, so Chrom knew everything was okay. Or would be okay, at the very least…

“He’s bottling everything up again,” Chrom sighed, closing the tail of the wagon and locking it into place. “This was bound to happen. He takes every failure personally. It’s what makes him such a good tactician, but…”

“It makes him moody, too?” Anna asked cheekily.

“Yeah,” Chrom agreed with a chuckle. “That too. Just give him time, he’ll snap out of it.”

Anna shook her head quickly, her ponytail whipping back and forth.

“No way, this is like a business deal,” she said brightly. “Gotta strike while the iron’s hot and the thoughts are fresh! I’ll sort this out in a sec!”

“Just… be gentle,” Chrom suggested as Anna skipped over to where Robin was brooding.

“This is either going to go perfectly, or end very badly,” the blue-haired man muttered.

In the meantime, he would respect his best friend’s privacy and content himself with ensuring that Sumia’s saddle bags were properly stocked.

*

Robin glanced up as he heard light footfalls approaching, moments before he caught a whiff of Anna’s favourite perfume on the wind. He took a deep breath of the chilly mountain air, preparing himself for the conversation he was no doubt about to have.

“Hey Robin,” she said hesitantly. “Are you… mad at me?”

The tactician raised one brow, glancing over at the redhead.

“Of course not,” he sighed. “I’m ecstatic you’re still alive, Anna. It’s just… well…”

“Well…?” the merchant prodded when Robin trailed off.

“I kinda regret killing Validar earlier now,” he admitted with a smirk. “It’s amazing that even from beyond the grave he still manages to get under my skin like this.”

“Well, I’m mad at him too,” Anna huffed, moving to lean on the wall next to Robin. “I usually charge a premium for people who use me as a courier. Just the thought of performing a service for free makes my blood boil…”

They stood in silence for a few moments, Robin continuing to stare into space at the mountainside in the distance while Anna fidgeted restlessly.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked finally.

“Go ahead,” Robin answered listlessly.

“What did he mean ‘your promise’?”

Robin let out another sigh, hanging his head. He should have known someone would ask about this…

“Back in Valm, after Gregor died I made a promise to Lucina that no one else would die before we beat Grima. I was just trying to cheer her up at the time, but… I wound up taking it really seriously. I think she kinda forgot about it, but… it’s been at the back of my mind all this time.”

“That’s a pretty big promise you made,” Anna said hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Robin chuckled sadly. “Yeah it really was.”

“I don’t blame you for what happened,” Anna said after a moment of thought.

“Recent events will still be reflected in your bill,” she added with a wink. “I do expect hazard pay, after all. But that’s business. Personally, I don’t blame you at all. And I know Donny didn’t either. There was nothing anyone could have done. I’m just glad that Morgan’s okay.”

Robin looked up, his eyes meeting Anna’s.

“I was serious before, Anna,” Robin said, smiling a little. “I’m really glad you’re still alive. And thank you.”

Anna nodded, bouncing off the wall and giving Robin the quick, one-armed hug he’d missed out on earlier.

“It’s good to see you again, too,” Anna said as she drew back, smiling up at him.

“I… I didn’t ask Morgan how it happened,” Robin said hesitantly. “Can you…”

“Are you sure?” Anna asked, worry evident in her voice.

Robin nodded, looking down again.

“I need to know.”

Anna sighed, resting her hand on her hip.

“Fine, I’ll tell you,” she said, resting her index finger on her chin and winking as Robin looked up again. “Free of charge.”

*

Robin sighed with relief as their wagon passed under the archway of the Eastern Ylissean Gate, feeling a sense of lightness he always assumed was akin to the feeling of coming home. They had travelled for four days at the head of a column of Knights, making full use of the main roads and camping at night without fear of attack. Fortunately nothing came to hamper their progress, and they had arrived home earlier than they had intended to.

_I hope Morgan and Frederick didn’t go too overboard reorganising things while we were gone,_ Robin thought idly as he glanced up at the pale blue sky, the wagon trundling along beneath him.

_Well, she is the Grandmaster now,_ he reminded himself. _I guess she can make whatever changes she wants._

“Ah, they grow up so fast,” he sighed, letting his hair hang over the edge of the wagon.

“What was that?” Lucina asked, shifting to sit closer to him.

Robin glanced over to her as her shoulder pressed up against his, his world still upside down as his head hung back.

Chrom had told her about the discussion he had had with the tactician in the refugee camp. That was the only reason he could think of for her overt displays of affection in the last few days; not that she wasn’t usually affectionate, but it usually happened in private. She was a princess after all, and there was a certain level of decorum she had to maintain; but while they had been travelling first to Jagen and now to Ylisstol she had been… for lack of a better word, ‘clingy’.

Not that Robin minded; if he were totally honest he loved the extra attention. It was just that she was acting uncharacteristic, and he was worried she was forcing herself.

“I’m just thinking about Morgan,” Robin admitted, going back to staring at the sky. “She’s the Grandmaster of the entire Ylissean army. Not like she didn’t earn it, but… she’s just all grown up now. It makes me feel old. Even though I know, academically speaking, she’s technically only a few years younger than me in this timeline. I think the stress is turning my hair white.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s what’s turned your hair white,” Lucina agreed with a chuckle as she reached up to idly twirl a few of the white strands hanging down his neck.

The Princess released the hairs and rested her head against the top of Robin’s shoulder for a time, the couple simply sitting in silence as the wagon trundled through the outer residential area of Ylisstol. Some of the other mounted Shepherds began to peel off from the formation, using their knowledge of the area to take shortcuts and end their journey quicker.

Lissa offered Robin a light smile and a wave as Lon’qu led their horse down one of the back streets, one which Robin knew would take them almost directly to the palace. Overhead the tactician spotted Sumia heading for the Palace’s Pegasus Roost, where her mount would get some well-earned rest and grooming from the squires intent on impressing the veteran Knights.

“So what are you going to do for the next few days?” Robin asked, shifting to sit up after he decided enough blood had pooled at the back of his head.

“I… I don’t know,” Lucina answered honestly, glancing up at him questioningly.

“Well, you could always help me in the library,” Robin offered lightly. “I have a lot of ground to cover, and I would welcome the company-”

“Oh, I see. I’m not good enough but my daughter is?” Chrom asked, feigning hurt as he rode by the wagon. “Well you can go back to sleeping in the barracks at any time, you know!”

“Oh lighten up,” Robin called after him with a grin. “She just so happened to have inherited her mother’s intelligence! I can make use of that! If I need a wall broken down I’ll call you, okay?!”

Lucina and Tiki both laughed at the two men’s behaviour, reminding Robin that he wasn’t alone in the back of the wagon with the princess.

“I’ll help, too,” Tiki offered brightly. “I’ll try meditating and see if I can get any answers out of Naga.”

“That would be great,” Robin said, relief evident in his voice.

If anyone could give him even the slightest idea of where to start, it would be the Divine Dragon herself.

“So what are we researching?” Lucina asked, sitting up again.

Robin shrugged.

“At this point in time, everything,” he answered.

He could already feel the pre-emptive exhaustion of constant research setting in. This was not going to be a fun week by any means.

“But first I’m taking a bath,” he added, letting his head go back to hanging over the edge of the wagon.

*

Robin growled irritably as he walked through the halls of the palace to the Royal Library, his hands up behind his head fumbling with his long hair as he moved. He was currently failing miserably at tying the long white hair out of his face; he was being beaten by his own hair, and he loathed it.

_How women constantly make this crap look so easy…_ Robin thought bitterly, picturing Lucina and Morgan both tying their hair back in a manner of seconds before giving up and stuffing the length of cord he’d been trying to use back into his pocket.

“I need a haircut,” he reminded himself, settling for brushing the hair back from his face again. “Research, save the world, then haircut…”

Fortunately it appeared that, in their little more than a week-long absence, not a lot had changed at Ylisstol. Morgan was no doubt busy with running the nation with Say’ri and Flavia, so Robin had opted to leave bothering her until dinner time, and everyone else was helping out with preparing the army to march on Grima as soon as they were ready.

By all reports, it would take a little under a week for all of Ylisse’s forces to be prepared to march. Chrom wasn’t holding anything back. He was throwing absolutely everything into this last ditch attempt to win back their world, and apparently Mustafa and Flavia were doing the same. It would have been nice to have the Valmese armies, too, but it would take far too long to muster what was left of them after the war anyway.

In a little less than a week they would march to the Plegian coast with what they had, board ships and sail for Mount Origin, where scouts had confirmed Grima was currently resting to gather his strength.

Which meant Robin had a little less than a week to figure out how to kill the Dark Dragon without dying in the process.

“Talk about pressure,” Robin grumbled, pushing open the great double doors to the library and stopping dead in his tracks.

He couldn’t believe his eyes.

“What… what are you all doing here?” he asked hesitantly.

Standing arrayed around the library and obviously waiting for Robin to show up was nine of the Shepherds, all of whom looked up and gathered around as he stepped into the cavernous space.

“We are here to offer assistance,” Miriel said, pushing her glasses further up her nose.

“Indeed,” Laurent agreed, emulating his mother’s actions.

“Sounded like you had a lot of work to do,” Ricken said brightly. “I missed out on going to Plegia, so I wanted to help out any way I could!”

“M-me too!” Olivia offered quietly, before apparently steeling herself and ploughing on. “I mean, I can’t really research with you all, but… but I can take care of you while you do!”

“I will actually be in the cathedral’s library, leading the priests in our own search,” Libra said, stepping forward and placing a hand on Robin’s shoulder. “But know that we will be looking for anything that can help you overcome this final hurdle.”

“Mom taught me how to take proper notes for her so… I… I’ll help, too!” Noire offered before glancing over her shoulder. “We all will.”

Robin watched Tharja glance up from the table in the back at her daughter’s voice, offering the tactician a quick quirking of the corners of her mouth, the Dark Mage’s equivalent of a smile, before going back to whatever ancient tome she was already engrossed in. Sitting across from her, nose already stuck in another thick book was…

“Henry?” Robin asked. “Are you… sure you should be up?”

“Sure I’m sure!” the Dark Mage laughed, reaching up to stroke the big raven sitting perched on his shoulder. “I’m the expert on curses and hexes, after all! Besides, I was getting sick of hospital food. Too many vegetables. I don’t feel right unless something had to die to feed me.”

Robin snickered a little at the mage’s off humour, looking up as Lucina stepped forward.

“When I explained to the others the situation you were in I couldn’t keep them away,” the Princess said sheepishly. “There are more coming to join us later, too.”

Robin didn’t say anything, momentarily overcome with emotion as he nodded. Nodding was all he could do right now. He didn’t deserve friends and comrades like this.

“Where do you want us to start?” Lucina asked helpfully.

Robin grinned without meaning to, looking over the assembled Shepherds waiting for his orders.

“We only have a few days to work out the best way to kill Grima, so we can’t waste any time. Libra, get down to the cathedral and get started,” he said, turning first to the blonde man. “We’re looking for any old stories or scriptures about how the first Exalt sealed Grima away before. Start from there.”

Libra nodded once, striding purposefully from the room.

“Miriel, Laurent, I need binding spells. Big ones. See what you can come up with,” Robin said, turning to the two skinny mages.

“Consider the task complete,” Miriel answered, leading her time-travelling son off into the rows of books.

“Noire, you and Ricken find me any historical records that might be useful,” Robin said, turning to the others. “I want ancient army rosters, I want old military reports, I want anything that could be even remotely helpful in preparing for this.”

“On it!” the diminutive mage said, racing off in the opposite direction as Miriel and Laurent, Noire hot on his heels.

“Tharja, you and Henry handle the dark magic side of things,” Robin called unnecessarily as he approached Lucina and Olivia.

Neither of the Dark Mages looked up at his orders, simply continuing their research.

“Olivia, jump between the pairs and help out however you can,” Robin said to the timid pink-haired dancer. “Even if you can’t do much, every little bit helps.”

“You can count on me,” Olivia replied with a serious nod.

Lucina stepped forward as Olivia raced off in the direction Miriel and Laurent had disappeared in.

“What of us?” the future-Princess asked.

“My second favourite thing in the world behind you,” Robin said with a grin, rubbing his hands together.

“Tactics.”

*

“Dad! Dad are you in here!?”

Robin’s head snapped up, the familiar voice of his daughter shattering his concentration. Lucina smiled across from him as he shambled to his feet before she went back to skimming the old tactical compendium that he had suggested she start with. They had been leaning with their backs to the shelves down one of the aisles facing each other, having given up on bringing individual books back to the tables a few hours ago now. The sun had set over the Ylissean capital, but still the Shepherds pressed on relentlessly in their pursuit of knowledge.

“Over here!” Robin called out as he made to head back out of the stacks he and Lucina were camped between, stumbling a little on a pile of books he’d discarded earlier in the process.

He was intercepted half-way to the end of the row, having just regained his balance, by a black and silver blur as Morgan barrelled into him, unfortunately still wearing her armour.

“Gah! Why are you even wearing your armour in the palace!?” Robin shouted as he was wrapped in a tight hug by his daughter.

“Frederick said I had to look the part of the Grandmaster, and Mom agreed with him,” Morgan explained, stepping back and bouncing a little on her feet.

“What do you think?” she asked, grinning ear to ear and doing a little spin for him.

Robin rubbed absently at his bruised chest, giving his daughter’s new suit of armour the once-over. His old silver breastplate was still the centrepiece of the suit, now polished to a sparkling sheen to match the rest of the plates sticking out from under her cleaned and mended coat. Looking at it the plate looked brand new; he couldn’t even see marks where he’d been wounded before, the metal reforged and no-doubt stronger than ever. The new plates over her stomach, arms and thighs had a distinct Chon’sin feel to their design, no doubt a purposely-included nod to her mother’s homeland. All of which was over a new military tunic and matching pants, completing the look.

The tactician felt a tear rise unbidden to his eye as he glanced away.

“I can’t believe my baby’s all grown up,” Robin sniffled, doing his best to choke back his emotions.

“Aw, don’t start Dad,” Morgan laughed, giving him a much gentler hug this time.

“You look every bit like a Grandmaster,” Robin said. “And the realm didn’t burn down while I left you in charge. I’m so proud of you.”

Robin glanced up as someone cleared their voice, noticing for the first time the eyes watching the tender father-daughter moment he was having.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Virion said lazily. “But we’re awaiting our instructions.”

“No, no!” Anna whispered quickly, trying to shush the archer. “This is soooo cute I could charge people to watch!”

“Yeah,” Morgan said smugly. “I brought reinforcements.”

Robin let out a laugh as he released his daughter, stepping to meet the rest of the Shepherds.

“Now I know you said you didn’t want my help, but technically I own this library, so you’re stuck with me,” Chrom said with a grin from next to Sumia, who smiled happily as she clung to the child in her arms.

“We’re all here to help,” the Queen said. “Even little Lucina here.”

Robin sighed and nodded, smiling as he turned to the rest of the group.

Virion was standing with his signature grin on his face and his arms crossed next to Tiki, who was bouncing up and down like an excited child. Anna stood next to Say’ri, who rolled her eyes at the manakete’s behaviour from Virion’s other side, and Cordelia and Frederick…

“Frederick? Cordelia? What are you doing here?” Robin asked in confusion.

The Knight Commander snorted as Cordelia let out a small giggle.

“Knights are required to be well-versed in the academic arts, too,” Frederick deadpanned.

“It’s part of our training,” Cordelia added. “Severa’s coming later. I think she was helping Olivia with dinner.”

“I’m speechless,” Robin said, choking up again. “I can’t believe you would all come to help me like this.”

“Well, helping you is akin to helping the realm at present,” Frederick muttered, crossing his arms.

“He’s just too proud to admit he wants to help,” Cordelia laughed, leaning on Frederick’s shoulder. “I had to actually restrain him from charging over here as soon as we heard what you were all doing.”

“That’s not… entirely true,” the big knight muttered, looking away from the group as they started to laugh at his discomfort.

“Alright then,” Robin said, feeling his spirits renewed. “Let’s get back to work.”

The library was really becoming crowded now. But, Robin thought with a grin as the newcomers started to drift into the stacks of books, it made him happy. Perhaps they would be able to find a way to kill Grima after all.

His spirits lifted and his energy returned the tactician spun on his heel, Morgan and Chrom following after him as they returned to where Lucina was still going through her book on the floor.

“Why did I even pay for those big tables if no one’s going to use them?” Chrom asked, shaking his head at the piles of books surrounding the Shepherds on the ground.

*

_“Mom, what’s going on?” Robin asked sleepily as he was dragged along._

_He blinked a few times, attempting to clear his tired mind as his mother led him through the abandoned hallways of the Outer Sanctum. He looked up at her, brow furrowing in confusion when he realised something was wrong._

_“Mom?” he asked again, hissing a little when he turned his head too far and used one of the muscles still sore from his latest training session._

_As always, his father had been brutal. Robin had failed numerous times to cast a proper divining spell and wasted a lot of the blood that had been ritually sanctified for the spell, so of course he’d deserved to be reprimanded, but-_

_“We’re going on a trip, honey,” she answered finally, her voice a barely audible whisper. “Just you, me and your sister. We’re going to go and get her now, so try to be as quiet as possible while we do.”_

_“We don’t want to wake your father,” she added in a colder tone._

_Robin blinked again, following along silently as he was told. He realised absently that the hallways were devoid of the usual acolytes making their patrols. Robin realised with a sort of detachment that he must have been dreaming again; this was another one of Grima’s memories he was tapping into, but that did little to ease the anxiety building in his chest as his mother pulled him along._

_They arrived at Aversa’s room before long, Robin standing quietly outside as he waited for his mother to rouse his sister. Something across the hall, hidden by one of the large curtains that hung from the high ceiling to the floor, caught his eye. Something was making a weird budge at the bottom of the curtains._

_Objectively, Robin knew exactly what that something was; however, this was a memory, or a dream, or whatever, so he was simply along for the ride. All he could do right now was watch._

_He couldn’t stop the terrified younger version of himself from stepping forward in the dark, completely missing the spreading pool of blood he was walking through. He couldn’t stop the trembling hands from reaching out to the curtain and slowly pulling it back._

_And he couldn’t stop the scream that escaped from the younger version of his mouth, as hard as he tried otherwise._

_Lying on the ground, illuminated by the harsh moonlight behind the curtain, were the bodies of the acolytes that would normally have been patrolling the Sanctum._

_The young would-be tactician spun as his mother came charging out of Aversa’s room, sword in hand and a fierce look on her face._

_“Robin, what…” she started, trailing off when she saw what had scared him._

_“Mom, what’s going on?” he asked with wide, terrified eyes._

_“Yes, Alexia, do enlighten us,” a third voice purred from the shadows. “What_ is _going on?”_

_Robin suddenly found himself behind his mother as she backed them away, her sword up at the shadows they had just come from._

_“Stay back, you madman,” his mother snarled, one hand shielding Robin and pushing him back at the same time._

_“Why, dear, you wound me,” Validar said, his tone dripping sarcasm as he stepped into the moonlight. “To point a weapon at your husband with such a look on your beautiful face…”_

_“I would prefer not to kill you in front of our son,” Alexia growled. “But I’ve seen what you have in store for him, and I won’t let you!”_

_“So you would take your son and my daughter and flee into the night?” Validar laughed. “You cannot hide from me forever, woman! And you cannot stop destiny! I will find you both eventually, and when I do I will show you both the true meaning of suffering!”_

_Robin winced at his father’s harsh tone, reminding himself it was only a dream._

_“Validar, I loved you,” Alexia said in a small voice, her sword wavering for a moment. “How could you lie to me for so long? So many years…”_

_“Easily,” the sorcerer said with a harsh laugh as magical purple fire began to gather in his palm._

_Robin screamed as his mother spun and lifted him up, throwing them both out of the path of Validar’s spell. The curtain behind them caught alight almost instantly, the smell of burning flesh from the dead acolytes beneath it searing itself into Robin’s memory forever for a second time._

_Alexia fought back as hard as she could, casting elemental spells one-handed to intercept the dark magic being thrown at her and Robin, but Validar’s power was clearly the greater force._

_“You would even have the gall to take_ my _daughter!?” the sorcerer screamed, throwing spell after spell at them in a manic rage. “You have crossed the line, Alexia! You will not take her, nor the boy, nor anything else! I will see them fulfil their destiny, or I will die trying!”_

_“Then die quietly!” Alexia shouted back as she threw Robin into the open doorway to Aversa’s room._

_The older woman spun, the familiar black coat on her back fluttering as she dispelled Validar’s latest spell by slashing through it with her sword. She sent one final blast of green wind magic in Validar’s direction before backing into the room, slamming the door shut behind her and grabbing a nearby candle-stand to bar the door with._

_“That won’t hold him for long,” Alexia said breathlessly as she crossed to the other wall._

_Robin watched, awestruck as his mother began smashing the glass out of the small window with her elbow, looking over to him with a strained smile._

_“It’ll be okay, honey; I won’t let him hurt us anymore,” she promised. “We’re not his pawns. We’ll live free, I promise.”_

_Just as Robin began to climb to his feet the door shattered inwards, more purple flames licking around the edges of the splintered wood as Validar stepped across the threshold._

_“Knock. Knock,” Validar said, his wide and predatory smile beginning to show the edges of madness that would take him later in life._

_“Robin, get through the window and run,” Alexia said desperately, interposing herself between Validar and the boy. “Get away now!”_

_Validar just grinned wider, his face turning grey and his eyes starting to glow as he summoned another spell. Without thinking Robin threw up his hands and screamed, a blast of unrefined dark energy blowing the sorcerer back out the doorway into the hall. The astonished look on Validar’s face as his spell was over-powered and his defences were crushed would have, at any other time, been utterly priceless. However at present Robin had to get his mother away from here, dream or no dream. Just seeing Validar again made him want to do the opposite of what the sorcerer wanted._

_“Well, are we going to leave or… not…?” Robin asked, standing and realising he had control of himself again._

_Looking down at his hands he saw that he’d returned to his adult form, complete with the irritatingly long white hair that kept getting in his eyes._

_“Mom?” he asked, looking over at the woman still standing guard._

_“You saw this for a reason,” Alexia said without turning._

_“You can… talk to me?” Robin asked tentatively._

_“Remember this night,” she went on. “Remember what you learned. Dark magic is powerful, but theirs cannot defend against itself. Remember that when you face Grima.”_

_“Mom, please-”_

*

Robin woke with a start, instantly regretting the jerking movement as the stiff muscles in his neck protested their recent poor treatment.

They had been researching for nearly three days now, just waiting for the final word from Raimi and the troops from Regna Ferox that they were gathered at the Longfort and ready to depart. Robin hadn’t left the library since he had returned to Ylisse, pouring over every scrap of information that the Shepherds had turned up, but so far little had come of their efforts.

“Another dream?” he groaned, running a hand through his hair.

He hadn’t had one in a while. Well, not a useful one, anyway… there were always plenty of nightmares about being eaten by giant evil dragons, but he hadn’t seen a memory for a while. This one almost seemed more like a vision, though… what his mother had said at the end clearly hadn’t been part of that memory, but…

“Eureka,” the tactician muttered, jumping to his feet.

“Thanks, mom,” he added softly as he readjusted his coat and stepped over the pile of books he had been resting on.

He raced up to the upper level of the Library, careful not to wake any of the Shepherds that had crashed out like him after reading and making notes all day. Robin flicked through the first few books he came across in the ‘Historical Spell-Casting’ section, full of obsolete spells that had fallen out of use and were simply catalogued for study now. Grinning as he found what he was looking for the tactician raced back downstairs.

For the first time in three days, Robin left the Royal Library on shaky, underused legs.

*

“What? What is it? Did you figure something out? What’s going on?” Morgan asked blearily as she burst into Robin’s room, wearing only her coat over her pyjamas.

Noire, the messenger Robin had sent, followed quietly in her own pyjamas, a black ankle-length nightgown. To the tactician’s surprise a shirtless, obviously-freshly-risen judging from the matting of his fur, Yarne followed the two women, running a hand through his messy hair as he yawned.

“Relax,” Robin said calmly. “Sit. We need to talk.”

“Er… oh,” Yarne said, suddenly snapping to wakefulness. “Should I be… not… here?”

“I really don’t care,” Robin said dismissively. “Pull up some floor and get comfy if you’re gonna watch. Just don’t interrupt.”

The half-Taguel nodded, sinking to the floor next to Morgan as she perched on Robin’s only chair. Noire timidly sat on the edge of the tactician’s bed, seemingly folding in on herself in the tense atmosphere as they waited for the final member of their meeting group.

They didn’t have to wait long as only a few moments later Tharja came striding into the room with a slight frown on her face. Unlike the three time-travellers, she was still fully clothed; Robin had actually had to drag her from the Library where she was still working, too, in the end.

“Okay, we’re all here now,” Robin began, remaining standing and leaning back against the wall as Tharja took her place next to Noire.

“What was so important we couldn’t discuss this in front of the others?” Tharja asked, a note of irritation in her voice.

Robin held up a hand, indicating she wait a moment as he turned to Morgan.

“Morgan,” he said seriously, his tone making the girl sit up straighter in her chair.

“Y-yessir!” she said quickly.

“I’ll start by saying that I’m repealing my ban on Dark Magic,” Robin said heavily.

Morgan blinked a few times, nodding slowly as the information sunk in.

“Now,” Robin said, turning back to the two women sitting on his bed. “I asked you all here, with the exception of Yarne of course, because I didn’t want to give the others any false hope… This may come as little shock to you, but I had another vision, and it gave me… ideas.”

Tharja remained silent, eyes narrowing at the use of one of her favourite phrases in jest, as Noire nodded, leaning forward a little with her own eyes wide in anticipation.

“I did a little investigating to test my hypothesis, and it turns out I may very well be right,” Robin went on. “The best way for us to beat Grima and his minions is to use Dark Magic.”

Robin paused to let that sink in. Tharja broke the mood with a sigh, massaging her forehead with the tips of her fingers.

“Have you not been getting enough sleep again? Are you seriously forgetting that they are literally creatures made out of Dark Magic?” she asked irritatedly.

“But that’s the point!” Robin said, leaning forward excitedly. “I did some looking into it, and the trend of defending against Dark Magic only came into use in the last couple of hundred years, before the Dark Magic fraternity split up. Older spells didn’t have the same wards to block interference from more Dark Magic! And who would be using the oldest Dark Magic imaginable?”

“Holy crap…” Morgan breathed, her eyes lighting up. “That’s… that’s…”

“A good thing, right?” Yarne asked from the floor.

“He may have just figured out how to beat Grima,” Noire said breathlessly.

“So… yes?” the half-Taguel hazarded.

“That still doesn’t solve the problem of you dying if you deliver the finishing blow,” Tharja pointed out icily.

“No, but it gets us one big step closer,” Robin said excitedly.

Tharja held his gaze for a moment before her usual glare cracked and she sighed, giving in to Robin’s infectious excitement.

“So why call this meeting then?” she asked, her tone softening slightly.

“Because in this room are possibly the last Dark Mages in the world,” Robin said, sobering.

“Except for Yarne,” Robin added lightly. “Who really should have thought clearer about the implications of showing up with my daughter in the middle of the night half-naked.”

The boy in question paled, scooting a little further away from Robin on the floor.

“I’m a Taguel,” he argued weakly. “This is my natural state…”

“So we’re the vanguard, then,” Tharja stated, ignoring Yarne’s cowering.

Robin nodded slowly.

“It’s a volunteer position,” he added. “Same as always. I can’t force you to do this, but… If you throw in with me now, we’ll be the ones that face Grima with Chrom and Lucina.”

Silence settled over the room as the reason Robin had called the meeting became apparent.

Everyone among the Shepherds wanted to be part of the team that assaulted Grima, the time-travellers especially; there was no hiding that fact. No one wanted to be left behind. But for the last three days Chrom had been deflecting the others as they tried to bribe Robin into putting them on the assault team. However, at the same time Robin knew that everyone was secretly hoping they wouldn’t be on the assault team; just knowing that he and his closest friends and family would be part of the most dangerous mission he’d ever planned to undertake made it difficult for the tactician to breathe at times.

“I’m in,” Yarne said suddenly. “I may not be a mage, but you’ll at least need a… a meat shield, right?”

Tharja let out a cackling laugh, startling them all.

“You just earned a lot more of my respect, boy,” she said, grinning evilly before turning back to Robin. “I think it’s safe to assume we are all with you.”

“Good,” he nodded. “Then until we march on Origin Peak, I need you to be the one that gets Morgan and Noire up to combat-ready status with Dark Magic.”

“Wait, w-what?” Noire asked suddenly as Tharja’s face broke into an even more evil grin than before, much to Robin’s impressed surprise.

*

Robin groaned, literally pulling himself out from under a pile of books that had fallen on him the previous evening. He’d been so exhausted that, rather than dig himself out at the time, he’d chosen to sleep there instead.

“I’m getting too old for all-nighters,” he muttered, drawing himself up and stretching his back.

There was a loud pop and Robin let out another groan as his spine realigned itself.

“That sounded painful,” Lucina murmured from where she had been leaning against the opposite side of the book pile that had been Robin’s nest.

_That’s why those damn books were so heavy_ , Robin realised as Lucina yawned and stretched.

Once the princess was done yawning she began gathering up the notes she had made the previous evening before standing and blinking at Robin.

“Your hair looks atrocious,” she laughed.

Robin frowned, doing his best to comb his fingers through his tangled white locks and failing miserably when they got caught and stuck, resulting in a painful tug of war with his scalp.

“Why do you not just brush it?” Lucina asked, moving to rescue Robin from himself and gently untangling his hand.

“Ask Tiki,” the tactician grumbled darkly.

Lucina just laughed and shook her head as she attempted to rake her own fingers through Robin’s hair. He snuck a look at her as she did so, noticing just how pale and drawn her face was after spending so many sleepless nights on the Library floor with him. Her eyes had deep bags, too, and although she had taken to wearing the lighter plain clothes she had inherited from Severa in Valm, she still looked exhausted. They had both looked far worse, but they were supposed to be preparing for the final showdown with Grima.

“I think enough is enough,” Robin sighed, stalling Lucina mid-pull as she struggled with one of the larger knots attached to Robin’s head.

“What do you mean?” she asked levelly.

“We’re exhausting ourselves and finding nothing,” Robin explained, reaching up and taking Lucina’s hands out of his hair.

“It won’t do anyone any good if the core of our force is too exhausted from a week of non-stop study to lift their weapons,” he went on, holding her hands in his. “We’ve hit a wall, and I think we’ve gotten all the information we’re going to.”

Lucina went silent, looking down at their hands.

“Besides,” Robin went on. “I heard from Morgan last night. Everything’s ready; we’re marching for the Plegian coast tomorrow morning.”

Robin winced as Lucina’s grip suddenly tightened, inadvertently crushing his fingers.

“I won’t lose you,” she said, still looking down.

“Ow! You won’t! Just let go before you break my hands!” Robin pleaded.

“But we haven’t found a way for you to defeat Grima yet,” Lucina said, her grip lessening slightly.

“Yeah, and if we don’t figure something out I’ll let Chrom take the job,” Robin said, a grin appearing on his face.

“What?” Lucina asked, her gaze rising to meet Robin’s.

“I figure spending the rest of my life figuring out how to make sure he doesn’t come back isn’t so bad,” Robin shrugged. “It probably won’t even take very long if we don’t actually figure it out beforehand. I’m practically there as it is now.”

“R-really?” Lucina asked hopefully.

“Yeah,” Robin scoffed. “It’s not like we’re in a hurry once we beat Grima. What, you thought I wasn’t retaining what we’ve been learning just because I haven’t been sleeping? Please, Princess; my brain is like a sponge. Laurent and Miriel are close to a breakthrough with a binding spell I can use to seal his power, and Henry’s almost got a spell that will siphon Grima’s life force wherever I want it to go; so into the air, in other words. You don’t need to be so worried.”

“No… it’s just…” Lucina trailed off.

“Hey,” Robin said softly, closing the distance between them.

The tactician took both of her hands in one of his, his other hand reaching up to cup Lucina’s face and raise it up again.

“I already broke my promise to you once,” Robin said, his voice barely more than a murmur as they drifted closer together. “I’m not about to die after coming this far. We’ll beat him without losing anyone else. Myself included this time.”

Lucina nodded, moving into Robin’s arms and leaning against him, her forehead resting against his for a moment before moving down to his shoulder.

“Were anyone else to say that to me I would call them mad,” she whispered. “But I believe it when you say it.”

Robin didn’t say anything to that, simply holding Lucina and frowning over her head.

*

Later that evening Robin let out a growl, scratching his hair in irritation as he leaned over the papers that Tharja had given him a few days earlier.

He was back in his own room again, away from the hustle and near-panic of the Shepherds that had refused to take his advice and give up on the research in the Library, Chrom chief amongst them no less.

“We can still find something,” the Exalt had insisted. “There are still books we haven’t gone through yet; still spells we haven’t looked at yet. I’m not giving up.”

Robin had shaken his head and smiled at his friend’s good natured stubbornness, instructing him to bring any further findings to his room as he left with the stack of papers they had already put together, which were now spread all over his desk.

Unfortunately Tiki had been unable to rouse Naga’s spirit, the Divine Dragon offering no further advice for the Shepherds, but the manakete woman had proved invaluable in helping with the spell experiments and even with the care of those researching alongside Olivia and Severa.

From Miriel and Laurent, with Morgan and Virion’s help, were at least twenty pages of theory and instructions on some of the most simplistically-brutal binding spells Robin had ever laid eyes on. Under testing circumstances a very eager to help Tiki had been restrained utterly by the spells, even in her transformed state. She assured them that she had held nothing back trying to break the spells, but to no avail. How well they would work on Grima or the Deadlords remained to be seen, but Robin had confidence they weren’t going in unprepared.

From Noire and Ricken, with a lot of input from Cordelia, Frederick and Virion, were the most complete historical records of the first Exalt’s fight against Grima that had ever been assembled. Ancient troop rosters, squad positions and even guard rotations were at Robin’s fingertips, giving him the perfect picture of what it had taken to defeat Grima the first time. Chrom’s force, including the forces from Regna Ferox and the Plegian survivors, outnumbered that army at least ten to one.

From Libra’s team of priests and clerics, which had actually included Brady and Maribelle among their number, were sermons and stories of the first Exalt’s titanic struggle with Grima. Unsettlingly, the stories all seemed to hint that Grima had been much, much smaller the first time, but through them had learned of two physical weaknesses he could exploit on the Dark Dragon’s body; three including his avatar’s form.

Morgan and Noire had been working almost non-stop under Tharja and Henry’s tutelage, the wounded Dark Mage being unable to help himself with the ‘coaching’. Noire was a natural, that much was obvious, and Morgan’s skills with Anima magic went a long way to her mastery of Dark magic. It was astounding to leave them alone for a few hours and then come back to see them casting spells that would usually take years to master.

Robin and Lucina, with Chrom, Sumia and Say’ri, had all accumulated the sum of the entirety of Robin’s basic tactical knowledge in three small days. He had no doubt that the four other Shepherds now held the same level of knowledge in the field of tactics that he had when Chrom and Lissa had first found him in the field so long ago. But that refresher course had made him re-evaluate his plans for storming Origin Peak, and he was confident now that they could reach the mountaintop with minimal casualties.

This was as ready as they were going to get. This was as ready as he was going to get.

Robin looked over the papers scattered around his desk one final time, a vein in his forehead beginning to twitch as he frowned again.

“Oh gods, we’re all going to die,” he moaned, collapsing on the tabletop and the collected research.

It wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough to defeat Grima. The Shepherds had done at least a year’s worth of work in the space of a week, and still Robin felt in his gut that they wouldn’t win. They-

His fatalism was brought to an abrupt halt as a knock at the door broke his train of thought.

“Who is it?” Robin called out in a tired voice.

It was quite late now; there were only three possible people it could be and…

“It is me,” Lucina called back, the door opening slightly. “Are you free, Robin?”

The tactician answered by making a strangled, gargling groan sound without lifting his head from the tabletop.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Lucina chuckled, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her.

“It has gotten quite late,” she said softly, her bare footfalls hardly making a sound as she slowly crossed the space. “Should you not be sleeping?”

“Can’t sleep,” Robin moaned, sitting back up and reaching for the nearest papers. “Dragon’ll eat me…”

Lucina chuckled a little, coming to a stop behind Robin and resting her hands on his shoulders. She kneaded them a little through the coat before clicking her tongue and pulling the heavy garment back.

“Ah! Hey, watch the coat!” Robin protested weakly as his favourite article of clothing was pulled off of him.

Any more protests were cut off as she returned to kneading his tired muscles, Robin groaning in pleasure instead as he forced himself to relax.

“Did I ever mention how grateful I am that you learned how to do that for me?” he asked, eyes closed as he enjoyed the sensation of being pampered.

_I guess this is how Minerva feels every time I scratch her scales_ … Robin thought absently as Lucina chuckled behind him again.

“It is really the least I could do considering the way that you have kept us all alive over the years,” the Princess responded.

Robin visibly winced at her words, practically jumping in his chair. Lucina’s hands stopped on his shoulders as she realised her faux pas, cursing herself a fool.

“Not all of us,” Robin muttered, closing his eyes again.

Lucina’s hands intrepidly resumed their gentle massage as the princess desperately looked for a way to salvage the mood.

“You know,” she said softly. “When you made me that promise, I did not think you would be able to keep it a week, let alone as long as you did.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Robin snorted.

“But you did,” Lucina went on. “For so long, the Shepherds were safe under the protection of our guardian-tactician-angel. Like in Valm, even when we were separated you fought with the resistance for our sakes, taking the pressure off the League for us.”

“Er… that’s not quite what happened…” Robin muttered.

“There is no way that you could have kept that promise forever,” Lucina went on, ignoring Robin’s admission. “That you did for so long, that you let it drag you down for so long… all for my sake… It is astounding that it did not break you. So do not feel guilty any longer. Anna does not blame you. I know Donny and Gregor would not either.”

Robin sighed, his shoulders drooping a little beneath Lucina’s hands. He hated it when people shone the light of logic on his little delusions…

“Couldn’t you have let me beat myself up a little longer?” he asked, turning in his chair. “I feel like it’s the least… I could… wow.”

It was all Robin could do to stop his jaw from dropping as he finally turned to look at Lucina. Rather than her plain clothes of the blue tunic she usually wore she was standing before him in a simple, sleeveless white nightgown, and the effect was astonishing.

“You… uh…” Robin managed to stammer.

“You do not have to stare so much,” Lucina said, a note of embarrassment in her tone.

“I’ve just… never seen you in a dress,” Robin admitted, letting his eyes roam freely.

The thin white fabric clung to Lucina’s slim figure in a way her normal clothes would never hope to achieve, fully accentuating her modest curves and reminding Robin why he’d been so excited to see her in a feminine yukata back in Chon’sin, if only for a few hours. However, even in the Yukata she had been mostly covered, her lovely toned arms now on display had lost in the deep sleeves of the foreign traditional clothing. The white dress she was in clung to her form much more than the yukata had, too, and Robin instantly felt his eyes wandering again.

She was gorgeous when she stopped being Lucina the soldier long enough to let Lucina the woman show.

“It’s a good look for you,” Robin nodded, earning an embarrassed laugh from the Princess.

“Mother insisted it was too warm in the castle to sleep in my regular clothes,” Lucina complained, feeling the thin fabric between two fingers. “I am finding it difficult to get used to.”

Robin grinned a little before he came crashing back to reality, looking down to the floor between their feet.

Lucina let out a frustrated sigh before she did something that left Robin utterly gobsmacked for the second time that evening and crossed the space between them before sitting herself straddled on his lap. Without thinking Robin’s arms shot out to circle around Lucina’s waist to hold her in place as she brought her hands to cup his face. She remained silent for a moment, carefully brushing the stray white hair out of Robin’s face before bringing his chin up.

“Robin the last week has been one of the happiest in my life,” she said, forcing the tactician to meet her gaze.

“Really?” Robin asked incredulously before he could stop himself.

“Yes,” Lucina admitted. “Despite the constant work, and the incredible pressure placed on us, I had you almost entirely to myself for the whole time.”

Robin nodded silently, not trusting his mouth again after his last outburst.

“I’ve… watched you beat yourself up over your defeat during this time,” Lucina went on, bringing her face closer to his. “Please, Robin… allow me to ease some of your pain.”

Robin just nodded again, dumbstruck as Lucina brought her lips to his own in a soft, warm kiss. Her body ground up against Robin’s chest slightly, causing him to take a surprised breath through his nose.

“Are you sure?” he finally asked as Lucina drew back.

She nodded, her cheeks blushed and her breathing already heavier.

Robin leaned forward this time, bringing their bodies flush again as his lips met hers, their kiss much deeper and more passionate this time, filled with a longing hunger that had barely been kept in check in the last week.

Without warning Robin’s hands went lower down Lucina’s back, holding her up against him as he stood and made for the bed on the opposite side of the room.

Lucina let out a little laugh as they dropped onto the mattress, reaching up and stroking his face again with a smile on hers. The tactician’s hand moved almost of its own volition, emulating Lucina’s movement and stroking her soft cheek.

“I love you Lucina,” Robin breathed, leaning down for another deep kiss.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of tangled sheets and limbs as the two became one. By the end Robin was happy to admit that for that night, for the first time in months, he had a decent night’s sleep.

*

The day to march had finally come. There was nothing else they could do to prepare to face Grima. In Morgan’s mind they had wasted too much time as it was and given the dragon too much time to marshal a defence. But her father had argued rushing in without proper preparation would be suicide, and he was the resident Grima expert.

The young Grandmaster resisted the urge to groan as she flexed her exhausted muscles beneath her armour, rolling out her neck instead.

Tharja’s Dark Magic classes had been brutal. Morgan was an accomplished mage, and had cast her own fair share of dark spells during the war with Valm, but Tharja had pushed her to her very limits.

What had been truly amazing, though, was the speed Noire had picked up the skills. She knew a little magic from copying Tharja, but her innate skills and natural talent had been extraordinary. Noire had caught up to Morgan’s level of Dark Magic use in hours, surpassing her handily the next day.

_It has to spring from the fact she’s got two Dark Mages for parents_ , Morgan reasoned, picking the skinny archer-mage out of the press of Shepherds waiting for marching orders.

Noire was wringing her bow and looking nervous the way she always did, surrounded by the others that had travelled from the future with her. They all looked so relaxed, like this was just another march for them; and realistically, it was. By all accounts this wasn’t the first time that the other children from the future had marched into a certain death situation, so Morgan could appreciate their calm disposition.

“Grandmaster?” Frederick said in a low tone to get Morgan’s attention.

“Frederick! What’s up?” the girl asked, resisting the urge to jump a little.

“Things are well in hand here,” the stoic Knight Commander said, his face as severe as always. “If you had… other things you wished to do before we march, now would be the time to do them. Such as spending time with the other soldiers perhaps?”

Morgan grinned and nodded before shoving the sheaf of papers she’d been holding into Frederick’s hands and racing off to where the others were lounging around. As stiff as he could be most of the time, Frederick really was a nice guy.

As Morgan approached the knot of younger Shepherds they all took notice of her arrival.

“Look out, here’s trouble,” Inigo laughed, giving her a lazy wave.

“Your new armour is so shiny and heroic!” Cynthia practically shouted.

“What-ho, Morgan!” Owain shouted happily. “My sword hand hungers! Let us ride to glory together!”

“But… you don’t ride,” Noire reminded the blonde boy.

Owain stopped to think about this for a second, looking between the two girls before rushing off to convene with a giggling Cynthia.

Gerome, for his part, didn’t say anything, simply giving her a nod in greeting; which was more than she usually got, so she assumed it was progress on the quiet wyvern rider’s part.

“Good morning, Morgan,” Lucina greeted her, a bright smile on her face. “Are you prepared for today?”

“All the troops are in position, and the advance squads left for the staging theatre in Themis this morning,” Morgan reported happily. “I haven’t really got anything to do until we get there, so I thought I’d come hang out with you guys.”

“Excellent!” Owain cried. “We can talk Operation: Dragon Blood-Storm Shield!”

“I don’t even want to know,” Yarne groaned, moving to Morgan’s side.

Undaunted, Owain launched into the outline of his plan, the only person listening was a wide-eyed and clearly impressed Cynthia as the rest of the others went back to talking amongst themselves.

“I should probably try to calm them down a little before they hurt themselves,” Lucina sighed, moving to interpose herself between a squealing Cynthia and a frothing Owain.

“Nice to see everyone’s in high spirits,” Morgan pointed out as Lucina strode away.

“We’re ready for him this time,” Yarne said confidently.

“We’d better be, after all the training we’ve done,” Morgan muttered darkly, rubbing the latest bruise on her hip.

Yarne chuckled. Out of all the Shepherds he was the only other one besides the fledgling Dark Mages that had been privy to their training sessions; he knew just how hard Tharja had pushed Noire, Morgan and on the off occasion he’d actually shown up, Robin too. To say the phrase ‘thrown around like a rag doll’ probably wouldn’t have been far off the mark.

“So do you think we’re ready then?” Morgan asked in a quiet voice.

“I don’t think we’re going to get any more ready just sitting here in the castle,” Yarne responded instantly.

“Well, look at you,” Morgan laughed. “All gung-ho and ready to go. I’m impressed.”

“I’m faking it,” the half-Taguel admitted without hesitation.

Morgan burst into laughter a moment before Yarne did. As their laughter died down the young Taguel wrapped an arm around Morgan’s shoulders and pulled her closer to him, the Grandmaster sighing and relishing the contact.

“Ew, gross,” Severa complained vocally, crossing her arms as she approached the couple. “Can you two maybe knock it off for five seconds? Gawds…”

“Oh? Like I didn’t see you and Owain-” Yarne started, cut off when the red-head’s fist shot out and hit him square in the solar plexus.

“Where’s your father? We’re just waiting on him now,” Severa huffed to Morgan, completely ignoring the way a gasping Yarne crumpled to the ground and curled up.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Morgan admitted, silently apologizing to Yarne as he did his best to slink away in defeat.

Severa was right, though; the rest of the Shepherds were assembled now, too. Chrom was going over some last minute orders with Frederick while Cordelia caught Sumia up on the formations that the Pegasus Knights would be using; Say’ri was talking and laughing with Flavia, while Basilio held Lon’qu, Vaike and Ricken enraptured with old war stories. Even the Shepherds that wouldn’t be marching with them; Olivia, the wounded Anna and Henry and the pregnant Cherche, were present.

“So…” Morgan said, trying to make conversation. “You and Owain, huh?”

“Do you want one, too?” the volatile red-head asked, raising her fist in Morgan’s direction. “Yes, me and Owain. What of it?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Morgan placated, a huge grin on her face. “You two are a good match.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Severa growled, her eyes narrowing.

“Oh just take the compliment,” Morgan laughed, giving her friend a quick hug.

Severa nodded mutely, her cheeks darkened slightly as she muttered her thanks and stepped away from Morgan. Fortunately the sound of a shouting voice distracted them before any further awkwardness could ensue.

“It’s okay now!” a familiar voice called from the direction of the city. “I’m here now! We can march now! The master tactician returns!”

Everybody turned to look at the newcomer, brows furrowing in confusion as a familiar yet alien figure walked towards the waiting Shepherds.

“I don’t believe it…” Severa muttered, eyes widening a little.

“Wow… he looks… so heroic,” Cynthia muttered.

Lucina simply smiled and observed the others’ reactions, probably having had some warning for this event as Robin jogged towards the Shepherds, his long white hair now neatly cut short.

“You look like a man again!” Vaike laughed, briefly wrapping a large arm around Robin’s shoulders as he walked through the Shepherds.

“That’s what we got held up for?” Severa muttered irritatedly. “A haircut?”

Robin grinned as he approached them, Chrom and Frederick both already calling out marching orders.

“We marching or what?” he asked, looking around with a rougish grin.

The resounding affirmative cry shook the windows in the palace, simply widening Robin’s grin.


	64. Chapter 64

High atop Origin Peak, bathed in the shadow cast by Grima’s gargantuan hovering form, a lone man sat with one knee tucked up to his chin and the other leg hanging over a ledge, swaying lazily in the breeze. His black coat rippled out behind him in the wind like an oil slick on the ocean, his brown hair flying about in much the same way. As the coat flapped about his bare torso was revealed, covered in intricate scars; a complex series of magic circles, carved into his chest and arms, snaking up his neck and ending just below his jawline.

The Fell Dragon Grima’s avatar, a man that had once been the most famed tactician of his own world, let out a contented sigh as the darkness below his dragon form shifted, the shadow coalescing as the forms of Risen climbed out of it. The avatar, once the man known as Robin, smiled a little to himself as he watched this from his vantage point above the small plateau.

Heavy footfalls interrupted his quiet contemplation and announced the arrival of his servant; Grima’s shield, first among the Deadlords.

“Can you feel it, Mus?” the avatar asked without turning. “Can you feel the electricity in the air?”

“They come,” the big Deadlord stated.

The avatar had to resist the urge to giggle childishly in excitement. The Ylisseans and their allies, his past-self included, were coming to ‘stop him’. The mere fact that they thought they could was ludicrous. It was written in stone that Grima would bring darkness to the world after a thousand years of Naga’s light.

“Send them to the abyss,” the avatar said lightly after a few moments. “Hold nothing back. Grind them to dust. Take Simia and four of the new ones. Kill the Ylisseans before they reach the summit.”

Mus nodded once, silently retreating with the same heavy and ponderous gait.

The avatar sat motionless, thinking for a time. If Naga had unleashed the Falchion’s true might, a weapon made from one of her own fangs during her life, then…

“I think I’ll use… this one,” he muttered to himself, reaching behind him.

The avatar’s hand sat flat on the cool stone behind him for a few seconds before sinking into his own shadow. He leaned back into it, reaching to his elbow before his hand settled on what he was looking for. With a triumphant smirk on his face the avatar stood, pulling his favoured weapon out of the void.

A twisted wooden pole with a single handle inlaid with bone was gripped in the avatar’s hand, the weak sunlight beneath Grima being absorbed by the midnight hue of the curved blade that stretched out longer than the man’s arm. Etched into the blade’s heel was the six-eyed symbol of Grima, its wooden haft almost appearing to writhe in his hands like a serpent before calming.

Falchion’s counterpart, made from one of Grima’s own fangs more than one thousand years ago glinted in the light, hungering for blood and souls.

The cursed scythe Samael, herald of death and weapon of the Fell Dragon’s chosen.

The avatar gave the weapon a few practice swings, the air howling mournfully as the black blade cleaved through it, leaving dark after-images wherever it passed.

The avatar turned, finally tearing his eyes away from the birthing of the Risen that were his army and flipped the scythe around to rest on his shoulder. He turned, looking out over the mountainside and eventually the sea, instead. Covering the mountainside and turning the sandy beach black with their shadow were thousands of mindless Risen, simply waiting for the Ylisseans to arrive.

“Don’t make me wait, Robin,” he muttered, spitting the name as a curse.

*

Robin had to hold himself back from letting a groan escape his mouth as he trudged up the ramp to the _Dragon’s Claw_ once again.

“I’m really starting to hate this ship,” he growled under his breath when his feet met solid decking.

The other Shepherds that weren’t attached to or leading any of the military units in the beach assault boarded behind him, solemn for a change as they prepared for the final encounter with Grima.

Frederick was on another ship with Cordelia and the rest of the Ylissean Knight orders, offering Robin a brief respite from the Knight Commander’s constant nagging. The gargantuan troop carrier, _Dire Foe,_ was one of the last of its kind that hadn’t been sunk during Robin’s hair-brained scheme to get past the Valmese blockade the previous year. All of the Knights from Ylisstol and Themis, and their mounts, were comfortably waiting out the three day journey across the sea, Duke Roark among them to lead the veteran Themis Light Cavalry. The Knights from Jagen alone had two similar ships to themselves, Seth aboard the _Sword of Wrath_ and Duchess Azolla herself leading the other half from the carrier _Conquest_.

Morgan and Kellam were away, too, both leading ground regiments on different ships. Kellam had somehow managed to wind up in command of the entirety of the Themis Regular Army, much to the quiet man’s confusion. He was taking to the job well, though, and had gotten his troops organized and onto their ships in good time. Robin had already said his farewells to Morgan before the boarding process had begun; her ship would be among the first to land and create a beach-head, so Robin would meet his daughter once they were all safely on Origin Isle.

The majority of the healers, minus Lissa, were aboard the hospital ship _Hero’s Respite_ , a modified Ylissean patrol frigate. Libra was leading almost every priest and cleric that had been in Ylisse on board the lithe vessel, which would also be part of the first wave on the beach.

Mustafa and Raimi were leading the Plegian and Feroxi forces during the first wave, too; however both armies were so small after everything that had happened that they both fit on the last of the troop carriers together, which Robin honestly couldn’t remember the name of. Mustafa’s Plegian force numbered just less than a full regiment of heavy soldiers with absolutely no support units at all, while Raimi had close to two and a half regiments worth of light Feroxi infantry and trackers. At least, Robin reasoned, they complimented each other well on paper. He still felt sorry for the people that had to clean that ship once the two armies got done with it, though.

There were still more soldiers that he could have made use of in all three nations; in fact Chrom had almost had a fit when he’d found out Robin was leaving troops in reserve. However if worse came to worse and they failed, those soldiers would be all that was left. Robin couldn’t in good conscience leave the three nations wholly undefended.

“This is it!” Chrom called out from up on the quarter deck, making Robin glance up. “Everybody on board! We’re making to leave!”

Chrom was once again wearing his ornate silver armour, but unlike during the Valmese conflict he had opted to actually put a fancy new tunic on underneath, similar in style to the one Morgan was wearing. Frederick’s influence once more, no doubt. Robin was honestly starting to feel a little under-dressed.

He turned, suddenly noticed a flurry of activity on the stone docks beneath them and watched with a sinking feeling as ten black-armoured figures marched up to the _Dragon’s Claw_ just as the dock-workers were making to remove the boarding plank. The tactician sighed when he recognized the receding hairline on the man in the front, leading a full squad of Plegian soldiers in ceremonial black armour.

“Let me guess,” the tactician called out, leaning lazily on the railing overlooking the dock. “You can’t possibly let me, the last in line for the Plegian throne, go off into battle without an honour guard. Am I right?”

Algol grinned up at the frowning tactician, seemingly getting enjoyment from the younger man’s irritation.

“Something like that,” the Plegian Royal Guard called up to him. “General Mustafa’s orders! Permission to come aboard, your majesty?”

“Is there another ship that can take them?” Robin asked desperately over his shoulder.

“You’d know; you were the one that organized the boarding,” Chrom laughed as he walked down the steps to the main deck.

“Yes, come aboard already,” Robin called out to the Plegians. “Just stay out of our way, dammit!”

“There’s some space below-decks you can all make use of,” Robin added as the black-armoured troops marched past. “It’s not particularly fancy, but it’s only a few days to the island anyway. Hello again, Sahiri; nice to see you got a promotion.”

The woman in question flinched at Robin’s familiar tone, her lance tip twitching to one side as she hurriedly snapped to attention.

“My lord,” she said smartly.

“If you ever do that again I’ll throw you off the boat while you’re still in your armour,” Robin deadpanned.

The young former-resistance fighter snickered a little, nodding before following the rest of her squad. Robin sighed and shook his head, ignoring the chuckling from the Shepherds around him at his frustration.

“I think Mustafa’s doing this just to spite me,” he growled to Chrom as the Exalt and Lucina came up to his side.

“For what it’s worth, I think they sent a squad with Morgan, too,” Chrom laughed.

Robin just rolled his eyes, catching a glimpse of a strange, robed form ducking onto one of the ships adjacent the _Dragon’s Claw_. He shook his head and paid it no mind. He didn’t sense Risen and the armies were all mixed up and in enough of a shambles as it was; he wasn’t about to turn away able bodies to stand between him and a crazy Dragon at this point. As long as said bodies fought a long, long way away from him.

“Somebody bring me my freaking lance please!” He suddenly shouted in exasperation, running a hand through his short, messy white hair.

Robin had to resist the urge to snicker as the nine other Plegian Royal Guards, minus a glowering Algol, rushed to do as he ordered.

_Maybe I can at least have a little fun with this_ , Robin thought, an evil grin crossing his features as the Royal Guard all rushed to be the first below deck where they assumed his lance was.

*

Three days later Morgan watched impassively as the Ylissean mages turned the Origin Isle beach into a white-hot maelstrom of flames from the safety of the boats, clearing a path for the first boats to land. She watched the spectacle from the slit viewport in her troop ship’s galley; once they hit land the wall the viewport was in would drop like a ramp and allow them to charge in formation, a genius design concept from the Plegian shipwrights. She didn’t even know how the mechanism kept water out, but that wasn’t important at present. With perfect timing the flames winked out, startled and wounded Risen on the periphery of the attack immediately regrouping as the first of the ships hit the shore with a tearing, crunching sound of crushed sand.

“We’re right behind you, ma’am,” Amir, the Plegian Royal Guard Sergeant that had been her constant second shadow for the entire trip, promised from her shoulder.

As unobtrusive and helpful as the Royal Guard squad had been to her, Morgan still had trouble getting used to the idea of having her own dedicated honour guard, even though she had just gotten used to the retinue of clerks and Ylissean soldiers that followed her around usually. The Plegians didn’t even know why they were guarding her; they just knew she was an important Plegian person and they had orders from Mustafa to defend her. She would have preferred some more animated soldiers to be in her honour guard, but she supposed not every quasi-military unit could be as eccentric as the Shepherds.

Any further conversation or thoughts were cut off as light flooded into the hold, the ramp crashing down onto the scorched beach and opening the way for Morgan’s charge.

“Forward!” she cried, brandishing her sword and charging at the head of one of the Ylissean infantry regiments.

Her boots crunched on the blackened sand that had, in spots, been melted into glass by the force of the mages’ attack. The scent of scorched earth burned her nose, but Morgan ignored it as she shouted directions to the soldiers flooding out of the ships. The Plegians fanned out around her in a V-shape, creating a wall of black armour to stand between her and the Risen that might threaten her.

“I want A platoon and B platoon watching the west end of the beach!” she roared over the sound of a thousand charging feet. “C and D platoons are in the eastern end! Nothing gets by you! E through G platoons, form up and watch the path to the mountaintop! It forks, so I want you to fight smart and cover each other’s backs!”

The soldiers began to rush to follow her orders as the first of the ships forced themselves back off the beach, stout mages utilizing wind spells in massive sails to accomplish the task and clear the path for the next wave of ships.

“Get those Knights on the ground!” Morgan shouted to the soldiers manning the landing area. “I want them prepped as a secondary line five minutes ago!”

The next wave of boats hit the shore, Frederick already barrelling down the ramp seconds after it hit the ground. Cordelia and Sumia, along with the rest of the Pegasus Knights and Gerome, flew overhead, making to do a pass over the mountain path and see what their opposition was like.

“Ma’am!” one of the signallers shouted, running up to Morgan out of breath. “The Risen are charging the front already! Numbers are in the thousands!”

“Dammit! Frederick!” Morgan shouted, turning to the Knight Commander. “Break their line! We’re not prepared to push back a full charge yet!”

The Ylisseans had just landed. They couldn’t repulse a focused charge from the Risen just yet; by the time they dug their heels in casualties would be too high to hold the mountain path or the beach later. It was a dangerous role she was tasking the first of the Knights with, but she had faith in Frederick’s abilities.

The older man nodded once, holding his lance aloft and twisting in his saddle to face the men in his own retinue, the Knight Order’s banner snapping in the wind behind him.

“Knights! With me!” he roared, and the ten men in Frederick’s honour guard squad charging after him.

“First archer division, follow and give them cover!” Morgan shouted, the officer in charge of the archers nodding and leading the squads towards the frontlines.

“That’ll buy us some time, but we need to get the rest of the Cavalry off the boats!” Morgan added to Sully and Stahl, both of whom were leading the advance Cavalry divisions with Frederick.

Morgan watched the first of the Risen begin to crash into the hastily formed Ylissean lines as Frederick and his Knights raced towards them. The Knight Commander’s signaller blew a few quick notes as they drew nearer, the line opening for the Knights’ charge.

*

Frederick snarled as he swung his brother’s old greatsword in a wide arc with one hand, while his other hand yanking on his mount’s reins and forcing it around. He and his Honour Guard had struck a deep blow to the rag-tag Risen counter-offensive already, but in the distance he could already see more Risen gathering for another push.

They were fighting a distraction, then. It appeared as if the future-Robin had stepped down from his lofty throne and was finally providing tactical advice for his undead troops. Not that it would make a difference, Frederick mused as he drove his sword downwards into another Risen, adding to the thickening cloud of ashes billowing about the feet of his mount. Without the mounted Deadlords to lead the Risen cavalry the Ylisseans had the advantage.

With a burst of speed the Ylissean Knights tore out the back of the small Risen force, creating some space between them before turning about. Caught between the hastily reforming Ylissean line and a squad of very angry, very heavily-armed Ylissean Knights the Risen had no recourse left to them but to die.

Normal soldiers would have given into despair and tried to surrender faced with this outcome, but the Risen simply continued their methodical charge at the Ylissean line.

“Flatten them!” Frederick roared, urging his mount to move even faster.

The Ylissean line thinned ahead of them, preparing to break for the Knights to pass through again.

*

Sumia felt her lips turn downwards as she studied the Risen positions from the back of the Pegasus Knights’ wedge formation. She could see that they were heavily entrenched; it would take a lot to break through those lines normally. However, Chrom and Robin had planned for this, and created a ‘line-buster’ unit of mages and heavy infantry for just such occasions as the fortified Risen positions blocking the path up the mountain. But those squads were on the third wave of ships, and the Ylisseans needed to advance fast if they wanted to maintain their momentum. A lot of good soldiers would die…

Sumia shook her head clear, focusing on the task at hand. Less than a few seconds; that’s all it took for a squad of Pegasus Knights to scout enemy positions from above. Every woman in the flight would have committed the Risen’s positions to memory now, and would be capable of reporting back to Morgan with that information.

Still… the sheer amount of Risen dotting the mountainside was terrifying.

“Commander!” the knight on the opposite end of the wedge from Sumia called out. “The Ylissean line is under pressure at the front!”

Sumia watched her old friend at the tip of the wedge just behind the heavily armoured Gerome, her red hair blazing out behind her head like the trail of a comet as she turned to look at the beach. Cordelia raised her beautiful blue and silver lance high, pointing back towards the beach where the fighting was happening.

Sumia tightened her grip on her own weapon, a lighter spear Cordelia had made for the Queen as a gift, as she pulled Palla around. From ahead of her in the formation she could hear Cynthia’s excited monologuing on the wind.

Cynthia had become a welcome member of the fledgling Pegasus Knights, her skill and experience proving invaluable. Gerome, too, had taken his mother Cherche’s place as the Pegasus Knights’ resident wyvern rider, providing heavy support for the lighter-armoured women around him. Usually the manaketes flew with them as well, but Robin had opted to maintain them in reserve at first rather than risk exhausting Nowi and Nah, the younger of the three, early in the fight, which Cordelia had agreed with.

They had also tried to keep Sumia in reserve, even hinting at having her on the _Hero’s Respite_ with the other healers, but Sumia had been firm in her refusal.

Despite being the Queen of the entire Haildom, Sumia had started as a Pegasus Knight. She had served alongside the other women during the war with Valm, and she was one of the only two veterans still actively serving after the first Plegian war. She felt no fear as they charged the Risen assaulting the Ylisseans, just as a single squad of Knights were swallowed back up by the Ylissean lines.

“Lances!” Cordelia roared, her usually gentle voice harsh and booming as she levelled her own weapon.

The flying knights swooped low, smashing aside any Risen with their long weapons and mowing down a fair share of the ones that the Knights had missed before shooting back up and over the cheering Ylisseans. Minerva let out a terrifying roar as Gerome swung his long-hafted axe at the front of the wedge, clearing the path. Sumia struck repeatedly, just like Phila had taught her to so long ago. All at once they were climbing back into the air, passing over the Ylissean lines.

For now it appeared that their foothold was safe. But the Risen wouldn’t stay up on the mountain for long; Morgan had to be made aware of what was coming for them.

“They’re pushing again!” one of the soldiers on the ground cried.

Morgan cursed, looking around before her eyes came to rest on Amir and his squad.

“I hope those fancy spears aren’t just for show,” she said, looking up at the ceremonial halberds they were all holding.

“Would you like us to show you proper application methods for our ancient weapons?” Amir quipped with a confident grin on his face.

Morgan barked out a laugh, spinning on her heel and waving down one of the signallers.

“All available units to the front!” she shouted, striding forward with her honour guard at her back.

*

Robin leaned against the forward railing of the _Dragon’s Claw_ , looking out over the beach in front of them through his spyglass.

“How’s it look?” Tharja asked disinterestedly.

Next to the Dark Mage her daughter Noire craned her neck, trying to make out what was happening on the shore.

Below them ‘Team A’, as Robin had taken to calling them in his plans, waited patiently for the ship to land. Yarne and Say’ri both waited intently near the stairs to hear about Morgan’s situation, while Lucina, Chrom, Vaike, Tiki, Virion, Severa and Flavia were all standing around, waiting patiently for the ship to make landfall.

“Could be worse,” Robin shrugged, surveying the battle. “There’s a lot of pressure on the front line, but the Knights and Pegasus Knights are taking a lot of heat off the infantry. I see… Morgan’s and Duchess Azolla’s standards at the front; Kellam’s holding the flanks on his own; Roark and Frederick are both at the front, too. Huh. Things went pretty pear-shaped quicker than I was hoping.”

“Is Morgan okay?” Say’ri asked from the deck beneath them, just barely beating Yarne to the punch.

Robin squinted through the spyglass for a few seconds before letting out a loud laugh.

“Yeah, it looks like she’s holding the front line together on her own, though. None of the soldiers around her are even getting the chance to fight.”

“That’s our girl,” Yarne said, relief evident in his tone.

Robin let out a breath, dropping the spyglass into his pouch and turning to stomp down the stairs. He stopped a few stairs up from the deck, letting the two women behind him by before turning to the crowd in front of him.

“Alright, listen up!” He shouted, getting everyone’s attention immediately. “I’m not one for speeches; that’s Chrom’s thing. But I will remind you all that we’re the spearhead of this operation. We’re going to break through that Risen line, crush any and all opposition, and we’re all going to live through it. Everyone pair up. Watch each-other’s backs, fight smart, and we’ll all live long enough to stick pointy things in Grima’s hide.”

“Hoo-rah!” Vaike shouted, raising his axe as the rest of the Shepherds cheered.

“Say’ri!” Robin called out as he stepped down onto the main deck. “You’re with me on this one.”

“Are you certain?” she asked curiously. “I had thought for sure that you and Lucina…”

Robin smiled and shook his head, indicating to where the Princess in question was doing one last check of her armour’s straps next to her father, Chrom mirroring her movements. Both of the Ylissean royals had stern expressions on their faces as they mentally prepared themselves for the fight. Interestingly, Lucina had a new buckler strapped to her arm in the same place Chrom kept the Fire Emblem; a delicate, butterfly-shaped thing in the same vein as the mask she had worn so long ago.

“I can’t be paired up with her and Chrom at the same time, so I compromised,” Robin explained as he led Say’ri to the side, near where the _Claw’s_ crew were preparing to drop the gangplank down once they reached the shallows.

“Think you can keep up?” he asked over his shoulder, his face breaking into a grin.

“I would be worried about the others falling behind,” Say’ri snorted, falling in at Robin’s shoulder.

“You know we can hear you,” Severa reminded them, earning a round of laughs from the other Shepherds.

“Well,” Robin said as he held up his hand, the gem-ring on one finger flashing in the sunlight. “Keep up, then.”

*

Morgan snarled, waving her hand through the air and cutting a swathe through the Risen before her with a blast of blade-shaped purple energy. True to her father’s hypothesis, so far the Risen seemed oddly weak against Dark Magic. However for every one she felled, three raced forward to take its place. Their line was holding for now, but unsurprisingly the Risen continued to push.

The Pegasus Knights swept overhead again, swooping low to tear through the unsuspecting Risen again to great effect. Morgan felt a small pang of fear, though, when the damage the Pegasus Knights had wrought was rendered pointless as more Risen flooded forwards, filling the gap as if it had never existed.

“There’s just no end to them!” Amir shouted, swinging his heavy bladed weapon in great arcs, keeping their foes back as Morgan surveyed the field.

She had to admit, having an honour guard actually came in handy. The ten black-armoured soldiers created a circle around her as she studied the allied positions, striking out at anything that came within range of their halberds.

“Signal Roark!” Morgan shouted to the closest signaller behind her. “Have him move up the cavalry and-”

The rest of her order was cut off by an ear-splitting pop, more felt rather than heard. The soldiers around her actually stood speechless, their weapons drooping as they looked at the twelve warriors standing in an empty circle of the Risen. Even the creatures had grown still now, glaring at the newcomers cautiously as they recognized the power swirling around them.

“Did I ever mention how much I love this ring?” Robin asked no one in particular, marvelling at the jewel resting on his finger.

“Ylisseans!” Chrom shouted, ignoring his friend and holding Falchion high. “Onwards!”

The Shepherds that had just teleported all shouted in response, some charging forward while the others held their ground; Morgan let out a giggle when she realised her father had ditched his own Honour Guard by using the ring.

“You heard the Exalt!” she roared over her shoulder. “Swords in front, polearms behind! Archers and mages, thin them out! Send these creatures back to hell!”

The soldiers around her cheered, their vigour renewed as they followed the Shepherds, Morgan at their head.

She watched Virion and Noire as their hands became blurs, shooting faster than she even thought was possible; Tharja and Robin both stood their ground ahead of the archers, weaving a potent spell between them that sent bolts of dark energy crashing into the Risen horde and opening dark vortexes wherever they landed; Say’ri stood guard over those four, her swordsmanship impeccable as Tiki transformed at her side, blowing her beautiful dragon’s fire across the Risen on their flank; Chrom and Lucina led the rest in an outright charge, barrelling aside any and all resistance, the Princess’ version of Falchion blazing with blue flames from within.

But where Lucina’s sword was simply doing the usual blue-flamey thing it usually did, Chrom’s was a sight to behold. The sacred weapon blazed orange as if it were red-hot, the blue fire from its hilt almost engulfing Chrom’s hand. Every time he swung the weapon Risen went flying through the air, cutting great swathes through their ranks. Everywhere Chrom swung his sword Risen fell, the survivors behind them actually trying the retreat in the face of Naga’s power.

Morgan winced as she came alongside her father, the rest of the soldiers streaming around them with a lusty warcry. She realised that the eleven warriors her father had brought to the field had turned the tables and solved a situation that the thousands of men at her command had been unable to.

“Teleporting is cheating!” she cried indignantly, unable to hide the grin on her face.

Robin turned to face her, finished working with Tharja for the moment, an innocent look on his face.

“You should have specified the rules beforehand,” he shrugged.

“He has you there, child,” Say’ri added in a wry tone.

“I liked it better when you two weren’t getting along,” Morgan huffed.

Robin burst out laughing, shaking his head as he turned and moved to catch up with Chrom and the others. Say’ri went right after him, giving Morgan a parting smile and encouraging nod. The Grandmaster stood for a moment, briefly becoming distracted by thoughts of what could have been, before Amir broke her reverie.

“Ma’am, you’re zoning out,” the Honour Guard said, nudging her with the haft of his halberd.

Morgan shook the thoughts out of her head before looking to the front where she could see the Ylissean soldiers getting caught up fighting with the Risen in the wake of Chrom’s charge.

“Form ranks!” Morgan shouted, resisting the urge to follow her father and friends. “Form ranks! Support the Shepherds!”

As much as Morgan hated to admit it she would do more good back from the front, ensuring that the line was properly organised and support went where it was needed.

*

An hour later Robin found himself holding back, watching the ebb and flow of the battle from atop a small hill. Despite the fact that they were fighting uphill the Ylisseans were making incredible progress, Chrom firmly at their front with the majority of the Shepherds. So far he estimated they had already covered half the ground they needed to reach the summit where Grima was waiting, and with minimal casualties on the Ylissean side, too.

At some point Nowi and Nah had joined the Pegasus Knights on Morgan’s orders, the two manaketes raining fire down on the Risen as the flying Knights swooped and soared. Roark had caught up with the cavalry units, as well as Duchess Azolla and Seth with the infantry platoons, so they were in no danger of running out of bodies. The mages had caught up, too, under Miriel’s lead, and were providing support for the front lines, too. Morale was high… It was only late morning, so they were ahead of schedule…

“Why do I have a bad feeling in the back of my skull, then?” Robin asked aloud, squinting and surveying the battlefield again as he idly bounced his lance on his shoulder.

From slightly below him on the hill Say’ri snorted, crossing her arms.

“Perhaps because we are not actually fighting in the final battle?” she suggested impatiently.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure this is far from the final battle,” Robin muttered. “I just can’t help but think I’m forgetting something…”

The tactician wracked his brain for a few moments before shrugging and beginning to head down the hill.

“Whatever,” he said flippantly as he passed Say’ri. “If it’s not coming to me then it can’t be that important. Let’s go catch up to Chrom before he kills all the Risen singlehandedly.”

“Fie, that is what I have been waiting to hear,” Say’ri sighed, relaxing a little as she began to follow Robin.

They passed through the rear lines easily enough, the reserve soldiers helpfully moving out of their way while the duo respectfully went around the knots of wounded and exhausted soldiers resting.

Robin had to admit that no matter how many times he was privy to it, it was always an awe-inspiring experience to see the war-machine on this scale. Thousands of individuals working together symbiotically towards the same goal; helping each other, watching each other’s backs; fighting alongside each other. It made him proud to say that he was a tactician. If he was the army’s brain, then these men were his body. He owed it to them to take as much care of them as possible.

The sounds of fighting grew louder as Robin doggedly pushed through the thicker clusters of soldiers, heading for where he could see Chrom’s standard flying in the wind, which Frederick had delivered at some point. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was forgetting something important, though.

“Chrom, get ready for something!” Robin shouted as he finally reached where the Exalt was fighting.

The blue-haired ruler glanced back, Lucina and Say’ri rushing by them to engage the Risen so that they could talk.

“What are you talking about?” Chrom asked, raising his voice to be heard over the tumult of the battle around them.

“I got that feeling,” Robin said straight-faced. “You know, that feeling I get before something really bad happens? That one.”

Chrom rolled his eyes, the light from his shining sword making the tactician wince a little at its radiance.

“Robin, I hardly think now is the time to-”

Whatever the Exalt was about to say was cut off as, slightly to the left along the line, men in Ylissean armour went flying screaming through the air. With an enraged roar the Risen pressed their advantage, cutting deep into the human lines. Before Robin or Chrom could figure out what was going on the same scene was repeated to their right, men being hurled into the air reduced to little more than chunks of meat and scraps or armour.

“What in Naga’s name…?” Chrom muttered, raising Falchion into a ready-stance.

“Lucina! Say’ri! Look out!” Robin shouted as a massive form rose out of the Risen, towering at least two feet taller than its smaller brethren.

With a cold frown and a swing of his arm the Deadlord Mus sent both women flying backwards, not quite through the air like the other infantry had, but still far enough that they were left standing with the two men when they regained their feet.

“Now ends the Human race!” the bearded Deadlord thundered. “Now begins a thousand years of darkness! Kneel and tremble before Grima! Repent and give your deaths meaning!”

“Deadlords,” Robin groaned. “Called it. Something bad.”

“I will never doubt your paranoia again,” Chrom said with a grin, raising his awakened blade again as the mountainous Risen stomped closer.

Robin’s gaze flicked away to the right for a moment, where the Risen were beginning to tear into the Ylissean lines now, too.

“Say’ri, help Chrom and Lucina kill that thing,” Robin ordered, already backing away. “I’ll go right and make sure the line doesn’t collapse. Watch out for back-up.”

“Right,” the Chon’sin Queen nodded.

“What about the others?” Lucina asked worriedly, casting her gaze around and looking for the other Shepherds.

“They’re bogged down fighting on the right,” Robin answered, already beginning to inch away. “I’ll send them back this way once I find them.”

“What about the line to the left?” Chrom asked, worriedly glancing between where the Risen were overwhelming the soldiers and the advancing Deadlord.

“Enough questions already; I’ve got someone on it,” Robin said cryptically, offering Lucina a quick wink before turning and dashing off.

Chrom chuckled and shook his head as he turned back to face Mus, Say’ri and Lucina at his sides.

“He never changes,” the Exalt muttered, making both women grin a little in the face of the charging Risen now rushing around Mus to get to their section of line.

*

Algol cursed the eccentric tactician he’d been ordered to guard with all his might as he shoved his way through the collapsing Ylissean front lines. He should have known the man would abandon his Honour Guard at the soonest possibility, but to literally teleport out from under Algol’s nose had been downright insulting. Ingenious, but still insulting.

“Move, damn your eyes!” Algol snarled as panicked soldiers began to impede his progress once more.

He bodily shoved the terrified men out of his path, bringing his halberd down on the Risen that had been about to kill the two fleeing men.

“Royal Guard! Hold this line!” he roared at the top of his lungs.

Nine black-armoured forms emerged from the retreating soldiers blade-first, creating a barrier between them and the Risen. The Risen raced on regardless, breaking upon the veteran Plegian soldiers like waves on a shore. Algol snarled again and again as he threw his weapon around, every strike a killing blow in the target rich environment.

The Plegians were holding, giving the Ylisseans a chance to regroup behind them; ten Guards, holding the line that an army had failed to. Algol found it laughable that such weak foes had-

His thoughts came to a halt as one of the Royal Guards shrieked, lifted into the air on the end of the sword piercing his thick armour.

A familiar insane cackle met Algol’s ears as he looked over, the blood draining from the Royal Guard’s face as his gaze fell upon the creature that had routed the Ylissean lines singlehandedly, understanding dawning.

Standing there in the shower of fresh viscera from the man above him was Mad King Gangrel, eyes blazing red and his skin the colour of volcanic ash.

“Hello again, Guard Captain,” Gangrel chuckled, tossing the corpse aside as if it weighed nothing.

Algol growled and spat, turning to look back at the Ylisseans around him.

“Hold this line!” the Guard Captain shouted to the closest Ylisseans. “We’ll deal with him!”

The closest soldiers rushed to follow Algol’s orders, sparking a chain reaction that saw the section of line reforming around his Guards, all of whom were now facing the deranged resurrected King. Much to Algol’s added frustration a second Deadlord figure emerged from the press of charging Risen; a tall man in strange looking armour with lank white hair, a long, thin sword leaning against his shoulder as he glared at the Royal Guards alongside the Gangrel-Deadlord.

“I’d bow, your Majesty, but I’m pretty sure I already buried both halves of you when the Ylisseans ended your reign,” Algol growled dangerously as he stalked towards what could only be another Deadlord.

“Oh, you did,” the Gangrel-Deadlord sneered, raising a jagged, black bladed sword to the Guard Captain.

*

Chrom dodged low beneath the sweeping lance aimed at his head, spinning away from the blow as both Lucina and Say’ri darted into the opening. Lucina angled low, her greatsword aiming for Mus’ stomach as Say’ri leapt into the air with her twin blades flashing.

The large Deadlord barely glanced at the two women as another form emerged from behind him and batted them out of the air, glaring at Chrom single-mindedly.

“What the hell!?” Lucina cursed, rolling back to her feet.

“No…” Say’ri muttered, her eyes widening as she beheld their new foe.

“Sir Priam… how…”

The new Deadlord frowned, leaning the familiar golden sword against his shoulder as he glared impassively at the two women. His glowing eyes narrowed slightly as they came to rest on Say’ri, his ashen brow furrowing. Like the assassin Deadlord that had wounded Panne in Ylisstol the Priam-Deadlord’s mouth was roughly stitched shut, the threads pulling as his lips turned down.

“Now do you see the full extent of our master’s power?” Mus thundered, pointing his lance to the newcomer.

“I just see another monster in need of slaying!” Say’ri roared, launching herself at the other Deadlord.

Lucina followed without hesitation, both women striking hard and fast and putting Priam-Deadlord on the defensive, leaving Chrom to face Mus on his own.

The newly-Awakened Exalt sprung forward without a second thought, shining blade held in a firm two-handed grip as he dodged around Mus’ lance. Chrom managed to strike twice, each blow from the enhanced sword digging deep furrows on the Deadlord’s chest plate, perhaps even piercing it. Before he could pat himself on the back, though, Chrom rolled low to avoid Mus’ backswing, staggering when the Deadlord kicked out as his shoulder with the force of a charging bull.

Chrom snarled as he raced in again, full of the energy Naga had blessed him with. The Fire Emblem on his arm began to shine with light of its own as he caught Mus’ lance on it, knocking the blow aside and stabbing forward with Falchion to pierce the Deadlord’s heart. The ancient weapon bit deep, sliding through Mus’ mighty armour as if it were silk. Chrom leapt back again, wary of reprisal as Mus staggered and fell to one knee, coughing black blood onto his beard as he glared up at the first man to actually wound him in centuries.

“Are you ready to lie down and die yet?” Chrom asked, bringing Falchion up in a two-handed grip.

Mus glared for a few more seconds before he surprised Chrom by breaking into laughter.

“You have done well to receive Naga’s blessing for your sword,” the Deadlord chuckled, rising back to his feet. “But you are not the only one blessed by a god.”

Chrom watched as the black blood oozing out of Mus’ chest wound came to a stop, the armour remaining broken but the wound closing beneath it.

“I’d like to see you do that after I cut off your head,” Chrom growled, dashing forward again.

Mus slapped Falchion aside and brought his lance around, much the way he had the first time they had duelled, striking hard against Chrom’s shoulder. When the Exalt pulled away, the silver pauldron remained on Mus’ lance, torn away from the rest of the suit.

“I would like to see you try, puny one,” Mus sneered, tearing the pauldron off his weapon and casting it aside.

“Then watch closely,” Chrom spat as he stepped back into a ready stance. “The sword wasn’t the only thing Naga blessed.”

Chrom took a deep breath, focusing on harnessing the energy flowing through him from the Fire Emblem. Without warning he sprung forward, the earth where he had been standing shattering with the force of his leap. A mighty roar escaped his throat as he closed the gap between himself and Mus in the blink of an eye, swinging Falchion so fast it seemed to disappear. Mus managed to get his spear up just in time, stopping the Exalted sword in a shower of sparks, the force of Chrom’s blow driving the Risen back.

Before Mus could rally Chrom spun, the rest of the world seeming to be standing still as he danced beneath the Deadlord’s weapon and around to his side where Chrom struck again, tearing through the Risen’s enchanted armour once more. With an outraged bellow Mus brought his lance down into the space Chrom had been occupying a second ago, the Exalt already moving again to slash at Mus’ legs, suddenly behind the Deadlord.

“I will not fail!” Chrom announced as Mus fell to one knee again.

Before the Deadlord could react Chrom swung Falchion laterally with all his might, severing Mus’ head from his shoulders in a blast of ashes and purple smoke. There was a keening wail as a sudden wind buffeted Chrom, the Risen around him attacking the Ylissean soldiers all stopping and facing him.

“Who’s next!?” Chrom snarled, launching himself at the closest of the Risen.

*

Lucina and Say’ri spun around the Priam-Deadlord in opposite directions, both slashing out with their respective weapons as they moved. The tall Risen simply smirked, batting aside all three swords with his own golden-bladed weapon without any effort before stepping forward and lunging at Lucina. The Ylissean princess turned her spin into a roll, dodging to the side at the last second as the former master swordsman’s blade carved a line on her thin pauldron.

“He fights as the real Priam did!” Say’ri shouted, panting heavily as Lucina climbed back to her feet.

The Ylissean princess could only agree with the other woman; they’d been fighting for some time now, neither able to land a blow against the monstrous swordmaster. Both women now sported small wounds from near misses, their armour scarred and broken from the Risen’s precise attacks. Lucina’s small buckler, a gift from her father before they had set out, had barely lasted a few seconds against the monster, and lay cloven and forgotten on the ground somewhere behind her.

The Priam-Deadlord’s gaze flicked up to Lucina, deeming her the more dangerous of the two as he held his sword out in a challenge.

Lucina swallowed, darting forward again, Say’ri doing the same from behind the Risen. The Deadlord spun, ducking beneath Lucina’s blow and letting Say’ri’s twin swords spark off his own thick pauldron as he passed between them, landing a crunching blow to Say’ri’s armoured ribs with his free hand as he passed. Lucina took the opportunity to lash out with a kick at the Risen’s knee, but even that he turned into another attack, twisting with the blow mercurially and bringing his sword around and down on Lucina from above. The blue-haired woman managed to dodge at the last second, earning another mark across her silver breastplate for her efforts; if she had been unarmoured the blow would have carved her in half.

Priam continued to grin, moving to advance again and stopping after only a couple of steps as three arrows suddenly appeared in his shoulder, a fourth being caught in his fist inches from his face.

“Step away from the ladies, cur!” Virion shouted, the archer’s voice coming close to a snarl for the first time since Lucina had been introduced to the man. “Nobody likes a desperate suitor!”

Priam actually took a step back in surprise, desperately throwing his sword up as Flavia launched herself at him with a flurry of high-blows.

“Press the attack!” the Khan roared, forgoing defence and striking with almost reckless abandon.

Lucina rallied, throwing herself back at the Deadlord at the same time as Say’ri. Priam actually retreated another few steps, glowing eyes narrowing and giving up ground to block blows from four weapons and avoid Virion’s arrows, the bolts flying between the three women every few seconds.

Virion squinted for a moment, holding his breath and tensing all his muscles as he drew his arm back again, holding it until he had the perfect shot…

“There…” the archer breathed, letting his shot fly.

Priam’s head snapped to one side and he stumbled as Virion’s arrow, fired from only a few meters away, embedded itself in his eye. The three women struck, too, blades flashing from all angles as the Priam-Deadlord was butchered in a familiar shower of ashes and smoke.

“Where are the others?” Lucina asked instantly, still gasping from the exertion of her fight.

“To the right, along the line,” Virion said, his tone disinterested as he started firing into the Risen attacking the soldiers around them. “Robin was leading them to where the other Deadlords were. We were told to support you and head to the left once we were done.”

Lucina nodded, looking along the line and hoping to spot Robin in the fighting.

“He’ll be fine,” Flavia said, squatting down.

The Khan rose, holding Priam’s golden-bladed sword in one hand.

“We… buried that with him,” Say’ri said, her voice shaking with outrage. “Grima has gone too far this time.”

“Yeah, because trying to destroy the world wasn’t crossing a line,” Flavia snickered, sheathing her sword over her shoulder and giving the new weapon a few practice swings.

She looked up at the questioning glances the other three were giving her, shrugging and resting Priam’s sword against her shoulder.

“What?” she asked. “It’s a nice sword. It would be a waste to leave it here. You can put it back after we kill Grima and his lackeys.”

*

Algol grit his teeth, doing his best to parry and failing as the Gangrel-Risen’s sword flashed by his guard again, cutting a line across his arm as he backpedalled.

The two Deadlords had decimated his squad, some of the best soldiers he had handpicked from out of the entire Plegian army. Two guards still fought against the tall, silent swordsman, one of them the rookie girl from the Dragon’s table. The entire time Algol had been fighting against the shadow of his former king he had yet to land so much as a glancing blow. The Risen hadn’t had the same problem, though; Algol’s arms and chest were covered in small cuts and wounds, his armour almost useless now as it hung off him in scraps.

At the very least he wasn’t making it easy for the creature. The Gangrel-Deadlord had stopped with his irritating banter some time ago, and was frowning hard now as he tried to deliver a solid blow.

“Now I remember why I appointed you Guard Captain,” the Deadlord growled, stretching out his neck.

“Yeah,” Algol panted. “I bet you’re just kicking yourself now, huh?”

“You're still good, but you did fail in your mission in the end, didn't you?” the Gangrel-Deadlord purred, smiling evilly.

Algol snorted at the Deadlord’s tone.

“Fail at what? Protecting a psychopath? You’ll have to try a lot harder than that to get under my skin, monster. You were evil when you were alive. Now you’re just plain crazy, and I get paid to keep crazy away from the new Prince. So come and get some.”

The Deadlord roared indignantly and charged again, Algol bringing his halberd to bear again. The Gangrel-Risen simply weaved around Algol’s polearm, finally landing a solid hit as his sword passed through the Guard Captain’s stomach armour. With a gurgling groan Algol stumbled backwards, clutching at his wound while the Risen laughed in his face. A short way away another shriek heralded the end of another Royal Guard, leaving only Algol and the rookie.

“You did well to hold us for so long,” the Gangrel-Deadlord admitted, holding his sword up to lick Algol’s blood off of it.

“But I grow weary of playing with you. Now you will die-”

“Foul monsters! How dare you besmirch my brother’s nobility!?” a furious voice cried out, distracting Gangrel and making him spin.

With a shocked look the Gangrel-Risen didn’t even have a chance to get his weapon up as two long, thin blades cut him to pieces, the corpse fading to ash before Algol’s eyes. The Chon’sin Queen, snarling and beautiful like an angel of war descended to earth as she faced off against the other Deadlord, didn’t even spare the wounded Algol a second glance. Light hands grabbed him beneath one arm and hauled him to his feet, Sahiri pulling him back from the battle.

“I will be your end, monster!” the Queen announced, launching forward at the Deadlord.

The creature twitched once in the shoulder, its sword snapping up at the last second as its frown intensified.

 “Why!?” Say’ri roared, swinging both her swords in perfect arcs that drove the Deadlord back. “Why him!? Why my brother!? Why torment me further, damn you!?”

Flavia growled a small way away, hopping in place a little about to join in the fight before she was stopped by Lucina’s hand on her shoulder.

“We should not interfere,” the Princess insisted.

Flavia frowned before turning her head and spitting in irritation.

“Fine, but I’m going to kill the small-fry Risen instead, then,” she said, her voice close to a pout as she began swinging Priam’s big sword at the weaker Risen still harrying the soldiers around them.

Lucina nodded, watching Say’ri parry a vicious blow from the Deadlord wearing her brother’s face. She wouldn’t interfere, but that didn’t mean she’d stand idly by if the foreign queen needed help.

Say’ri fought on, the world around her fading out as she focused entirely on her foe. When she had fought Yen’fay at the Demon’s Ingle he had held back, wary of harming his younger sister. She had held no such qualms and had struck him down mercilessly. The Deadlord, however, fought with all her brother’s controlled grace and incredible skill, turning aside her two-bladed blows and weaving around her like water, frustrating Say’ri to no end.

Their father had always said when they trained that Yen’fay fought like water; constantly adapting and moving, finding gaps and openings and flowing through movements and stances. Say’ri, however, had fought like fire; she was rash, brazen, and overwhelmed her foes through sheer skill and fury. Out of the two of them Yen’fay had always been the superior duellist.

However, Say’ri thought as she deflected another series of blows aimed at her midsection, this wasn’t a duel; this was war, and Say’ri had learned much in the way of war since joining with the Shepherds.

Using both blades to push the Yen’fay-Deadlord’s down as she stepped in towards him, Say’ri lashed out with a technique she had seen both Exalt Chrom and Robin use multiple times. She brought her forehead down on a stunned Yen’fay’s nose with all her might, the Deadlord stumbling backwards as stars spun through Say’ri’s vision.

Pressing her advantage Say’ri jumped and spun through the air, landing a flipping kick with one foot after the other to the Deadlord’s chest and throwing him further back. She spun as she landed, slashing low and cutting through the Deadlord’s shin guard before finally hopping back to catch her balance.

The Yen’fay-Deadlord glowered, baring his teeth and starting to break the threads holding his mouth closed.

Say’ri darted in again, scissoring her blades back and forth, utterly overwhelming the wounded Risen before she plunged Amatsu into its chest. Swinging her own sword up from her hip the creature’s sword-arm spun through the air before she stabbed it next to her brother’s old sword. Say’ri roared with pain as she forced the two weapons apart, tearing the Risen in the shape of her brother apart and dissipating him into ash and smoke, killing Yen’fay for a second time.

“She’s… not human…” Algol heard Sahiri mutter in astonishment.

If he were totally honest, Algol agreed with her. Those two Deadlords had run roughshod over him and his squad, killing most of them without even breaking a sweat. Now one woman flies in and tears the two creatures apart single-handedly? He found it hard to believe.

“Are you alright?” a cultured voice said from behind the two Royal Guards.

Algol spun as best he could while Sahiri still supported him, seeing the Ylissean archer standing and looking out over the battlefield behind them. Two more women, the Feroxi Khan and the blue-haired swordswoman that was constantly hanging off Prince Robin surged forward, hacking into the Risen still harassing the Ylissean line while Queen Say’ri stood and glared at the ground the Deadlord had died on, catching her breath.

“Best get back to the beach,” the archer suggested with a wink at Sahiri. “Methinks you will both just be in the way right now.”

Algol nodded slowly, looking to the ground where the Gangrel-Deadlord had been killed. He frowned and lifted himself off Sahiri’s shoulder, limping over to the sword half-buried in purple ashes. He looked down at them for a moment before he suddenly spat a wad of blood-streaked saliva in the ashes.

“Long live Prince Robin,” he ground out before turning and limping towards the beach, Sahiri watching her wounded Captain with a worried expression.

*

Robin frowned as he pushed his way through the Ylissean front, occasionally throwing random spells out towards the Risen just to thin them out a little as he walked. He was forced to use his lance to separate knots of soldiers from time to time so that he and his little party could pass as they moved to where the Deadlords and Risen were still wreaking havoc on the right flank.

Severa, Yarne and Noire all followed behind him, doing their best not to get left behind. He had already come across the others, instructing them to back up Chrom in the centre and Algol’s squad on the left flank of the front. Behind them Tiki’s draconian roar rang out as she transformed again, dazzling green dragonfire no doubt engulfing the Risen all along the central section where she was fighting with Chrom and Vaike. Every so often he felt the mountain path’s lingering mana fluctuate as Tharja cast another spell, the sounds of the devastating explosions and vortexes being lost in the din of the battle around them.

“Take care of the line!” Robin shouted over his shoulder to the three younger Shepherds following him as they drew closer to the source of the bad feeling he was having. “Get the Risen off the soldiers long enough for them to reform ranks! Think you three can handle that!?”

Severa scoffed as Noire nodded and Yarne shifted to his Taguel form without a word.

“We’ll make sure we help you with the Deadlord when we’re done,” the redhead promised as the three darted off into the press of soldiers.

Robin allowed himself a moment to grin at her confidence before he began pushing towards the Risen again. The soldiers were becoming more and more desperate now, shoving and pushing each other aside in a panic as they struggled to get away from the source of their fear. Robin began channelling mana, and the second he broke through to the clear space where the Risen were waiting for him he let loose, annihilating the first of the creatures with a wave of Dark Magic fire.

“I know you’re here, woman!” Robin snarled into the new empty space, throwing Flux spells around him into the Risen flooding around him.

Waves of purple ash flowed around his ankles in the gap as the mindless Risen separated in a wedge, going around him about five meters on each side. It was unnerving the way they simply ignored him, leaving a space for-

“Tactician!” Simia screamed, appearing from the press opposite him and striding towards the tactician. “Long have I waited for this!”

“I should have killed you in Chon’sin!” Robin roared, lashing out with his lance. “No more! This ends now!”

Sparks flew as their weapons collided, Robin making full use of his beautiful lance’s superior reach as Simia struggled to maintain her forward momentum. He jabbed with his lance in short bursts the way Cordelia had taught him to, occasionally sweeping the Deadlord’s sword aside to keep her moving backwards. Just like every other time they had fought, Simia’s skill had obviously improved immensely since the last time, and now her own skill seemed to rival his. She was faster, but Robin was still a better fighter. Just as they reached the edge of the ring of Risen and Robin prepared to land a finishing blow he instinctively hopped back, eyes widening as a thick greatsword passed through the air where his throat had been.

“Holy crap that was too close,” he muttered, stepping back and massaging his neck.

A second Deadlord stepped into the empty space, the Risen grinning sadly at Robin as he rested his weapon against his shoulder.

Robin took a sharp breath, feeling his face break into a scowl as he moved back a few paces. The tactician’s eyes narrowed as he glared at the creature wearing his friend’s face, doing his best to control the indignant rage seething just below his skin.

Simia saw his reaction and started to laugh, the Gregor-Deadlord looking on silently.

“Does it hurt!?” Simia cackled. “Does it pain you to know that your failure has come back to haunt you so!? Squirm, tactician! Beg for forgiveness, and I will let your end come from your friend’s hands!”

Robin’s scowl became a grimace as he shook his head slowly.

“This psychological warfare crap would have worked on me a few years ago,” the tactician admitted, glaring into the Gregor-Risen’s glowing red eyes.

“But right now it just pisses me off,” he added, reaching over his shoulder and drawing Sol one-handed. “And guess what? Apparently Chrom wasn’t the only one who was awakened.”

Suddenly Robin threw himself forward again, alternating strikes with Sol and his lance as he pressed his attack on both Simia and the Gregor-Risen.

As much as he hated the feeling, as much as he hated himself for doing it, Robin opened himself to the power he’d been denying since the start of the Valm Campaign and tapped into Grima’s mana. All at once he felt a surge through his limbs as the Dark Magic empowered him, his blows becoming faster and harsher as he pushed both Deadlords back at the same time. The brand on his hand began to shine again, the amulet on his chest burning as Grima’s fell essence polluted his soul. No doubt the purple lines were covering his flesh again, too.

It was like someone poured boiling oil through his veins; Robin half expected to burst into flames any second, such was the incredible surge of mana rushing through him and strengthening him. Time slowed down as he glanced around, the Risen and Ylissean soldiers moving in slow motion as they rushed to kill each other. He spotted Yarne and Severa fighting side by side, the redhead pulling her sword out of a cloud of ashes ever-so-slowly while Yarne brought his fore-claws down on another. Noire’s arrows stood still in the air as Robin took a breath, bringing the raging power under control.

Glaring up at the two Risen as he momentarily backed up, Robin’s eyes went pitch black again. The tactician flipped his lance around, spinning it and letting it come to a rest across his shoulders as he held Sol out, the heavy sword weighing nothing in his empowered grip.

Simia was speechless as she backed away, her bluster suddenly gone. Judging from the trembling in her hands, she was terrified. The Gregor-Deadlord frowned again, his posture relaxing slightly.

“Young… Robin…” he slurred as if the muscles in his jaw weren’t working properly.

“Don’t you dare!” the tactician snarled, throwing himself forward again. “Don’t you dare speak in his voice! Don’t you dare try to fool me with his face!”

Robin pressed his attack mercilessly, sweeping his lance low and forcing the Deadlord to step back before bringing Sol down across his chest in a shower of black blood. With a cry of absolute hatred Robin spun, switching his grip on his lance and forcing it through the Deadlord’s chest from above, pinning him to the ground.

Robin panted, holding the lance still for a moment before slowly lifting his gaze to glare at Simia. The other Deadlord took a few more steps back, her sword actually shaking in her hands now as her glowing red eyes met the pitch black orbs of her former prey.

With a panicked shout Simia ran forward, a flurry of strikes bouncing off Robin’s sword as he effortlessly turned her blows back.

“No more running,” Robin growled, knocking her blade aside with a twitch of his wrist.

Simia tried to rally, Robin bringing his leg up and kicking her in the solar plexus before she could, sending the Deadlord flying backwards.

“No more hiding,” he continued, Sol flashing in his hands.

Simia let out a scream, clutching the black stump where her hand used to be as the appendage rolled away, still clutching her sword.

Robin roared wordlessly, tossing Sol to one side and wrapping his bare hands around Simia’s throat.

“This… this is for Henry,” Robin ground out through clenched teeth, ignoring the weak blows raining down on him from the flailing Deadlord.

With a resounding crack Simia fell still, her arms dropping as her glowing eyes grew dull. Robin lifted her up, throwing the corpse aside. It rolled a few times before bursting into a cloud of ashes, just like every other Risen. Turning his gaze now to the Risen Gregor he heard the Deadlord let out a weak, wet chuckle as it struggled against his lance still pinning him.

“Tell me,” Robin asked as he advanced on the Risen. “Are you actually Gregor? Or just a bad copy?”

The Deadlord ceased its struggles, looking up as Robin bent to retrieve his sword.

“If was… real Gregor… nothing would change… yes?” the Risen asked, black blood bubbling up from between its lips.

“You’re right,” Robin agreed neutrally.

Without another word the tactician brought Sol down on the creature’s neck, severing its head in another cloud of ashes and smoke.

Robin panted, feeling the fell energy wane as he let himself calm down a little. He left his lance embedded in the ground, bringing Sol up as the Risen began charging towards him through the dead-space his lop-sided duel had taken place in.

“Guys!?” Robin called as he backpedalled, exhausted from channelling Grima’s power for even a short period of time. “What happened to that backup!?”

Looking over his shoulder Robin realised that even the Ylissean troops weren’t in a position to back him up. He shook his head, rallying and preparing to face the Risen alone, digging deep and trying to re-tap into Grima’s power to fuel him.

Just as the first of the snarling, ravenous creatures reached him bolts of Dark Magic erupted along their front, throwing a cloud of dust up into Robin’s face as the charging Risen were destroyed all along the right section of the line. The Ylisseans cheered, racing forward and leaving Robin coughing and hacking as he waved the dust cloud out of his face.

_Noire got_ really _good in a short time,_ he marvelled, turning to thank the timid archer for-

“My, my, what do we have here?” a smooth voice asked, making Robin twitch involuntarily. “Why, if I didn’t know better I’d say I just saved your life a second time, little man.”

Aversa stepped forward from the press of soldiers around them, pulling the hood of her cloak back and grinning superiorly at Robin.

“Could this day get any worse!?” Robin lamented, sagging. “This doesn’t make us even for Plegia! Not by a long shot!”

“Nice to see you again, too,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Why don’t we worry about the score after we slay the dragon?”

“What happened to that cave, huh?” Robin asked, noticing the familiar forms of the Shepherds approaching in the press.

“I’m afraid I’ve grown accustomed to a certain standard of living,” Aversa sighed theatrically.

Robin rolled his eyes this time, turning and indicating that his sister fall in with the other three Shepherds behind him.

“Just stay close and try to only kill the Risen,” he groaned, starting to jog back to where the centre of the line was moving forward again.

“I make no promises,” Aversa chuckled slyly behind him.


	65. Chapter 65

Robin irritatedly ran a hand through his hair as he pushed through soldiers hastily running around the crowded camp that had been set up. Morgan had established a beach-head, and then a forward base in less than a day; it was only mid-afternoon, and the girl was already pushing for the summit with the reserve Shepherds being led by Lon’qu, proving that she was every bit the slave-driver that her father was when motivated.

He groaned again, rubbing the back of his head as he came to a stop.

“Oh really now, you are not still dwelling on the Deadlords, are you?” a snide voice asked from behind him. “You know they were designed by him specifically to get under your skin like this.”

“I am aware of that,” Robin ground out. “And here’s the kicker; it worked.”

Turning to glance over his shoulder at his adopted sister Robin’s eyes narrowed a little when he saw the condescending look on her face.

“Why are you following me, anyway?” he groaned, shoulders slumping.

“You told me to,” Aversa chuckled, feigning innocence.

She was seemingly taking great pleasure in Robin’s suffering; something the tactician reminded himself was just a personality trait – or flaw, on second thought; definitely a personality flaw.

“I even limited myself to only killing Risen, just like you asked me to,” she added with a pout.

“You are far too old to be pouting like that,” Robin said, turning his back to her and beginning to walk again.

Above the heads of the soldiers he could make out Chrom’s banners flapping in the wind, which meant that the advance team of Shepherds would be resting there. That was his destination-

“Six years!” Aversa shouted behind him. “I am only six years older than you! How dare you insinuate I am ‘too old’ for anything!? I’m not even thirty yet!”

“Huh? Did I finally hit a nerve?” Robin asked over his shoulder with an evil grin. “’Cause you gotta be getting close.”

“Wash your face, brother dearest, you have some evil on it,” Aversa deadpanned as she followed him.

Robin pushed through a few more soldiers, slowing down to the point where he was practically walking side-by-side with Aversa now.

“Why did you come back?” he asked suddenly, stopping and turning on his heel.

Aversa stopped suddenly at the question, taken completely by surprise judging from the wideness of her eyes.

“What?” she asked as Robin stepped into her personal space.

“What are you playing at?” he asked seriously, glaring at the older woman. “I let you get away. I gave you a free pass. So why did you come back?”

Beneath her line of sight he very slowly drew his dagger. He was asking her suddenly like this to get an honest answer, without giving her the chance to come up with more ‘witty’ excuses. If the answer she gave in the next ten seconds didn’t satisfy him, Robin wasn’t about to endanger his chances by letting her live. 

Around them the soldiers kept milling about oblivious, darting to and fro and boxing them in together.

Aversa’s eyes narrowed for a moment before she sighed and crossed her arms.

“You were the one that involved me with this fiasco and now you don’t want me around?” she asked with a mocking tone.

“Answer the question,” Robin repeated dangerously.

“If you really must know, it is because I don’t trust you,” Aversa stated with a shrug.

Of all the answers she could have given, that was the one he wasn’t expecting.

“Excuse me!?” Robin burst out, completely at a loss.

“You are Grima’s avatar,” she explained. “After all the time I spent among those fanatics do you really think I wouldn’t know exactly what he is capable of doing to you? To all your little friends?”

“And to you?” Robin added when she fell silent.

“I believe that was implied,” Aversa sneered.

“So give me a reason to trust you then,” Robin said.

Aversa shrugged, grinning at him.

“You haven’t stabbed me yet,” she chuckled. “I assume that means you already trust me, at least a little.”

Robin’s brow quirked momentarily before he sighed in defeat. He nodded, stepping back and jamming his dagger back in the sheath on his belt.

“Give me a reason,” he warned. “Any teeny-tiny excuse and I swear to Naga I’ll-”

“Kill me,” Aversa interrupted, rolling her eyes flamboyantly. “Yes, yes, we’ve done this song and dance before. We don’t trust each other, I get it, but we don’t need to bring up the glaring trust issues in our family every time we talk.”

Robin broke into a grin at the older woman’s antics.

“Oh will you act your age already,” he snickered, turning away and beginning to walk again.

“I will kill you,” Aversa growled, following him with a malicious set to her features. “It will be slow. Painful. And I will enjoy it immensely.”

“Get in line,” he laughed over his shoulder, his pace quickening a little. “It starts behind the ancient dragon on top of the mountain.”

Robin’s grin only intensified as he led her through the crowd of soldiers; it was nice to have an outlet for his irritation at Grima’s low-blows before he got to the rest of the Shepherds. Why she came back was still a mystery, and he obviously still didn’t fully trust her, but it was an issue that could wait for now. There were more pressing concerns on his list, such as-

“Robin!? Has anyone seen Robin!?”

“Rooooo-biiiiiiin! Where are you!?”

“Blood and thunder! Show yourself this instant or face my wrath!”

He and Aversa stopped dead, spinning on their heels again and looking behind them again at the disturbance that had actually risen in volume above the busy war-camp. A panicked-looking Severa was leading Yarne and Noire around, hands cupped around her mouth as she desperately tried to find the tactician.

“I think those children are looking for you,” Aversa pointed out.

“Yes, thank you for stating the obvious,” Robin muttered, stepping back the way they had just come a little.

He waved his arms above his head a little, not even needing to shout to get their attention before Severa spotted him and came storming over. The look on her face as she stomped through the crowd actually made Robin step back a little, debating if placing Aversa between them would slow the furious redhead down enough for him to escape. He missed the chance when the girl drew up to him, grabbing the collar of his coat in one hand and yanking him down to her shorter level.

“Where the hell did you run off to!?” Severa practically screamed at him. “Do you have any idea how hard we looked for you!? Why would you just disappear on us like that!?”

“Gah! Severa, I’m sorry!” Robin managed to get out as he was shaken back and forth.

“You’re damn right you’re sorry!” Severa went on, her shaking intensifying.

“I’m sorry!” Robin pleaded, practically being thrown back and forth now. “Please! I’ll never do it again! Just please stop shaking me!”

Yarne and Noire both stepped in and tried to separate Severa from her prey, seemingly only aggravating her further in the process. The redhead finally released Robin, taking a deep breath and staring at the ground.

“I’m sorry, Severa,” Robin repeated, rubbing at his collar and readjusting his coat. “But I needed to keep moving.”

“Forget it,” she muttered, storming by him.

Robin watched, stunned, as the young woman stomped towards the small cluster of tents.

“I’ll go after her,” Yarne offered.

Robin stopped the Taguel with a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head.

“We haven’t got the time,” he sighed. “We’ll have to deal with it later. I need you in the main tent. Noire, can you go after her?”

The timid archer, who had been staring suspiciously at a bored-looking Aversa the entire time the others had been talking, perked up at the mention of her name.

“M-me?” she squeaked nervously.

“Yes, you,” Robin nodded. “I need you to find her, calm her down and then send her to the meeting tent before you go to the front and support Morgan.”

The young archer blinked at him in shock for a heartbeat.

“You’re… t-taking me off the main team?” Noire asked, suddenly on the verge of shocked tears.

Robin placed both hands on her shoulders, looking down at the girl.

“I need someone I can trust to watch Morgan’s back,” he said. “And in the unlikely event we fail the world will need more than one person capable of using Dark Magic. So I need you to keep each other alive, okay?”

Noire sniffled and nodded, seemingly mollified. To Robin’s surprise he suddenly found himself in a tight hug, Noire’s wiry arms wrapped around him as she buried her face in his shoulder. He glanced at Yarne with wide eyes for a moment, the same look emulated on the half-Taguel’s face, before Noire drew back with another sniffle.

“I-I’m sorry…” she muttered, downcast. “It’s just… i-in the future… you died and…”

“Forget it,” Robin said, patting the girl gently on the top of her black hair. “If I die here I can’t spend time with my favourite niece, right? Go find Severa and then keep everyone safe for me. Please.”

Noire looked up as Robin dropped his hand, smiling radiantly before nodding, a determined set coming to her features as she dashed off after Severa.

“That made me want to vomit,” Aversa suddenly drolled behind Robin, reminding him she was still there.

“Well bury that feeling, because you’re the one that’s taking up her spot on the main team now,” the tactician snapped embarrassedly, breaking into a powerwalk towards the tent not far from them now.

“Goody,” the sorceress muttered, rolling her eyes as she followed him.

Yarne blinked, staring after the two for a few moments before jumping a little when he realised he was being left behind, hurrying after them.

“Who the hell are you anyway, lady?” he asked the snarky sorceress as he jogged to catch up.

*

Robin looked around the large tent at the assembled members of the main team that would be assaulting Grima while the others distracted his Risen and Naga-knew what else. Arrayed sitting, leaning or standing around the tent were the best of the Shepherds, the strongest warriors in the world and some of the people he trusted most in the world.

Except for Aversa, standing in the back with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face, but she was the odd one out.

Chrom, Sumia and Lucina were sitting in the front side by side, Tiki and Flavia both sitting not far from the two Ylissean royals. Tharja was standing off to one side near Robin, doing nothing to disguise the glare she was shooting at Aversa. Yarne was fidgeting next to Severa, whose carefully neutral face hid whatever was eating at her since they had landed on the island. Say’ri wore a similar expression, but in the brief moment he’d been able to share with Lucina the princess had told him what had happened to the foreign queen; one more thing to deal with later. Vaike, Frederick and Virion all sat, looking at Robin expectantly, too.

“The plan is simple,” Robin said. “We go to the peak and cover Chrom while he kills the other me, Grima’s avatar, and try not to get eaten by a big dragon while we’re at it. According to my research Grima is still tied to his avatar who is tethering him in this plane. If we kill the avatar, we cut the cord and Grima should be no more. Or at least weak enough that Tharja and I can bind him, in which event Chrom kills him, too. Questions?”

Silence reigned in the tent before Aversa started laughing.

“That’s it?” she gasped, holding her sides as she desperately tried not to double over from laughing. “That’s your genius master plan? We just waltz on up and kill the most powerful being in existence?”

“Pretty much,” Robin shrugged. “You got a better idea?”

“We don’t have time for a ‘better idea’,” Frederick grunted, crossing his arms and frowning.

“It was a figure of speech,” Robin sighed. “We’re going ahead with my plan.”

“Far be it from me to question your ‘genius’-” Aversa started.

“Then don’t,” Robin cut her off. “Anyone have any real questions? No? Okay, dismissed. Get some rest, have something to eat. Prepare yourselves, because once we start this mission we don’t stop until Grima’s dead. Tharja, take care of Aversa, please. Make sure she’s kitted out and up to speed on what we’re doing.”

The Dark Mage momentarily directed her glare at Robin before she turned it back to the other woman, Aversa meeting her gaze glare-for-glare as they silently exited the tent. Robin almost wanted to secretly follow them so that he could see how it turned out between the two Dark Mages, but unfortunately once again he had more important things to do.

“Say’ri, I need to see you before you leave,” the tactician added before she could disappear.

As the others filed out Say’ri sunk back to her seat, leaning forward and staring at the ground with her elbows resting on her knees. She sat in the posture of a tired soldier, rather than the elegant queen that Robin was used to seeing, which felt somehow wrong. The last to leave was Lucina, who lingered at the entrance just long enough to give Robin an encouraging smile and nod before leaving in a flash of swaying blue hair. Robin waited until he was sure they were alone before he spoke up.

“Are you good, Say’ri?” Robin asked without preamble.

The woman glanced up, nodding once.

“I am fine.”

“Look, I heard about what happened with the Deadlords, and-”

“Fie, Robin, I assure you I am fine,” Say’ri said, smiling as she sat up straight. “It hurts, but… I will not let that bastard break me. I already bade my farewells to Yen’fay. It is my duty to ensure his memory is not tarnished by these monsters.”

Robin nodded, grinning a little. “Great. That’s great. The last thing I need is to have to take Lon’qu off the support team to replace you.”

Say’ri laughed a little, smiling before her face grew serious again.

“This is… the end, isn’t it?” she asked quietly. “One way or another, this is where the story ends.”

“Good riddance,” Robin scoffed, sinking into the chair next to her. “I’d really like to move on to the next story.”

“And what story is that?” Say’ri asked, a wistful smile appearing on her face.

Robin let out a sigh, leaning back and locking his fingers behind his head.

“Living,” he said simply. “Living in peace. All of us. Ruling nations, building lives… I think I may start a school for tacticians, personally…”

Say’ri nodded, the smile not leaving her face.

“I look forward to returning to my homeland,” she admitted, her voice taking on a far-away quality as she remembered her home. “I miss it. I miss the quiet order; the structure and artistry that go into every-day life. By the time I return the cherry blossoms will be in bloom again. I… would have liked you to see them.”

Robin snorted through his nose, still looking up.

“Why wouldn’t I be able to see them?” he asked. “You banning me from your country or something? My daughter’s the princess, you know, she can get me back in if I ask nicely.”

Say’ri looked at him curiously from the corner of her eyes as he continued staring up at the canvas roof of the tent.

“After… everything that has happened between us, you still wish to see my homeland?” she asked hesitantly.

“Sure,” Robin replied honestly. “And I still want you to show me around. We’re friends now, right?”

Say’ri went silent, looking at Robin in astonishment before bursting into laughter.

“What? I was serious…” Robin grumbled, shooting the woman a dirty look out of the corner of his eye. “Why do people keep laughing at me lately…?”

Say’ri continued to laugh, holding her stomach as she hunched over, tears of mirth running down her face.

“N-no,” she stuttered, desperately trying to stifle her mirth. “It… it is merely…”

She failed miserably, though, throwing her head back and laughing until she was done. Robin rolled his eyes as Say’ri rocked back and forth, unable to control her laughter.

“Oh gods, I do not think I have ever laughed that hard in my life,” Say’ri sighed, wiping a tear from her eye.

“Are you done now?” Robin asked, raising one eyebrow. “Ready to explain why that was so funny?”

“Yes,” Say’ri said, straightening her armour and clearing her throat. “I merely found it amusing that we are charging into the open jaws of death and you are more worried about a guided tour of my homeland.”

Robin shrugged.

“You’ve lost me,” he admitted. “Why would I want to wander around a country where no one speaks the same language as me lost?”

“It is not that,” Say’ri insisted. “You… it is that you worry about the smallest things, while we fight for something as big as the very future. I find it infuriatingly endearing.”

“If you don’t make plans for the future it’ll pass you by,” Robin said with a grin.

“Very well, then,” Say’ri said with a nod. “I shall arrange to show you my homeland. I must show Morgan her heritage, anyway, so it will not hurt to have two more along.”

“Two?” Robin repeated, perplexed.

“Indeed,” Say’ri said, smiling. “You and the Princess Lucina; I would imagine she would want to see some sights as well.”

Robin’s face broke into a grin as he let out a surprised laugh.

“Yeah. Yeah she probably would,” he agreed.

*

Robin ran a hand through his hair, pushing the short fringe back from his face as he glanced around the small camp for a hint of red hair. Severa always did a good job of not being found, which was why he had suggested Lon’qu train her in infiltration techniques in the first place; a choice he was beginning to regret a little, now. He even considered simply finding Yarne and telling the boy to sniff her out with his enhanced Taguel senses, but he needed his own time to prepare mentally for what was to come. Robin still needed to make sure that Severa was sound before they hit the peak, though. If there was even one weak link in the chain…

“And to think I actually used to be impressed by your tracking skills… It’s kind of pathetic, watching you wander around like this.”

“Severa,” Robin said, turning.

Sure enough the redheaded time-traveller was standing behind him, arms crossed as she looked apathetically at him.

“What the hell happened back there before the meeting?” he asked without preamble.

“Does it matter?” Severa asked, deflecting Robin’s question. “As long as it won’t happen again it’s none of your business, and it won’t happen again, so it’s none of your business.”

“Not good enough,” Robin snapped, speaking harsher than he usually did and making Severa visibly flinch. “Normally I’d let this kind of crappy-attitude slide, but this isn’t just about you and me; this is the whole freaking world. If you aren’t up to being on the assault team I’ll call Owain or Inigo and-”

“No!” Severa shouted desperately, halting Robin mid-rant.

“No…” she repeated again, looking down.

“Severa, talk to me,” Robin pressed, his voice returning to the gentler tone he usually used.

The redheaded swordswoman fidgeted uncharacteristically, still looking down. Robin knew she wasn’t as abrasive as she liked to pass herself off as; deep down she was even more empathetic and caring than her mother, which was a real feat for one so young. But as much as he respected and liked that about her, he couldn’t afford to have any weak links in the assault team.

“Severa…” Robin prompted, a little sterner.

“You died!” she shouted, fists balling up as her shoulders heaved.  “Twice now! I’ve had to live through that twice! Once at Steiger, and… and after F-father died in the fut… ture…”

Her head snapped up, tears running down her face as she glared at Robin.

“I thought you’d died a third time, and I was scared, okay!?” she finished.

“That… that’s why I can’t be taken off the assault team,” she added, looking back down. “You and Father are both going and… I can’t…”

“I know that, Severa,” Robin went on, stone-faced and unmoving, “But I also need to know that you’ll hold the line today, no matter what.”

“I am a soldier,” she scoffed, wiping her face on the back of her sleeve. “No matter what… this is bigger than just us, right?”

Robin nodded, surprising the girl by stepping in and giving her a gentle hug.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” he said. “And honestly, I feel better knowing you’re watching my back. Owain’s batty, and Inigo’s a good fighter, but his focus tends to wander, especially when Tharja’s cloak starts flapping around…”

Severa snorted, making a choked sound halfway between a sob and a laugh.

“Alright,” she said after a moment. “Alright. Stop hugging me now, or I’m telling Lucina.”

“Be my guest,” Robin said, tightening his hold. “I’ll just tell your mother about how worried you were about me. I’m sure it will delight her.”

Severa froze in his embrace, becoming rigid and tense.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said menacingly.

“Ha-hah! I hold all the cards now!” Robin declared, still hugging her.

Before he could continue his monologue all the air left his lungs in one burst, and the tactician collapsed to his knees coughing. Severa grinned down at him, her elbow-strike having knocked the wind out of the clingy man.

“Okay… lesson learned…” Robin gasped laughingly, rubbing his bruised solar-plexus.

“You were never so clingy in the future…” Severa muttered, turning away from Robin and crossing her arms defensively. “But… I’m kinda starting to get used to it… maybe… even like it a little…”

“What?” Robin asked, looking up. “You kinda trailed off there… what was that last part?”

“I said I’ll be watching your back during the assault, so you can stop worrying already! Gawds!” Severa shouted, spinning on her heel and storming off.

Robin chuckled quietly to himself, willing his stunned body to climb back to its feet and failing miserably.

“Hurricane Severa… sweeps through… again…” he muttered, keeling over onto his face with a piteous moan.

*

Sumia glanced up as someone ran through the flaps of the small tent she was occupying, a black-clad blur racing by her and ducking behind the large chest at the opposite end of the small space.

“I’m not here!” Robin whispered urgently, doing his best to conceal himself.

The question on the tip of the Ylissean queen’s tongue went unspoken when she heard a gruff voice calling out her friend’s name.

“Prince Robin!? Prince Robin, where are you!?” Algol wheezed, obviously not fully healed yet as he limped by the tent.

“Damn, and I was so sure I saw the rat-bastard run off this way…” the old Guard Captain muttered loudly as he passed the tent, before going back to calling Robin’s name.

“’Rat-bastard’?” Sumia repeated, giggling to herself as Robin stood and straightened his coat.

“I know, right?” he sighed. “Man’s been out of the healing tents all of ten minutes and now he’s hounding me like a… well… yeah, you saw it.”

“So you’re hiding in the Royal Tent?” Sumia asked, grinning a little at the tactician as he finally took in his surroundings.

“Oh… crap…” Robin muttered, looking around.

Chrom and Sumia’s belongings were strewn about, the former Pegasus Knight’s armour sitting on a rack in one corner as she mended one of the straps on one of her bronze-coloured greaves. From the look of things Chrom was still tromping around in his mostly-full suit, but one ruined arm-segment sat on the floor in the corner; Jake would have a fit when he saw that.

“I am so sorry, Sumia,” Robin said slowly, shaking his head. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“I’d say you were running from an overzealous bodyguard,” Sumia said knowingly. “I’ve been married to Chrom for quite a while now; I know the signs.”

“Ah. Right. Frederick,” Robin nodded seriously before breaking into a grin.

“Yes,” Sumia giggled. “But don’t tell either of them I said that.”

Robin nodded again, inching towards the tent flaps.

“Right, well, I’ll leave you to it,” he said, making to leave.

“Wait,” Sumia called after him. “I could actually use a hand here. If you’re not busy.”

Robin looked back to where the Queen was suggestively holding up her greave and grinning at him.

“C’mon, it’s a good place to hide,” she persisted.

Robin sighed theatrically and took the piece of armour from Sumia, holding it up and inspecting the damage.

“Fortunately, I did once read that book on proper armour maintenance you loaned me,” Robin muttered and he began poking at the straps on the back of the plate. “However I make no apologies for the quality of workmanship.”

Robin stuttered as he dropped the greave, snapping down and back up and trying not to grin sheepishly.

“Or… lack thereof,” he added.

*

Half an hour after sitting down to help Sumia repair her armour Robin found himself wandering through the small camp, torn between worrying about how Morgan and the army were doing and wondering where exactly the food had been set up, when he heard a woman shouting.

“No! Let me go! I’m fine, damn you; it’s only a flesh wound!”

“Wing-Commander, please!” a second voice begged. “Stop making this harder than it needs to be!”

Robin changed the direction of his aimless wandering, deciding that he had nothing better to do until the signal came down from the front lines. He stepped into the periphery of the camp where the Pegasus Knights had landed, spotting Cordelia struggling against two of her knights as she tried to climb back into her saddle.

“Cordelia, give it up already and- holy cow that is a lot more than just a flesh wound!”

The redheaded woman turned at the sound of Robin’s voice behind her, displaying for him the deep gash on the side of her head. Half of her face was painted in a red only a few shades darker than her hair, which was matted to the side of her head with more blood. Robin stepped in closer, peering at the wound as Cordelia shook her subordinates off her arms.

“I think I can see your brain…” Robin muttered, standing on his toes to get a good look at the injury.

The woman snorted, attempting to wipe the blood out of her eyes with the back of her hand and accomplishing little more than making more of a mess on her face.

“Head wounds bleed a lot, you know that,” she said quickly. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Just a scratch?” Robin scoffed, raising his eyebrow.

“I’ve had worse,” Cordelia insisted. “It’s not even going to slow me down. I can still keep fighting.”

“Uh-huh. What are you going to do, bleed on the Risen?” Robin deadpanned. “If you won’t go see a healer then sit tight and I’ll do it myself.”

Cordelia groaned in exasperation before nodding.

“Very well,” she conceded, turning to her waiting knights. “Ten minutes! Take water and food! We’re back in the air in ten minutes!”

“Can anyone lend me a staff?” Robin called out as the women, and Gerome, all dismounted and began to tend their mounts.

Cordelia audibly groaned as she rolled her eyes, turning to glower at Robin. Fortunately, the tactician was saved as Cynthia came rushing over, the younger blue-haired princess smiling through the dirt and grime crusting her face after hours of intense fighting.

“Here,” she said, holding out her staff. “It’s only basic, but it should do. I’d do it myself, but Palla needs water, and a hero’s steed’s needs must come before even her own!”

With that perplexing tongue twister clogging up Robin’s mind the excitable girl rushed off again, leaving the man with a very irked Wing-Commander.

“Make it quick,” Cordelia snapped, crossing her arms and looking back up the mountain. “I had to leave Nowi and Nah alone to fly support for Roark’s men. I need-”

“To shut up and sit still while I work,” Robin said, cutting her off as he roughly grabbed her chin and turned her head so he could see the wound.

“You’ve been spending way too much time with Frederick,” Robin continued, studying the injury carefully as he channelled his mana. “His irritating stubbornness is rubbing off on you.”

A warm glow appeared around Robin’s hand on Cordelia’s forehead next to the wound, spreading to encompass her entire head before growing and covering her completely with healing magic. Robin hated having to use healing arts, only having a staff to work with; at least with nature, anima or dark magic there were circles, wards and incantations to work off that he could use to focus his-

“Robin, I’m healed,” Cordelia said, a note of laughter in her voice. “You can let go of my face now.”

The tactician started, drawing his hand back quickly and stepping away from his friend. The aura of healing magic lingered for a few seconds before fading, leaving Cordelia wound-free and grinning at a flustered Robin.

_Why does that happen every time?_ he wondered, glaring down at the staff in his hands.

Cordelia, still grinning, reached up and gently prodded at her forehead where a light pink welt was the only evidence she had even been wounded; even the blood that had been covering her had vanished thanks to the magic.

“Well done,” Cordelia said appreciatively as she inspected her forehead. “I think you could even give Lady Maribelle or Princess Lissa a run for their money…”

Robin snorted as he thrust the staff into the Wing Commander’s hands before turning on his heel.

“Yeah, but they don’t haemorrhage mana when they heal like I do. Make sure Cynthia gets that back, and try to avoid needing it a second time.”

“Robin, wait!” Cordelia called before he could take more than a step.

The tactician turned, curious to what she wanted now.

“I just want you to know that you don’t have to worry about being attacked from above when you face Grima,” Cordelia declared proudly. “The Pegasus Knights will be flying cover for you. All you need to do is look up, and we’ll be there.”

Robin nodded gratefully.

“Thank you, Cordelia. There’s no one I’d rather have flying support for me.”

The Wing Commander practically beamed at the compliment as she turned and began shouting orders to her knights again, leaving Robin free to his own devices once more.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a man running towards the camp wearing the livery of a messenger, obviously there with the latest reports from Morgan and the front line.

“Oh dear sweet Naga please tell me they set up the mess tent on the way to the command tent,” he pleaded as he broke into a jog.

*

Morgan wiped the sweat out of her eyes with the back of her glove, her features set to a scowl as she surveyed the battlefield. Fighting uphill was never easy, especially against a foe like the Risen, to whom the words ‘self-preservation’ had no meaning. The Ylisseans and their allies were still steadily advancing, though, earning each meter of new ground with blood and sweat.

“We’re doing well,” her second shadow, the Royal Guard Amir, mentioned.

The taller man stood just behind her, leaning casually on his spear. So far the Plegian Royal Guard that had been assigned to her had managed to keep up with the Grandmaster; only two had been wounded so far, and only one of those two had been hurt to the point he’d needed to withdraw from the field.

“Don’t say that, you’ll jinx us,” Morgan muttered distractedly, shielding her eyes and looking up the slope.

She spun, rounding on one of the messengers.

“You, get this message to the unit leaders: The road gets suddenly steeper about two-hundred meters ahead of us, so if the Risen are going to make a counter-push that’s where they’ll do it, where our footing is off. Got that?”

“Yes, Grandmaster!” the messenger saluted before running off.

Amir frowned, shielding his eyes and looking over the soldiers and up the hill.

“Did you spot something?” he asked, squinting.

“No, but all of my tactician’s intuition alarm bells are ringing,” Morgan said as she turned back to the battle.

“What?” the guard asked curiously.

“I got a bad feeling,” Morgan said, spelling it out to the man.

“C’mon,” she added, starting to walk suddenly. “We’re heading back to the front.”

“Joy,” Amir muttered under his breath, waving over his shoulder.

In an instant the remaining members of Morgan’s Plegian Royal Guard squad were back in their positions around her, their pace already matched to hers as she stomped towards the front.

Ahead of her the Ylisseans trampled over the last of the Risen, roaring in success as they coalesced into a tighter group. The road thinned as it became steeper, and Morgan tensed in anticipation as the Ylissean soldiers charged heedlessly up it. The young Grandmaster passed a slower moving Miriel, leading Ricken, Laurent and the other Ylissean mages forwards in their support role; much to Morgan’s relief, the thin, bespectacled woman had a similar expression on her face, making the younger woman believe she wasn’t imagining the negative energy building up.

Without any resistance the Ylissean soldiers powered up the slope, passing the optimal point for an ambush unscathed. Morgan’s unease grew as she rushed to catch up, growing closer to the front ranks still charging in orderly lines with their units.

Morgan began to run now, the sense of unease growing as the soldiers continued their quick and orderly ascent.

They were too close to the summit…

This is where the fighting should have been the thickest…

Grima had missed the perfect ambush opportunity…

They were almost at the summit now, only about fifteen meters away and had yet to see another Risen…

The first of the Ylisseans reached the lip to the peak of the mountain, disappearing over it. Morgan flinched, waiting for the hammer to fall, and broke into a full sprint. Lon’qu was suddenly at her side, running with a determined frown on his features. Inigo and Owain were right behind him, falling in with Morgan and the Plegians around her.

Cold, cruel laughter brought the entirety of the Ylissean war machine stop just as she reached the small plateau at the peak. With wide eyes Morgan looked around at the small expanse of emptiness for the source of the voice.

“Welcome, one and all,” Grima’s avatar, for that’s all Morgan could allow herself to think of him as, said in her father’s voice.

“I bid you welcome,” he repeated, the voice now coming from behind Morgan.

She spun on her heel, sword coming up. Standing in the middle of the Ylisseans with a huge scythe resting across his shoulders was Grima’s avatar, the twisted version of her father. Beneath his open coat the scars on his chest glistened wetly, the grin on his face widening to display far too many pointed teeth for a human mouth to hold.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, staring directly at Morgan.

Without warning one of the men closest to Morgan collapsed with a gurgling scream, a black-fletched arrow protruding from his throat.

“To arms!” Morgan cried, Risen crawling up out of the soldiers’ own shadows.

The men began to panic instantly as clawed hands gripped their ankles and rusted weapons began hacking at them from below. Unit cohesion collapsed almost instantly, and the steady flow of soldiers arriving on the backing up and halting as those atop the peak desperately tried to get back down.

“Hold!” Lon’qu roared, hacking low and felling Risen with every step he took. “Hold, damn you all! Fight! Fight or die!”

“This is insanity!” Amir shouted.

A hooked dagger bounced off the Plegian’s greave, carving a line but doing little else before the man flipped his halberd around and buried it in the Risen attacking him from his own shadow.

The scene was repeated all over the mountaintop; Ylissean soldiers were falling, Risen crawling up out of the dark shadows beneath them. Lon’qu was steadily trying to get more men onto the plateau and beginning to succeed, but-

The Feroxi swordsman howled suddenly, an arrow burying itself in his shoulder. With a snarl Lon’qu broke the shaft, glaring up at the small crag above them where the Deadlord Draco was perched, a stoic frown on his face beneath his dented cyclopean helm.

Morgan felt the familiar sinking sensation of fear, the same as when she had been running through the forest with Anna and Donnel…

At some point she’d lost Amir and the honour guard in the crowd, leaving her all alone again…

Her head snapped back and forth as she began to sink into the familiar despair again, the soldiers all around her dying and…

With wide eyes her gaze stopped on the phantom of Donnel, smiling kindly at her through a momentary gap in the press of soldiers. Another Ylissean momentarily blocked her view, and Donny disappeared, but she had already snapped back to her senses.

She wasn’t the same cowering, broken child she had been when she’d been captured.

She was the Grandmaster of the Ylissean armed forces, and it was high time she started acting like it.

“Form up!” Morgan shouted, the sudden fire in her voice actually bringing the panicking around her to a halt.

She snatched the horn from the closest of the signallers, the man staring wide-eyed at his surroundings and hyperventilating as froth began to build up in the corner of his mouth. The clear, four-toned blasts from Morgan cut through the sense of fear, soldiers beginning to snap to their senses.

“Form up!” Morgan shouted again, punctuating her orders with more horn blasts. “Phalanx formation! Shoulders together, present a wall!”

She tossed the horn to Lon’qu, who took up repeatedly signalling for the soldiers to form ranks as Inigo and Owain began cajoling the men around them into position.

Morgan turned, suddenly realising that the arrows had stopped flying at the Ylissean soldiers, glancing over to where Grima was still standing, smiling at them.

Or at least where Grima had been standing a few moments ago, Morgan realised with a sudden spike of fear. Off to one side soldiers shrieked and flew into the air, their cries accompanied by Grima’s manic laughter as he swung his wicked scythe in wide arcs.

“He wasn’t supposed to be here this soon!” Inigo shouted as he drew up beside Morgan.

“I know!” Morgan shouted back.

“What do we do!?” Inigo asked, clearly shaken. “We can’t fight that monster!”

“We don’t have to! We just have to keep him busy!” Morgan said, her tone becoming grim.

Owain, Panne and Basilio appeared behind the younger man, the big Feroxi Khan seemingly stepping out of thin air.

“Bring it on!” Basilio roared.

“My sword hand may finally be unleashed!” Owain shouted, brandishing his weapon towards the avatar.

Panne just leaned forward, silently shifting into her Taguel form and digging her claws into the earth in anticipation.

A familiar clanking sound of armour from behind made Morgan turn; she watched as Kellam appeared from the press of bodies, indomitable and imposing in his old orange armour, with the wounded Lon’qu in tow.

“Go!” Kellam urged her. “Keep him busy! I’ll handle the small-fry! Frederick and Cordelia should be here any second now! I’ll manage ‘til then!”

Morgan nodded to the armoured man, entrusting the soldiers into his care. Lon’qu wordlessly slipped into formation with the other Shepherds, glaring at Grima’s avatar and ignoring the blood-soaked rag wrapped around his bicep. The avatar glanced up at them, a forked reptilian tongue darting out to lick at the blood splattered on its cheek, and smiled that smile full of too many razor-sharp teeth again.

A new clarion call echoed around them, accompanied by the sound of racing hooves on the hard-packed earth.

“For Ylisse!” Frederick roared, leading a charge of Knights around the periphery of the battle, routing the Risen and taking the pressure off of the soldiers Kellam was whipping back into formation.

Leaving Morgan and the five other Shepherds to face Grima unopposed.

*

Above them the Deadlord Draco noticed the threat his master, gleefully tearing into the Ylisseans with his favoured weapon, had failed to see yet. Nocking an arrow the silent Deadlord took a deep breath, his sights settling on the girl leading the army-

He threw himself backwards as an arrow streaked by his face, sparks dancing off his metal helmet as the bolt gouged another line in the shining surface.

Below him, ignoring the pandemonium around her and already calmly nocking another arrow, was the black-haired archer girl he had duelled with at the Dragon’s Table. Something was different about her this time, though…

Noire let another arrow loose, and just before her hand left the bowstring a small purple flash coalesced on the arrow’s head as dark magic infused the shot. Draco scoffed a little, leaping sideways and flying through the air, shooting three more arrows of his own in quick succession as the girl’s went wide. With a grunt Draco landed in the melee

The girl cursed, following him through the press and firing off regular arrows every time the crowded battlefield parted enough for her to get a clear shot. Draco grinned now, his usual stoicism forgotten as he duelled with the girl again, shooting off shots to mirror her own. Where her arrows missed and went wide every shot he fired struck one of the soldiers around her or even knocked her own out of the air. She was good; she was better than good, the girl was a superb archer. Unfortunately, she had clearly spent too much time focusing on whatever magic she was infusing every third shot with. It was taking her too long to do, and every time she would have gotten a glancing hit or even a solid one she wasted it by trying to fell him with the dark magic bolts. Draco even started purposely giving her the openings to mock her, waiting to see what she would do.

As the two archers danced their way through the melee, arrows flying back and forth, Noire felt nothing but cool confidence. Her face didn’t change from the determined scowl she wore, sticking to the pattern she had practiced with.

Shot, shot, magic… shot, shot, magic…

She could see the openings that the overconfident Deadlord was starting to give her now, how he was purposely baiting her into using up her arrows and wasting perfect shots, but still she waited. Her arrows were running out now, and as her fingers wrapped around the last one in her quiver the Deadlord grinned, pointing his bow levelly at Noire when she let the last bolt fly.

Noire grinned now, drawing the empty bowstring back again.

The cyclopean Deadlord hesitated now, not taking the shot he should have as Noire’s final arrow flew by his head, missing his neck by centimetres.

Dark magic danced around her bowstring, and with a feeling of impending victory Noire let a charged Flux-arrow fly.

Draco bared his teeth in an outraged snarl as the arrow-shaped spell crashed into his chest, leaving a dark scorch mark and forcing him onto the defensive. He dove and rolled as a line of dark magic arrows followed him, coming up and dragging a surprised soldier into their path to give him a moment to collect himself. The unsuspecting man screamed as the dark magic tore through his armour, dropping limp and dead from Draco’s grip as he loosed three more arrows in Noire’s direction.

Noire dodged, spinning elegantly around the bolts and tugging her bowstring twice, shooting off more bolts of magic at the retreating Deadlord, darting after him.

Noire’s bow had been enhanced, the runes and patters for the simple ‘flux’ spell carved into the wood surface rather than inked in a spellbook. Thanks to her affinity for the weapon the spell was cast within seconds each time. She had, simply put, been baiting the Deadlord.

Skidding on her heels Noire came to a halt, loosing a torrent of magic arrows at the Risen around her to clear space before setting her sights back on the Deadlord, her numerous shots taking out one of his legs and reducing it to dead weight, almost severing the limb in a shower of magic and black gore. The helmed creature went down onto one knee, struggling to keep retreating from the wrathful archer.

Noire lowered her bow, sauntering over with swaying hips the same way her mother approached a looming kill, with the same cruel smile on her lips.

Draco’s mind reeled. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go! She was meant to offer him a challenge, yes, but this… she was going to kill him!

His forward momentum was stopped when someone stomped on his good ankle. He struggled to flip over, trying to bring an arrow up to offer some resistance. The bolt was knocked out of his hand as the archer girl levelled her empty bow at him.

“Blood and thunder,” Noire whispered, drawing her bowstring back one last time.

The spell hit the Deadlord clean as the bowstring sang, purple ashes blowing outwards as the empty helm clattered to the ground amid the dust and ashes.

*

Owain watched as Noire darted off into the wild melee all around them, chasing after the Deadlord archer. Around them magic began to detonate among the already scattered Ylissean forces, making their fight all the more dangerous for them. He almost followed after Noire, just to make sure his friend stayed safe, before his attention snapped back to his own predicament as Panne darted forward into the melee after something only she with her enhanced senses could see.

Morgan glowered beside him, shifting into a ready stance. Inigo and Owain emulated her, Basilio simply grinning as he rested his axe on one shoulder.

Two more forms stepped out of the melee from behind Grima, one impossibly tall and another around Owain’s height-

“Donnel!?” Morgan shouted, aghast.

Owain blinked his eyes disbelievingly, looking at the Deadlord wearing the deceased Shepherd’s face.

“Oh, you like my handiwork?” Grima’s avatar asked lightly, indicating over to the grey-skinned farm boy. “His body was just sitting there in the ground going to waste, and I thought ‘waste not, want not’! Why don’t you show them just how perfect I got you, Rattus? Amplus?”

The two new Deadlords stepped forward, readying their own weapons. Owain stopped gaping at the revived Donnel, looking instead at-

Basilio burst out laughing, doubling over before pushing through the younger Shepherds and levelling his axe at the taller of the two Deadlords.

“Is this supposed to be Walhart!?” Basilio roared, still half laughing. “It’s not even my birthday and you brought me a present!?”

Without further warning the bald Khan launched himself towards the axe-wielding Walhart-Deadlord, still laughing as he flew along the ground like a shot, spinning in an arc and driving him into the melee. Both forms were lost almost immediately, swallowed up by the chaotic press of bodies. All that Owain could hear above the clashing of weapons was the Khan’s booming laughter.

“Morgan, we’ll distract the avatar,” Inigo said, inching forward. “Kill the Deadlord and then help us keep him busy.”

Without another word or even waiting to see what Morgan’s response was the young man threw himself forward, Owain only a second behind him.

“Yes!” Owain cried. “At last, a foe worthy of my blade!”

“Shut it and fight for once!” Inigo shouted back.

*

Miriel frowned slightly, watching as explosions began ripping through the Ylissean and allied lines. She, Laurent and Ricken had just reached the peak at the head of the remaining combat rated mages from Ylisse, and none-too-soon it appeared, further magical fire spreading among the Ylissean lines. From her side Ricken bobbed up and down on his toes, trying to see what the taller woman was looking at.

“What’s going on?” the younger mage asked.

Miriel’s answer was stolen from her mouth as an explosion rocked them back on their heels, many of the mages at her back choosing to guard their eyes and shield their faces.

“Stand firm!” Miriel ordered, using a quick wind magic spell to amplify and carry her voice.

With another wind spell and a wave of her hand she cleared the dust and debris in the air around them.

“This is but a momentary diversion!” she continued. “All mages are to terminate our foes spells in the air before they cause further disarray among the Ylissean army. Advance to advantageous positioning at regulated intervals around the plateau and remain out of enemy range. Provide assistance to the soldiers as oft as possible. Laurent, Ricken; we shall silence the enemy mage.”

“All of that is coming from one mage?” Ricken asked incredulously.

“Very well, mother,” Laurent said without hesitation, flipping his spellbook open.

Miriel started forward again, reaching for her own spellbook as the last of the Ylissean mages spread out around the battlefield, already deflecting spells mid-air or blasting Risen out of the path of the Ylissean soldiers still streaming to the top of the mountain.

Miriel tuned this all out, storing the information she was seeing in the back of her mind for processing later. She was curious as to where the enemy mage was attacking from, and that was her driving force; curiosity. Risen mages, too, were a rare breed; they had only discovered a few of them, and never had she been able to properly gauge their strength. Her only recourse now was to engage one in single combat, with Laurent and Ricken acting as her support. She wouldn’t die for the sake of her curiosity, but she did want to see it slaked.

More spells shot out of the crowd of soldiers and Risen, shooting into the air and detonating when opposing magic was cast by the observant Ylissean mages. However, Miriel had seen all she needed, and now knew the location of the enemy mage. A Deadlord, judging from the initial strength in the magic formulae she had witnessed.

Another volley of spells shot up, and Miriel felt her pulse quicken as the scholar in her became excited at the prospect of finally facing a Deadlord. She had remained in Ylisstol during the Dragon’s Table fiasco, and had therefore missed her first opportunity, but now…

“Eureka,” she muttered, pinpointing the enemy’s location.

Ricken’s face scrunched up, magic dancing around his hands before the Risen around them were thrown aside by the young man’s wind magic, leaving the Deadlord woman wholly exposed to the three other mages.

“Asinine knave!” Miriel declared, throwing her hand out.

The Deadlord mage, a woman no taller than Ricken wearing black Dark Mage’s robes, recoiled at Miriel’s elfire spells, swatting them out of the air just before they reached her with well-timed wind magic.

The Deadlord woman rallied as Laurent began casting lightning magic, the sky overhead darkening further as clouds coalesced for his spell. She thrust out her clawed hands, dark magic infused lightning arcing out and dancing along the ground, aiming directly for Laurent. With a guttural grunt Miriel threw the taller boy clear, hopping backwards as the spell singed the front of her robes.

Doing something incredibly rare for her, Miriel acted on instinct and harnessed the interrupted Laurent’s spell, bringing the almost complete arcthunder back under control. She muttered the last of the incantation under her breath as well as infusing her own mana with her son’s, and with a blinding flash from above golden torrents of electricity rained down on the Deadlord.

The Deadlord let out a blood-curdling shriek, informing Miriel she had hit her target. The mage turned to where Laurent was sitting back up, brushing the dust off his hat and righting his spectacles. Miriel offered her hand to help him up, which he gratefully took.

“Superb technique,” he commented, climbing back to his feet with his mother’s aid.

“I did not cause any undue physical trauma with my blow?” she asked.

“Of course not, mother,” Laurent assured her. “You have my thanks.”

The woman nodded, her hair bobbing with the motion.

“Er, not to break up a happy family moment, but…” Ricken interrupted, indicating back to the battlefield.

In the small crater caused by Miriel and Laurent’s arcthunder spell the Deadlord mage was crawling back to her feet, staggering upwards and glaring with glowing red eyes at the three mages.

“Remarkable,” Miriel breathed.

“They are indeed quite durable creatures,” Laurent agreed with a sigh.

“What do we do?” Ricken asked, a slight waver in his voice. “That arcthunder spell should have annihilated her!”

“I have a thought,” Miriel said, raising her hand.

Three blasts of basic fire spells punched into the Deadlord from Miriel’s hand, causing her to stagger backwards. Laurent and Ricken followed suit, Ricken scything with wind magic while Laurent called on more lighting spells. A cloud of dust was thrown up again as the three mages bombarded their target, and with another hate-filled scream of frustration the Deadlord mage Anguilla was destroyed in a hail of anima spells.

*

Robin stepped onto the pandemonium of the battlefield again, teleporting alone from the forward-camp to the front lines. The plan was to gather at the summit once Morgan and Lon’qu had cleared the way with the rest of the armed forces, but something was bugging Robin.

It was a feeling he couldn’t quite put his finger on; one he attributed to his sixth sense for magical resonance. Unfortunately, the entire mountain reeked of Grima’s particular brand of fell dark magic, so the tactician had made an attempt to block out his sixth sense rather than have it overloaded; he wouldn’t be able to sense anything properly anyway with all the background residue.

Robin was jostled out of his thoughts as a squad dashed by him, some of the men bumping him in their haste to reinforce the front lines.

Morgan had been doing well so far, but that burst of fell magic…

“Yup,” Robin muttered to himself as three Ylissean bodies went flying through the air at the front line, all neatly bisected.

“This day officially sucks…”

With another surge of mana Robin found himself back in the Ylissean basecamp, standing inside a ring of the perplexed Assault Team members.

“Timeframe’s moving up!” he declared. “Grima’s avatar has already taken the field! Every member of the Assault Team get ready, thirty seconds! Grab onto someone else!”

The Shepherds all looked confused for a moment before doing as Robin instructed and taking up arms. The tactician turned to one of the attendants waiting patiently in the corner, startling the man.

“Send everything to the summit,” he ordered. “Every man at arms, every soldier, fighter and man still capable of swinging a sword. This is it. We’re not holding anything back.”

The man nodded, rushing to relay Robin’s orders.

Chrom gave him a nod, hand clapping down on his shoulder. Sumia took hold of Chrom’s other hand, gripping the lance she reserved for fighting on foot with her free hand. A gentle brushing at his elbow signalled Lucina, smiling up at him reassuringly as she linked her arm with his. All around them the Shepherds grabbed onto each other, a dismounted Frederick the last to do so as he looked to make sure that the chain wasn’t broken anywhere.

Just as Robin opened his mouth to speak he was interrupted by a familiar voice, one he’d been dreading hearing.

“Milord, wait!” Algol called, limping towards them with his halberd in hand and Sahiri right behind him.

Robin rolled his eyes as Chrom snickered a little. The Exalt and Lucina both stepped back to let Robin deal with his ‘subordinates’.

“Algol, as your Prince I order you to sod off,” Robin growled, turning away from the Guard Captain.

“I’m not going with you, you dunce,” Algol guffawed. “I know my limits. I have a gift from Lord Mustafa he bade me give you for this occasion. I’ve been trying to give it to you all afternoon, but you must have been very busy, seeing as every time I spotted you, you ran like a hare.”

Robin cleared his throat in embarrassment and nodded, Sumia quietly giggling behind him. Chrom raised a questioning brow to his wife’s laughter, but she just shook her head silently promising to tell him later.

The old Guard Captain nudged Sahiri with his elbow, the girl stepping forward and producing a lacquered box. Popping it open she knelt down before Robin, offering the contents up to him.

The tactician’s eyes widened, his breath catching as his blood ran cold. Sitting inside the box, safely wrapped in velvet, was the dagger from his dream. The very first one he’d had, the vision of the moment that the other him had ceased to be human and become Grima’s avatar. The dagger that had killed Chrom in the future.

Its name rose unbidden to Robin’s mind in a flash of second-hand memory from his future self, an image of the first time he pried the small blade from Gangrel’s cold, dead hand on the battlefield.

_Raziel_. _The blade of mysteries and keeper of secrets,_ Robin recalled, looking down at the weapon. _Really? Does every fancy weapon have to have a stupid name? Couldn’t I at least get a fancy tooth-sword like Chrom has?_

“It’s a relic passed down in the Plegian Royal family,” Algol explained. “It’s supposedly made from one of Grima’s fangs. He thought it might help a little.”

Robin nodded, his mouth dry as he let Sahiri strap it to his hip next to the remnants of Chrom’s old rapier.

The girl smiled as she stepped back.

“We believe in you, milord,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “All of us in the resistance. All of Plegia. We know you’ll be the one to free us from Grima’s shadow once and for all.”

Robin nodded, offering his hand. Sahiri started at first, confused by the motion before understanding sunk in. She took the proffered appendage, shaking it a few times before releasing him and stepping back into a low, respectful bow.

“Didn’t think I’d live to see a worthy man on the Plegian throne,” Algol admitted as he stepped forward, gripping Robin’s outstretched hand. “I’m glad you were the one to prove me wrong, lad.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Robin grinned as they separated. “I’m going to be far too busy once all of this is over to lead a nation.”

“I’m sure we’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Algol laughed, snapping into a smart salute.

“Nagaspeed, Prince Robin,” the older man said before turning and limping towards the beach, Sahiri offering Robin one last smile before following him.

“Everybody ready? Okay, hold on,” Robin instructed, turning back towards the smiling Shepherds. “And if this is your first time teleporting, try not to puke on my coat.”


	66. Chapter 66

Basilio laughed as he threw his weight around behind his axe, forcing the Walhart copy onto the defensive right from the get-go.

He grinned at the unseeing Deadlord, its sightlessness taken one step farther than the original Walhart’s had been and his lids actually stitched shut. The big thing moved like Walhart had, it even felt like Walhart when its counter-blows were deflected off Basilio’s axe. But for all of that…

“You’re just a weak copy, aren’t you!?” the Khan challenged, bringing his axe down and staggering the Deadlord.

The wounded Lon’qu hung back, striking at any Risen that came too close and occasionally assisting the soldiers around them, never drifting far from where Basilio was duelling with the Deadlord.

The Deadlord, Amplus, ground its black teeth and stomped on the ground, rooting itself and turning Basilio’s latest strike. The older man danced backwards much more nimbly than his size belied, rallying and holding his axe out in challenge.

“So you do have some actual fight in you,” the bald Khan laughed. “I was starting to get worried for a minute there.”

The Deadlord growled and spat before launching himself forwards at Basilio, the air whistling as his axe cut through it. Sparks flew as Basilio brought his own weapon up, thunderclaps echoing around them as their axes struck again and again.

Amplus surged forward now, his brow furled in concentration as he wielded his axe two-handed. Basilio let himself be pushed back, tricking the Deadlord into entering Lon’qu’s range. All at once the wounded swordmaster struck, his one-handed blows raining down on Amplus’ soft spots. Armour chipped and sparks flew, accompanied by splashes of corrupt blood as Lon’qu danced between the two men with grace that made Basilio proud of his old second.

The Deadlord snarled his rage at being wounded, bringing his axe down on Lon’qu’s back. Basilio caught the blow at the last second, circling the weapons and locking Amplus’ down as Lon’qu pirouetted, his sword flashing a figure-eight that scored deep lines on the Deadlord’s blind face.

With a bull-like bellow Amplus charged forward, head-butting Basilio before throwing him backwards with one hand gripping his shoulder. Lon’qu was sent stumbling, too, as Amplus hit him with a wicked back-hand.

Basilio glanced up, cursing the fact that a blind Deadlord had used his blind-spot against him like that, and realised with a sinking feeling he’d never make it back in time before Amplus was on Lon’qu. The swordsman realised this, too, and valiantly took up a defensive stance as the Deadlord drew closer.

Rumbling footfalls marked the Deadlord’s passing, in time with Basilio’s racing heart as he rushed to defend his protégé from certain death. The smaller man was fenced in by Risen and soldiers fighting behind him, giving him nowhere to go.

Lon’qu was wounded; there was no way he’d survive more than a single strike from that monster.

Basilio roared in frustration, axe high to mirror the stance that Amplus had taken, but he was too slow…

Lon’qu snarled, bringing his sword up with both hands despite his wound…

The Deadlord’s axe descended, but the blow never landed. He was stopped mid-strike by a giant brown creature appearing from the melee, Panne leaping onto Amplus from the side and burying her claws in his massive arm.

Lon’qu used this time to duck out of the way and to safety, Basilio closing with the distracted Deadlord as Panne tore at the limb in her grasp with her teeth. Amplus growled, smashing the Taguel in the head with the flat of his axe haphazardly until she retreated. Panne backpedalled, shaking her head side-to-side as her vision spun from the Deadlord’s blows.

Basilio was on him before he could press the attack against the injured shape-shifter, hacking deep into the creature’s shoulder. Nerveless fingers dropped the axe they were holding as Basilio’s blow bit deep, Amplus giving a yelp. The Deadlord turned, his dinner-plate sized hand smashing into the Khan’s face with an open palm and forcing him down to the ground. Grey fingers, the colour of earth in a graveyard clawed at Basilio’s good eye, making him drop his own weapon to hold them back. He wrapped both hands around the massive wrist, putting all his strength into pushing the arm back. Amplus pushed harder, the two of them caught in a stalemate. Despite this, the Khan found more laughter bubbling up from his chest.

Amplus looked confused for a moment before Panne’s claws sunk deep into his back, her fangs wrapping around his exposed neck. Lon’qu darted forward, his sword slipping between armour joins and right into where the Deadlord’s heart should have been.

The creature shuddered and fell to one knee, his hand going slack and falling from Basilio’s face.

The Khan stood, wiping the dirt from his face with the back of his fist, grinning like a madman. Panne and Lon’qu both leapt back, fearing what would happen if they got in the way.

“This is for that beating in Valm!” he shouted, putting all his weight into a vicious kick that hit the Deadlord square in the face.

Amplus actually flew back about a meter, despite the heavy armour he was wearing. Ignoring the axe he had dropped Basilio rushed forward with his empty hands, placing one on each side of the Deadlord’s head before he could rise again. With a vicious jerk in one direction, followed by another in the opposite, the Deadlord Amplus exploded into ashes and smoke.

“Keep ‘em coming!” Basilio roared as he stood, looking for his next target. “There’s more where that came from!”

Panne and Lon’qu both rolled their eyes, falling in behind the Khan as he bent to pick up his axe and started hacking at the Risen all around them.

*

Morgan faced the Donnel Deadlord that Grima had called ‘Rattus’ with a chilling glare. He stood motionless, waiting for her to move, daring her to attack first.

If this thing really was somehow connected to the old Donny, then it would fight defensively, the same way that the young farm boy had in life. Meaning Morgan’s only recourse was to overpower him utterly, destroy him with an overwhelming offense that he couldn’t withstand, and not give him any room to counter-attack.

The avatar laughed, off to Morgan’s flank, as Inigo and Owain charged him. The creature wearing her father’s face spun his scythe, throwing up unsuspecting Ylissean soldiers as he turned his massive weapon and blocked the blows from the two boys.

The Grandmaster had to marvel at the sheer level of destructive power the avatar wielded; every blow, every movement; every time he even blocked another attack he killed something in a spectacular fashion. Morgan watched as the two boys fought him back, the avatar moving in a cloud of blood and flying limbs, before she turned her attention back to the Deadlord calmly waiting for her, a sword in one hand and a kite-shield strapped to the other.

Without giving any thought Morgan sped forward, her sword low to the ground in a loose grip so she could flick it up at the creature below his guard.

With blinding speed the Deadlord stepped back, Morgan’s blow going wide. Re-thinking her strategy Morgan used the momentum, bringing the toe of her boot up at the Deadlord’s face in a lightning-fast kick. Rattus stepped around her, though, moving mercurially around her blows. Feeling her frustration growing Morgan pressed her attack, swinging her sword wide one-handed and spinning around, lashing out with her open-hand before leaning to deliver a side-kick aimed at Rattus’ stomach. Morgan’s frustration took on a tint of fear as the Deadlord smoothly moved around every blow, grinning at her now.

Her last kick left her off balance, and as she stepped forward to stop herself from falling, Rattus finally went on the offensive. With blistering speed the Deadlord brought his knee up, smashing into Morgan’s stomach so hard she felt her armour crack. Her arms dropped low as the air was compressed out of her, but Morgan still found herself grinning triumphantly as she wrapped her arms around the Deadlord’s leg and pulled. Rattus fell onto his back, Morgan never letting go of her hold on his leg, and viciously jerked the limb. There was a sickening pop as the knee dislocated, Rattus’ face changing from the damned serene expression to a grimace of pain.

Morgan moved, her sword poised and ready to strike-

“Please, don’t!” the Deadlord cried out piteously in a perfect imitation of Donnel’s voice.

It was just enough to throw Morgan off and give the Deadlord a chance to get away from her. With his good leg Rattus kicked down, cracking the ground beneath Morgan’s left foot before spinning himself upwards on one hip, sweeping his leg and forcing her back further, re-opening the space between them.

“That was a dirty trick,” Morgan growled through clenched teeth, her gaze becoming deadly.

Rattus merely shrugged, stepping back into a defensive stance again and completely ignoring the fact his knee was ruined.

Morgan roared, throwing herself forward again. She struck high, forcing the Deadlord to bring his own sword up to block, but before she could launch a kick to his damaged knee like she’d planned the edge of his shield caught her beneath her chin, sending her sprawling. She hadn’t even seen the blow coming it had been so fast.

She staggered back, spitting a line of blood down her chin from where she’d bitten herself. With a grimace she stepped back again, winding herself up for another attack.

“Just give up,” Rattus said, his voice soft and friendly like Donny’s had been.

“Shut up,” Morgan growled.

“It’s alright, Morgan,” Rattus persisted, taking two steps forward. “Just let go.”

The Grandmaster took two steps back, her retreat matching Rattus’ advance.

“You can call it… Payment for killing me,” Rattus said, his voice rising as he launched himself forward.

Morgan’s eyes widened, caught off-guard by the accusation. She found herself desperately evading his attacks, the Deadlord’s sword bouncing off her coat numerous times in near misses. Sparks flashed as new lines were cut on her breastplate.

With a pained shout Morgan fell backwards, narrowly avoiding a bisecting blow that would have taken off one of her arms, coat or no coat. She stumbled, staggering back again as Rattus watched her retreat.

“You _did_ kill me,” he said, his voice merely a whisper in Morgan’s ears.

“Liar!” she shouted, her voice shrill.

“It was your fault!” Rattus shouted back, his face distorting with rage.

Morgan shook her head, tears threatening to fall as she ran forward again. Rattus barely had to try this time, simply slapping aside her weapon with his shield and striking her shoulder with the pommel of his sword, bringing Morgan to her knees at his feet.

“I’m sorry, Donny,” Morgan sobbed, her head falling low.

Rattus tossed his shield aside, holding his sword above his head, poised to strike while leaning back with both hands on his weapon.

“I’m sorry,” Morgan repeated.

Rattus went to bring his weapon down, but Morgan suddenly darted forward, her hands glowing with purple eldritch energy. She placed both hands on his chest-plate as if to push him backwards, releasing the flux spell point-blank. Rattus flew backwards, a massive hole opening in his chest from Morgan’s sneak attack.

With tears running down her face Morgan retrieved her sword and clambered to her feet, moving as if covered in lead weights to stand over the Deadlord.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, looking down at the creature.

Rattus looked up and coughed, black ichor flying up in a miniature geyser. He smiled up at her as his coughing subsided, staining his grey chin with black.

“I forgive you,” he rasped.

With a wordless howl Morgan brought her mother’s sword down, severing Rattus’ head in a burst of purple ashes and smoke.

She stood there for a few moments, breathing heavily with her hands still clutching the sword that was buried in the dirt beneath where Rattus’ neck had been. Morgan grit her teeth, her shoulders starting to tremble.

Her gaze snapped up, looking through the crowded plateau to where Grima’s avatar was practically dancing between Owain and Inigo.

“ _Grima_!” Morgan roared, a blast of uncontrolled mana kicking up the dust and ashes around her feet.

“I’ll kill you!” she snarled, stalking towards the avatar.

Invisible mana roiled off her in waves as she walked, kicking up the dust and smoke of fallen Risen as she moved. Her fist was so tight about her sword’s grip she could have sworn it creaked in protest.

_How dare he?_ She thought, striking out at the weak Risen forms that leapt at her without even noticing.

_How dare he, after everything else he’s done, defile our friends? How dare he hound my father like that? How dare he try to use me as a pawn!? I’ll kill him myself!_

Morgan felt a strange prickling sensation beneath her skin as she walked, the mana haze around her intensifying as she ground her teeth harder. Thoughts of violence flitted through her head as the mana within her body surged, and in a torrent all the excess she was bleeding off in her rage was sucked back inside. Morgan actually had to stop, her hand going to grip the edge of her father’s old breastplate as she sucked in a shuddering breath.

Pain like she’d never imagined burned in lines beneath her skin, dark purple lines appearing beneath the skin on her hands, and if the feeling all over the rest of her was anything to go by, all over the rest of her body, too.

Looking up at Grima again with depthless black eyes full of excess dark magic Morgan found herself smiling cruelly. Grima himself had been letting off too much excess mana, letting it be absorbed by the very mountain they were standing on.

The avatar looked up, a surprised expression on his face as his gaze settled on the hunched Morgan. Without looking he lashed out with his scythe, deflecting Owain and Inigo’s attacks and sending both boys sailing through the air as he turned to face an actual threat.

Morgan launched herself through the air with this new power she had tapped into, the ground beneath her cracking with the force of her jump. The avatar brought his scythe around, Morgan’s sword bouncing off it countless times in the blink of an eye as she hung in the air above him for a few seconds. Gravity took hold, bringing Morgan back down; the avatar was waiting and struck her with the shaft of his weapon, knocking the Grandmaster back. She dug in her heels, digging up great gouges in the dirt as she skidded backwards.

“I see you’ve found the family birth-right,” the avatar said with a light smile. “Good work dear. I’m actually surprised-”

Whatever he was going to say was cut off when Morgan leapt forward again, a hate-filled scream tearing its way from her chest as she launched another volley of strikes. Her sword flashed again and again, becoming a silver blur opposite the black blur of Grima’s scythe, blocking her every attack.

Morgan lashed out with her mind, sending a wall of pure dark magic at the avatar with but a thought. The creature wearing her father’s face skidded backwards this time, his smile actually turning down a little as he struggled to bring his heavy scythe back around in time.

Morgan pressed her attack, putting everything into one blow in the hopes of-

With the sound of a thunderclap the scythe met Morgan’s sword, the one she had inherited from her mother in the future. Half of the beautiful weapon went sailing through the air, the other half still clutched in Morgan’s hands and cutting a deep line along the bottom of the avatar’s arm.

She only had a moment to be distraught, though, as the avatar was suddenly nose-to-nose with her, grinning madly in her face.

“You can’t kill me with my own power, girl,” he laughed, his hand wrapping around her throat. “You haven’t even been Awakened!”

Morgan’s hands instantly shot up to try to pry the hand from her neck, her broken sword falling to one side, but it may as well have been solid steel she fought against for all the good it did. For all the dark power she’d found she was helpless against the avatar.

Owain and Inigo were suddenly upon him, striking at his back with all their strength in a vain attempt to rescue Morgan from the monster’s clutches. The avatar just twitched his wrist, the shaft of his scythe knocking both boys back again as he smiled at Morgan victoriously.

She gurgled something, trying desperately to speak through the constricting force around her neck.

“What was that?” Grima asked, leaning in closer and loosening his grip slightly. “Begging already? I thought I raised you better than that…”

“… wasn’t… trying to… kill you…” Morgan grinned.

The avatar’s brow quirked as Morgan gave a pained grin, the mana fading from her eyes and returning them to their regular colour.

“… just… distracting…” she added with a cough.

The avatar’s eyes widened as realisation dawned on him, moments before he let out a pained shriek as two swords sliced into his back.

“She may not have been awakened,” Robin said menacingly. “But we have.”

“Put the girl down, monster,” Chrom added, his voice brimming with barely restrained fury.

The avatar jumped forward a little, spinning in the air before he landed, Morgan still clenched tightly in his off-hand, kicking and struggling at her captor.

Both men practically glowed with power in their own way as they faced off with the avatar. Chrom’s Falchion, blessed by Naga, blazed with orange light all along the blade, the blue fire contained within the tear-drop shaped gap in the hilt burning so strongly that the flames lapped at Chrom’s hand. The Exalt’s brand, too, seemed to glow on his shoulder as he glowered at Grima’s avatar. Robin, however, was by far the more menacing of the two, having tapped into the fell energy around the mountain to fuel his awakened powers the same way his daughter had. However, unlike Morgan he was used to the extra power, and was using it evenly through his entire body. The dark lines and circles blazed beneath his skin, and his eyes were a shining midnight black, purple smoke rising from the sockets as excess mana burned away while he stood at rest, Sol resting on his shoulder. The amulet Tharja had given him had become so hot he’d been forced to stuff it in his pocket before it burned a hole in his chest.

Behind them the assault team ploughed into the Risen, moving to secure the peak with Lucina at their head. She cast one glance over her shoulder at the two men before resigning herself to her task.

The avatar grimaced, rotating his shoulders as the wounds on his back refused to close immediately. He shook his head and shrugged, tossing Morgan aside as if she were a toy and taking up his scythe in both hands again. Robin watched this and leaned over to Chrom.

“Have you ever fought anyone wielding a scythe before?” he whispered quickly.

“No.”

“Alright, so this is going to be a learning curve for both of us then.”

The avatar quirked one brow, dropping his stance and planting the shaft of his scythe in the ground beside him.

“No, go ahead, I can wait,” he said sarcastically, leaning lazily against the big weapon.

“I really am an ass,” Robin muttered darkly.

Chrom snorted, trying not to laugh.

“Okay, that’s just rude,” the avatar grumbled, swinging his scythe through the air.

As the blade passed them a blast of dark magic shot out, making both men leap aside to avoid it.

“Hey! No fair!” Robin cried as he jumped back to his feet.

“How come we can’t do something like that!?” he added, looking at Chrom as the Exalt climbed back to his own feet.

“You can, you dolt!” Chrom snapped.

“Oh… right,” Robin said, glancing down at his sword.

Before either man could say anything else Grima’s avatar repeated his attack, shooting more dark magic at the two men. Chrom simply raised the Fire Emblem and weathered the attack, dark magic evaporating harmlessly against the shield’s surface, but Robin still had to scramble to get out of the way of the magic’s periphery.

“I want a shield next time, too!” Robin shouted indignantly.

With a short burst of mana the tactician activated Excellus’ teleportation ring, appearing right in front of the avatar. The surprised man barely had a chance to step back and defend as Robin brought Sol down, blinking out of range again and opening the way for Chrom. The Exalt was suddenly where Robin had been, bringing Falchion up from a low guard to stab at the avatar’s stomach. Faster than Chrom, though, the avatar knocked the strike aside with the shaft of his scythe, bringing the blade down at Chrom’s neck. Robin teleported again, suddenly at the avatar’s side catching the blade of the scythe, giving Chrom the opportunity he needed to spin, lashing out with the edge of the Fire Emblem strapped to his wrist and smashing it into the avatar’s face.

Both men retreated to a safe distance as Grima’s avatar stumbled, lifting one hand to dab at his split lip.

“That actually hurt,” the avatar said, some surprise tinging his voice.

“It was meant to,” Chrom growled.

“Yes, well I can understand you being able to hurt me, but I still don’t understand…” the avatar started, gaze falling on Robin.

The older version of the tactician had a moment of realisation, slapping himself in the forehead with the heel of his palm and chuckling a little to himself.

“I accidently awakened you back at the Dragon’s Table, didn’t I?” he chortled, leaning on his scythe again.

Robin grinned, his black eyes still blazing with mana as he teleported again. He appeared crouching, slashing his sword low at the avatar; just as the older tactician brought his scythe around Robin was gone, already standing at his shoulder. Sol flashed, the ancient blade from Chon’sin biting deep in the avatar’s shoulder. Roaring in pain the avatar swung his scythe in a circle, cleaving through the air around him and giving off a burst of dark magic for good measure. It did no good, as Robin was spinning in the air above his head, slashing with Sol at the avatar’s other shoulder.

Breathing heavily on weak legs Robin finally reappeared next to Chrom, the jewelled ring on his finger actually smoking from over-use.

“That was actually kinda cool,” Chrom marvelled. “Next time you can have the shield; just teach me to use that thing.”

Robin gasped for breath, nodding in gratitude at the compliment.

“Are you two going to talk or are we going to finish this!?” the avatar roared angrily, slashing with his scythe and shooting more dark magic at the two men.

Robin glanced up, grinning at the avatar again.

“By all means, ladies!” the tactician called out. “Give the man what he wants!”

Tha avatar glanced around at Robin’s shout, surprised to find himself standing in the middle of a large dark magic circle. Aversa and Tharja both stepped forward from opposite sides of Chrom and Robin, hands outstretched and chanting. Robin reached up, smoking purple-black mana dancing on his fingertips as he faced his future self.

“Checkmate,” he said, relishing the words as they left his lips, and snapped his fingers.

The ground within the circle cracked and shattered as gravity was suddenly increased, forcing the avatar to his knees. Gravity manipulation was one of the grey-areas of magical theory; it could fall under a number of the different schools of magic, and could be accomplished in a number of ways. However, the easiest way to outsmart Grima or his avatar would be to use their own power against them, and use dark magic as the catalyst for the spell.

Still holding his scythe up the avatar struggled to rise, actually managing to get up to one knee before Robin increased the mana flooding the circle, also increasing the force of the spell.

Chrom calmly strode forwards, looking down on the future version of his best friend that had actually killed him once already in Lucina’s future.

“I don’t think we’re going to get another shot at this!” Robin warned, sweat beginning to roll down his face and neck from the strain of maintaining the advanced spell.

Tharja and Aversa wordlessly continued maintaining their own hold, gritting their teeth and forcing their bodies to bear the strain.

“Now!” the Exalt shouted.

All three spellcasters let the gravity field drop and Chrom darted forward, Falchion aimed directly for the future Robin’s heart.

The avatar glanced up, his eyes meeting Chrom’s as the Exalt pushed his sword forward.

The corners of the man’s lips rose as a dark shadow fell over them all, and Robin instantly knew that their plan hadn’t worked. Falchion stopped just short of the avatar, Chrom being forced back by a buffeting blast of wind.

Every set of eyes on the mountain looked to the sky as with an earth-shaking roar, the fell dragon Grima made his appearance on the field.

“Back!” Chrom shouted, backpedalling furiously.

“It won’t do you any good!” the avatar laughed.

The entire mountain shook as Grima landed, his massive claws digging deep into the rocky earth as his head ducked low to glare down at the humans in his domain.

Some of the Ylissean soldiers, the men that Kellam had only just succeeded in uniting and rallying against the Risen, turned and fled at the sight, a few actually leaping over the edge of the mountaintop rather than trying to get back to the mountain road. Some merely fell to their knees, overcome with hopelessness in the face of the creature worshipped as a dark god, becoming easy prey for the Risen still stalking their midst. Kellam desperately tried to get their attention and keep fighting, Basilio and Lon’qu joining him, but nothing they could do compared to the awful power Grima possessed.

“Oh this is bad,” Robin muttered involuntarily as he took a few steps back.

“You think!?” Aversa snarled, retreating to his side with Tharja. “This is exactly, _exactly_ , what I was trying to avoid!”

The other Dark Mage stared in wordless horror at Grima’s form as it blocked out the sun, reaching out to steady herself on Robin’s shoulder. For the second time since Robin had met her, Tharja had a look of pure terror on her face.

Chrom shouted wordlessly as he launched one final, desperate attack against the avatar, running towards the wounded man with Falchion poised to slice his throat. Grima’s gargantuan head snapped around, a deep crimson glow appearing from within his open mouth.

Robin teleported when he saw this, appearing just behind Chrom and grabbing the Exalt by the back of his armour before teleporting them both back to safety just as the dragon launched its attack.

A gout of purple dark fire erupted from the dragon’s toothy maw, so intense that it melted the earth beneath where it hit, reducing it to shallow pool of molten slag where Chrom had been charging seconds before. Purple flames rose fitfully from the lip of the crater, creating a barrier perfect for stopping the Shepherds from advancing further.

Chrom blinked a few times as he looked at the devastation wrought before him, realising what had just happened.

“You’re welcome,” Robin said weakly from behind him.

Not far from them the rest of the assault team was busy trying to fight their way through the horde of Risen and panicking soldiers back to the four Shepherds standing in Grima’s shadow, Lucina and Flavia at their head.

“How are we supposed to fight that!?” Flavia asked, barely paying attention as she swung Priam’s ornate longsword through three Risen at once.

“We’ll figure out something!” Lucina said with more conviction than she felt.

Seeing Grima again so close made Lucina want to curl up into a ball on the spot; the only thing that kept her moving, kept her strong, was the fierce look Robin was shooting up at the dragon.

“Father! Robin!” she called out as they broke through the crowd.

“I can teleport again,” Robin said, not taking his eyes off where the avatar was still leaning against his scythe in Grima’s shadow. “I can get across that molten lake, take the fight to him and-”

“Throw your life away in the process!” Tharja interrupted him.

“I don’t have the mana left to get anyone else across!” Robin countered. “Least of all Chrom! He’s heavy, dammit!”

“We’ll think of something else,” Chrom said, placing a hand on Robin’s shoulder.

“We don’t have time for something else!” the tactician snapped.

Their argument was cut short before Lucina could even interject by a rumbling, terrifying laughter. Grima brought his head back around, the long serpentine neck twisting and coiling like a snake as all six balefully glowing eyes settled on the Shepherds.

“It’s over,” the avatar called out, walking through the purple flames and atop the molten rock as if they were nothing. “You’ve lost! Your future is darkness! All your struggling has changed nothing!”

“So ends the human race!” Grima added in a rumbling tone.

The ancient and evil dragon’s voice sent chills down Robin’s spine.

Grima reached out with one giant claw, carefully picking up his avatar and placing him safely on his back with another cruel laugh. With one mighty flap of his wings the dragon took to the air again, rising higher and higher.

“No!” Lucina cried helplessly. “He’s getting away!”

Robin closed his eyes and made a fist, the ring on his hand flashing. After a few seconds he sighed and dropped his hand.

“It’s no good, he’s too high up,” the tactician said softly.

“So what, we’ve missed our shot?” Vaike asked.

No one answered, silence befalling the group of soldiers and warriors.

After everything they had done… after everything they had overcome, had they failed?

Nobody chose to mention that the dragon was flying in the direction of Ylisse.

Robin clenched his fists and shut his eyes tight, clenching his teeth. When he opened his eyes he let out a frustrated shout and raised a hand, shooting off a fruitless arcthunder spell at the receding form of Grima in the sky.

 “Quit wasting your mana on tantrums,” Aversa snapped, her voice much softer than usual as she appeared at Robin’s side.

“There has to be something Naga can do!” Robin said, rounding on Chrom. “Shake that stupid shield until she answers! Do something!”

There was a green flash from gems on the Fire Emblem, and soft laughter rang out as a green haze started wafting from the shield.

“That won’t be necessary, Fell Blood,” Naga’s spirit laughed. “I will aid you. I can bring you to Grima’s back, but I cannot aid you once you are there. And I sense that his strongest servants have been summoned there, too. I would be prepared.”

_Prepared for a one way trip_ , Robin finished grimly in his head, nodding once.

“Do you have a distance limit or something?” he asked the spirit.

“I can give you five minutes,” she said softly, drifting through the Shepherds. “After that he will be too far away.”

“Forget it,” Robin said. “Let’s do this now. We’re all ready to go.”

Naga looked around slowly, ensuring that all the other Shepherds felt the same way that Robin did. Her ethereal gaze was met by stoic nods and, in Vaike’s case, a very suggestive wink.

“Very well, heroes,” Naga said, floating a little higher and spreading her hands wide. “There is a weak spot at the base of Grima’s neck you can make use of. I once tore the scales from his back there, and they never recovered. Be prepared, though; once the spell is finished, you will be on Grima’s back.”

Everyone readied their weapons, bunching together and preparing themselves. Frederick dismounted, Lissa climbing off his horse behind him; both joined the ranks of the assault team for their final push.

Robin spotted a shock of familiar black hair not far from them, and on impulse sheathed and tossed his sword to Noire. The archer reflexively caught the long weapon, looking questioningly at him.

“Make sure Morgan gets that!” he called through the spell Naga was weaving. “She broke her sword and you guys still have work to do!”

Robin’s hands settled on the hilts of his two daggers as Noire nodded, taking off again in the direction Morgan had been flung. Robin glanced down as another hand gripped one of his, Lucina holding onto him as Naga’s spell reached its climax.

With a bright green flash the entire Assault team vanished from the battlefield at the top of Origin Peak.

*

“Ow, ow, ow,” Morgan moaned, struggling to sit up.

She had watched the shadow of Grima descend over them from a prone position, still to winded to move. Her back was bruised, her ribs felt broken, and her throat still felt like there was a vice clamped around it. But she had to keep fighting…

“Morgan!” Noire called out, running through the debris towards her.

A momentary spike of fear shot through the Grandmaster when she recognized the sword that Noire was carrying, but the archer quickly allayed this.

“Your f-father wanted me to give you this,” she explained, handing the long, thin sword down to her.

Morgan looked down at the sword, drawing it from its sheathe slightly to look at the red-tinged steel.

“They went after him, didn’t they?” Morgan asked, still looking at the weapon cradled in her lap.

Noire nodded wordlessly, anxiety written all over her face.

“Alright then,” Morgan declared, jumping to her feet. “We need to clear the area and secure the mountain! The others are going to need a safe place to come back to! Help me find Kellam and Lon’qu-”

“A h-healer first,” Noire insisted, grabbing Morgan’s elbow to steady her as she swayed.

“Fine,” the Grandmaster sighed. “And then we secure the mountain.”

Her cheery countenance dropped for just a moment as she draped an arm over Noire’s shoulders. She beat her anxiety back down, focusing instead on the job at hand-

Morgan suddenly found herself falling backwards as Noire threw her back, trying to bring her bow up as they were assaulted by three of the masked Risen that had crawled out of nowhere. Rusted axes were raised faster than Noire could call on her magically altered bow, and Morgan realised they were about to die anyway.

With a brutal roar the three Risen were driven back, skewered on the end of an ornate halberd in the hands of one of the Plegian Royal Guards.

“Get away from them you monsters!” Amir roared, swinging his long-hafted weapon around and reducing all three of the creatures to ash with one blow.

“And you!” he added, rounding on Morgan. “Do not disappear on your Honour Guard like that again! I was tearing my hair out trying to find you!”

“S-sorry!” Morgan stammered, crawling back to her feet.

“Th-thanks…” Noire mumbled, going back to helping the Grandmaster stand.

“Let’s just… get back to winning this battle,” Amir said sheepishly. “And… please don’t tell Algol I yelled at you. He’ll kill me.”

Morgan burst into laughter as the trio started walking towards where Kellam’s banner, bearing the heraldry of the City-State of Themis and Maribelle’s family, was waving in the breeze.

There was no need to worry, after all. With both Chrom and Robin assaulting Grima the members of that team were probably safer than the ones securing the mountain.

They took a few steps before Noire started giggling softly to herself.

“What’s so funny?” Morgan asked.

“Well, Robin said we’d be busy…” the archer explained. “But the way you put it made it sound like you were planning to secure the mountain with just the two of us.”

Morgan chuckled a little.

“Okay, I guess I can let some of the others in on the action, too. We did bring the whole Ylissean army with us, after all.”

*

Robin stumbled, wind whipping his hair back and forth and his feet trying to find purchase on the smooth scales of Grima’s back. Each scale was at least five feet across, though, and he found it difficult. Looking around, though, he wasn’t the only one having difficulty; Chrom looked as uncomfortable as he had on the ship to Valm, and Vaike had fallen on his rear and was sitting, trying to figure out the best way to remain standing. Sumia had stood no hope, holding onto Chrom’s leg as she tried to get her feet under her. The only two that seemed unperturbed were Aversa and Flavia, who both adjusted the fastest and began to study their surroundings. Lissa stumbled, latching onto Frederick and actually pulling the big knight over with her. Virion managed to get to his knees, deciding this was **far(suggest removing this word)** enough as he started shooting arrows sporadically at the Risen around them. Robin had to actually pull Lucina up to her feet, the time-traveller princess pursing her lips as she struggled to get used to the random movements of the surface beneath them.

The absurdity of the situation would normally have made him laugh until he, too, was on his back, but the Risen closing in all around them distracted him somewhat.

“Get it together, Shepherds!” Robin shouted over the wind.

To emphasize his instruction he lashed out, throwing a few weak fireballs at the Risen moving along Grima’s back without a care in the world. Aversa followed suit, her dark magic having far more destructive results and actually throwing some of the Risen from Grima’s back into the air.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if he stopped flapping!” Vaike complained, stumbling and falling again.

“We’re working on that, aren’t we?” Flavia asked with a grin, offering the shirtless man a hand.

All of the Shepherds froze in place as the scales beneath them shook violently, threatening to topple those that had actually managed to get their footing. Grima’s head twisted around to glare at the gnats that would dare sully his back with their filthy feet, his six red eyes promising pain and suffering before a messy death.

“Wretched son of Naga!” the dragon roared at Chrom. “You will be destroyed!”

“You just don’t know when to give up!” the future-Robin said, actually sounding amazed as he stepped down from one of Grima’s massive shoulders with the scythe resting across his own shoulders.

“On your feet, Shepherds!” Chrom shouted valiantly. “We’ve come too far to-”

Whatever the Exalt was going to say was lost as he screamed and fell to one knee. Grima’s avatar had waved his free hand in their direction and purple lines of dark magic shot through the Shepherds, each warrior having at least three pencil-thin beams pass through them.

“W-what manner of magic…” Chrom gasped, glaring at the avatar.

“Argh, what the hell wassat!?” Vaike groaned, rolling onto his back.

Lissa gasped, hunched over and gripping her chest where blood was blossoming on her yellow dress.

Flavia fell down to her knees, using Priam’s sword to hold herself up.

“Magic…” she gasped laughingly, blood running down the front of her armour. “That was a… damned catastrophe! He’s… too strong…”

“It cannot end like this!” Frederick growled, struggling to remain standing. “I won’t have… all our struggle be for… naught!”

“Fie…” Say’ri managed to spit, collapsing forward weakly onto her face.

Lucina stumbled, collapsing to one knee and gripping desperately to Robin’s hand as he stood his ground, glaring at Grima and his avatar despite his wounds.

“No...” she gasped, her hand tightening on Robin’s. “This darkness... The future is upon us! Oh gods... F-Father... Robin…”

“And so it ends, Robin,” the avatar said with a grin. “See how frail these human bonds of yours are? How short lived? How pointless!? You have all thrown your lives away, and the result is the same!”

Robin spat blood onto the scales at his feet frowning at his darker reflection and drawing the two daggers from the back of his hips.

“We’re not dead yet,” he said, stepping forward.

“Details, details,” the avatar sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Was that the best you’ve got?” Robin continued, taking another shaking step. “I took a worse beating than that this morning when I sparred with Chrom on the boat. You can do better, can’t you?”

Grima’s avatar sighed, before grinning at Robin.

“Yes, I suppose it's time I got you all off my back, so to speak—permanently.”

“Oh that was so lame,” Robin laughed, stumbling.

Blood pattered on the scales at his feet as he hunched and stumbled to one side before righting himself.

“I mean, c’mon,” he persisted, looking up with a thin trail of red running from the corner of his mouth. “We’re a lot cleverer than that, yeah?”

“Oh? **Where are** **_your_** witty one-liners?” the avatar asked, quirking one brow.

“Mine?” Robin laughed, stumbling forward another few steps. “I’m… smart enough to know not to monologue!”

The tactician suddenly bolted forwards, ignoring Chrom and Lucina’s cries for him to stop. He brought both daggers down at the avatar’s throat, planning to cut his future self to ribbons…

The avatar just laughed, stepping aside and swinging his scythe around his shoulder and knocking Robin flat with the back of the blade in a hammer-blow that landed just between his shoulders. The time-travelling Robin kicked out, spinning Robin around on his stomach to face the others. With a mad grin the avatar knelt down on Robin’s back and tugged his head up by the hair, forcing him to look at his friends.

“Look at that!” the avatar snarled. “Is this what you want!? You do have a choice, you know. It doesn't have to be this way. You can still save all your friends... Become one with me, and we shall spare their lives. ...Refuse, and watch as I rend the flesh from their bones with my bare hands!”

“Monologuing…” Robin laughed weakly, the word coming out of his mouth with in fresh gout of blood.

The avatar rumbled a wordless sound of frustration, smashing the tactician’s face into Grima’s back and standing.

“Then I’ll start with the little time-travelling tart you’re so hot on!” the avatar growled, lifting his scythe and stalking towards the others.

“You brought a lot of friends with you,” he went on, glaring malevolently at the Shepherds. “And I can do this all day! Hell, I _want_ to do this all day! I’ve been looking forward since I fell out of that damn portal four years ago!”

“Wait!” Robin cried, reaching out with one hand.

“No, Robin!” Chrom shouted desperately. “Don’t listen to him!”

“He’s lying!” Lissa cried, bursting into a coughing fit. “It’s… it’s a… trap…”

Lucina stayed silent, glaring up at the man that had killed her father and burned her homeland to ashes. The future Robin, Grima’s avatar, glared back down at her, waiting for the present Robin’s response.

“What’ll it be?” he asked over his shoulder.

Robin laughed weakly again, pulling himself forward slowly with one hand.

“You must really think I’m stupid,” he groaned. “I know… you’re just going to kill them all anyway… no matter what I say…”

The avatar blinked and turned back to Robin, breaking into a grin.

“You’re smarter than I gave you credit for, aren’t you?” he chuckled. “Well, of course I would kill them. I only thought you might want to leave your comrades with a heroic, selfless image. But if you want to be a little pain in my arse... Leave them with the final memory that you were their undoing!”

Grima’s avatar tapped the haft of his scythe against the rock-hard scales once, and the ones beneath Robin turned to liquid, enveloping and swallowing the wounded tactician. Robin struggled, grasping at the edges of the scales around him, but he was eventually sucked down all the same.

*

Robin let out a low groan, rubbing his head and sitting up.

“Where… the hell am I?” he asked in a low voice, looking around in the darkness.

“Where your god wills you to be,” a cruel voice rasped behind him. “Now if you will excuse me... I have some fleas on my back to take care of. I will return for you later, once you’ve had time to re-think your position.”

Robin spun into a kneeling position just in time to watch Grima’s shadow receding into the starless black sky, only visible as a darker shadow against the black.

“No!” he cried pointlessly. “I won’t let you! Get back here!”

Grima disappeared into the black, leaving Robin standing panting and alone. The tactician ran a hand through his short hair, finally inspecting his surroundings.

“Well crap…” Robin groaned, turning in a slow circle. “Not this place again…”

He was back in the twilight desert, the same place he had gone after his ‘death’ at Fortress Steiger in Valm. And, just like before, he was surrounded by a flat, featureless expanse of empty desert.

Robin let himself fall back into a sitting position, letting out a sigh.

“How the hell do I get out of here?” he asked no one in particular.

“ _You have legs, don’t you? Start walking_ ,” his voice echoed behind him.

Robin shot back to his feet, spinning and bringing up the daggers that were still actually at his hip this time.

“Oh,” he said, relaxing as he came face-to-face with his own black-eyed reflection. “You again.”

“ _I’m sorry, were you maybe expecting Naga? How about King Marth?_ ” Robin’s dark reflection, the same one that had haunted him and fought him for control during the Valm campaign, asked sarcastically.

The other Robin rolled his midnight eyes and flicked a strand of long brown hair out of his frowning face.

“ _Be grateful I even came to see you at all after you got us dead again. Jerk_.”

“So what, do I just hug you again to get out of here?” Robin asked, sheathing his daggers.

“ _Please don’t_ ,” the reflection shuddered. “ _I didn’t bring us here this time, so I can’t get us out. We’re already one mind, so I’m just as stuck as you are._ ”

“So why are you here?” Robin asked, growing exasperated. “Did you just come to bug me again?”

“ _As fun as that sounds, no,_ ” the reflection sighed. “ _I’m a guide in this place, remember? Now start walking. I’m not the only one here that wants to get you out._ ”

“What… what do you mean by that?” Robin asked curiously.

“ _Just walk_ ,” the reflection sighed, giving Robin a light shove. “ _I’m not explaining it._ ”

Robin nodded, fighting back a strange feeling of weakness as he took a few steps on the loose sand. He closed his eyes to blink…

*

Robin opened his eyes, blinking a few times and looking around. He… was in a house? A small, wooden house with a thatched roof over naked beams; judging from the rough and utilitarian workmanship he was somewhere in Regna Ferox. The house was sparsely decorated; only a single table and a few mismatched chairs next to a cooking pit in the hard-packed dirt that served as the house’s floor.

“What in the name of…” Robin breathed, looking around again.

“Was Gregor’s house,” a familiar voice said from the table. “When he and brother were young men. Very long time ago now, yes…”

“Gregor?” Robin asked in a reverent whisper.

He found himself looking at the broad back of the man sitting at the cooking pit on a stool. A familiar slab-jawed face smiled over one shoulder at him beneath a shock of close-cropped red hair.

“Hello again, young Robin,” Gregor said kindly, stirring at the stew on the fire.

“Gregor… is… is it really…?” Robin asked, taking a few tentative steps forward.

“In manner of speaking, yes,” Gregor replied. “No ‘Gregor’ anymore.”

“Gregor gone now, yes,” he added in a smaller tone. “Only… only memories…”

“But,” he went on, returning to his previous jovial tone. “Memories enough.”

Robin nodded, not understanding at all what was going on.

“Young Robin needs to remember what he was doing,” Gregor added, glancing over his shoulder again. “Is too soon for him to sleep now.”

The tactician blinked, realising just how close he’d been to drifting off while standing.

“Is Grima,” Gregor explained, going back to stirring his stew. “Bad Robin is trying to hurt young Robin, trying to make weak. Don’t give in. Fight.”

“How?” Robin asked through the lump in his throat.

Gregor finally turned properly, smiling radiantly at Robin as he stood. The big mercenary clapped both hands on Robin’s shoulders and smiled down at him.

“Go out door,” he said softly. “Keep moving. Keep fighting. Gregor will wait here until is time for young Robin to sleep. Preferably when young Robin is old Robin, yes?”

The mercenary’s booming laughter filled the small house, making Robin smile along with him.

“Thank you, Gregor,” Robin said, stepping back towards the only door out of the house. “I know what I have to do now.”

“Good!” Gregor said happily, going back to his stool. “Gregor will save some stew for young Robin. Is mother’s recipe. Is worth waiting for!”

Robin found himself laughing as he pushed the door open and stepped through it-

*

And into a steaming, humid jungle.

“Ah… I remember this place,” he said, nostalgia whelming up within him. “What was it? Three years ago now?”

“About that, yeah,” another familiar voice said from behind him.

Robin turned, struggling against another wave of fatigue as he did so.

Donnel stood grinning sheepishly at him, tipping up the edge of the old pot he’d been wearing the first time they had found him so long ago.

“Hey’a Robin,” the young man greeted enthusiastically. “Been a’while.”

Robin grinned, stepping forward and clapping Donny on the shoulder.

“Hey there, buddy,” he said, his voice coming out strangely ragged. “How’s it going?”

“Welp, I’m dead,” Donnel shrugged. “It’s kinda weird. But I getta watch over all’a ya! So it’s not so bad.”

“Yeah, I guess maybe it wouldn’t be,” Robin said, feeling his consciousness starting to slip away.

“No!” Donny said quickly. “I didn’t mean you die, too! You ain’t allowed ta yet! Wake up!”

The farm boy reached over his shoulder, picking a strange looking little red fruit off a vine and shoving it into Robin’s mouth, skin and all.

“Here,” he said. “This’ll wake ya up!”

Robin coughed, forcing his jaw to work and not spit out the awful tasting fruit in his mouth.

“Argh, what is that?” he groaned, forcing his first bite down.

“’S called ‘guarana’,” Donny laughed. “We eat ‘em back on the island when we gotta hunt at night. Keeps ya up fer days!”

Robin tentatively took a second bite of the small fruit, feeling himself waking up a little but still being shocked by the bitter taste.

“This is awful,” he moaned, forcing himself to chew and swallow.

“So keep goin’,” Donny said. “Get outta here before you can’t no more.”

“Let me guess, go that way?” Robin asked, pointing a random direction.

“Wow,” Donny breathed, eyes widening. “How’d ya know that?”

“A lucky guess,” Robin laughed, shaking the farm boy’s hand.

The tactician started walking through the thick jungle, pushing huge leaves out of his way and pulling himself through gaps in the foliage.

“Oh, an’ tell Morgan ta stop beatin’ herself up about me dyin’!” Donny called after him. “Weren’t her fault! I knew what I was gettin’ inta when I got on yer boat three years ago! So tell her to stop dwellin’!”

“I’ll do that!” Robin called back over his shoulder, turning to take one last look at the smiling farm boy.

*

When Robin turned back around he found himself in a completely different place again.

He was in an old barracks, rows of bunks on either side of the room were separated by long tables, playing cards and half eaten meals still spread out along the tabletops. Red suits of armour were on racks to either side of the bunks, making Robin realise he was somewhere in Valm.

“This was my old barracks,” a familiar, grizzled voice said from behind him.

Robin spun, finding Priam wearing an old dark red officer’s tunic and staring with crossed arms at the rows of beds.

“I just… can’t remember which bunk was mine,” he admitted with a self-derisive chuckle. “One of the perils of getting old, I guess.”

Robin swayed, finding himself irrationally exhausted. He reached into his pocket, finding a stash of the little red berries that Donnel had given him, and popped a few of the foul tasting fruits into his mouth.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Priam said, turning on Robin. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Yeah, so people have been telling me,” Robin said with a small grin.

“So why are you still here, then?” Priam asked, rapping the shorter man on the top of the head with his knuckles.

“Because he can’t find the way out, obviously,” a feminine voice said from Priam’s shoulder.

Robin glanced up, his eyes widening when he saw Pheros standing there wearing the same style tunic as Priam.

“We have to go soon,” she said to the taller man. “Walhart’s waiting for us.”

“We had to wait for him for so long,” Priam scoffed. “A few more minutes won’t kill him. We’ll go soon. But Robin needs guidance first.”

Pheros rolled her eyes. “Fine. But I’m going on ahead.”

She cast one final dirty look at Robin before walking by the two men for the exit. The sound of the door closing was unnaturally loud in the silence that followed her departure.

“She hates me,” Robin said, looking over his shoulder at the simple wooden door at the end of the room.

“Of course she hates you,” Priam laughed. “You killed her! Wouldn’t you hate someone that killed you?”

“Well this is kinda the second time I’ve…” he started, trailing off as he was beset by another wave of dizziness and fatigue.

“Whoa there,” Priam said, catching him. “You need to keep moving.”

“Yeah, I’m hearing that a lot today, too,” Robin said, forcing himself back up.

“C’mon, I can’t stay here either,” Priam said, draping one of Robin’s arms over his shoulders.

“I can help you to the door at the very least,” he added, pulling Robin forward. “Just keep putting one foot in front of the other. Looking back is pointless.”

Priam’s presence began to fade as Robin reached out for the door handle.

“Keep pushing forward,” Priam’s voice said from a distance as Robin turned the doorknob. “Just like you did in Valm. Keep going and never stop until you can’t take another step.”

*

Robin stumbled now, finally held up under his own power as he stepped into the Royal Apartment in Ylisse’s Castle, the same one that Chrom and Sumia now occupied.

“Oh Naga, what now?” he asked, struggling to keep his eyes open as he ran a hand through his hair.

A soft laugh from one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace surprised Robin, making him jump a little. He stuffed a whole handful of Donny’s berries into his mouth this time, realising he was running out of them.

“Hello again, Your Grace,” Robin said with a bow when he got around the front of the chair. “You’re looking well.”

Emmeryn smiled up at the tactician, her flawless features split at her hairline by an old scar just off to the side of her brand.

“It is good to see you, too, Robin,” she said in soft, melodious tones. “I must admit, your new hair-colour suits you well.”

“Yeah,” Robin laughed. “I kinda lucked out there, didn’t I?”

Emmeryn chuckled a little as she rose out of her chair. Robin had to admit that he’d forgotten the gentle grace with which the former Exalt carried herself with, her every movement speaking of a lifetime of calm elegance.

“We must be quick,” she said, her smile dampening a little. “If you linger much longer you will be too weak to fight Grima’s hold on you.”

“Is that why I’m so tired?” Robin asked, reaching for the last of Donny’s berries.

“It is,” Emmeryn said quietly. “He is weakening your soul. Torturing your body. But you are stronger than he ever was. The trials you have faced by the side of my brother and sister have made you thus. If you will it, you will return to your friends.”

“Okay, great,” Robin said excitedly. “Can I, you know, just do it now?”

Emmeryn’s smile returned, lighting up her whole face.

“No,” she laughed. “There is one more place you must go first. However before I lead you there, there is something I must tell you.”

Robin nodded, feeling the momentary boost from the berries already fading.

“Okay, shoot, but make it quick, because I’m fading fast here.”

Emmeryn nodded again before surprising him and stepping up to the tactician to wrap her arms around him in a gentle hug.

“Thank you,” Emmeryn whispered to him. “Thank you for taking care of Chrom and Lissa. Thank you for being there when I could not. Thank you for guiding them the way I should have.”

Robin felt a lump rise to his throat as he blinked back tears, caught off guard by the sudden display of emotion.

“But… I didn’t do anything,” he said lamely.

“You were there for them both,” Emmeryn said softly. “That was enough. Now go back to them. Guide them one final time for me, Robin. Please.”

“I will,” he said, closing his eyes. “I’ll protect them for you, Emmeryn. I’m just sorry I couldn’t protect you, too.”

*

When Robin opened his eyes again he was back in the twilight desert, surrounded by sand and emptiness again. Without anyone there to hold him up he fell forward, landing heavily on one knee as he struggled to remain upright.

_I know she said all I had to do was will myself back_ , Robin thought, his vision blurring. _But I can barely stand… I can’t keep going anymore._

He leaned forward, and just as he was about to fall strong hands caught him by the shoulders.

“Not yet,” a familiar, feminine voice said to him. “You’re not done yet. Just a little more.”

“Lucina?” Robin asked, looking up through the haze of semi-consciousness at the woman holding him up.

As his vision cleared slightly he realised that it wasn’t in fact the blue-haired princess that was holding him up, but rather a brown haired woman wearing a black coat, smiling down at him with tears in her eyes.

“Mom?” Robin asked, rising a little.

Alexia nodded, smiling at him and stroking his face with one hand.

“Huh,” Robin said softly, looking at his mother for the first time with his own eyes. “You look just like Morgan…”

“I’d say she’s the one that looks just like me would be more appropriate wording,” Alexia laughed, pulling Robin into a hug. “But I so dearly wish I could have met her.”

“I’ll tell her you said ‘hi’…” Robin said weakly into his mother’s shoulder.

His vision blurred again, and everything seemed to be happening at a distance. His sense of touch became delayed, and sound and smell became three stages removed, as if rather than feeling them himself he was having them described to him.

He was fading now… Robin was dying. Weather by Grima’s design or by his negligence, Robin was dying.

“It’s so dark here,” he muttered as his mother held him. “It’s… like a sea of black… I’ve got nothing left, Mom. No… final strategy… no cards left to… to play… He won… He’s… won. Ah... I c-can't see... I can't hear... I feel... nothing… Nothing… Why…? Why am I still suffering like this…?”

Alexia’s hold tightened as she hushed him softly.

“There are aspects of who we are,” she explained sadly, “that can only be revealed to us in the deepest pit of intolerable suffering, in those moments when all else is torn away. When we stand at the very brink of eternity itself and stare death in the face. That’s when we see our true purpose. When I looked, I saw you. What do you see?”

“I don’t…” Robin mumbled, trying to clear his vision and failing. “I don’t… see anything… All I see is… darkness…”

Robin closed his eyes again, getting ready to let go. But there was something stopping him. Something was nagging at the back of his mind, like a thought just out of reach.

He opened his eyes again, seeing nothing but the sand and his mother’s back as she silently held him.

The thought came again, like he was forgetting something, but… this time it was different. Closer.

“Do you hear that, Robin?” Alexia asked quietly.

Robin strained his senses, all of them. He… could. He could hear something.

_“… ve to… ... ack!”_

“I… hear something,” Robin mumbled, looking around a little.

Something inside him changed at this realisation. A spark lit within him again, and he felt life returning to his stiff extremities.

_“o— ha——— fi— back! ——ghting!”_

Robin stood now, breaking from his mother’s embrace to look around them. He was suddenly full of energy again. He could feel something calling him from a great distance. He could hardly make it out, though. As he strained his ears, the call got louder, clearer, until he could actually make it out.

_“Fight ba—! —ave to keep ——ing! Fight back, Robin! You swore to do so, remember? Now keep your damn word!”_

“Chrom?” Robin breathed, looking up.

_“Robin… please…”_ he heard Lucina beg, clear as day.

“Chrom! Lucina!” he shouted, looking directly upwards at the empty sky.

Other voices reached him now, too. The others, wounded and in pain still calling out to him, hoping to bring him back.

“Come back to us, Robin!” Lissa pleaded.

“After all the hell you have put me through over the years this is how you let it end!? I know it will take more than this to stop you!” Frederick shouted.

“History is watching, Robin! The bards will sing of this triumph!” Virion promised.

“On your feet, soldier! Don't make ol' Teach give ya a lecture!” Vaike laughed weakly.

“Robin, remember all the time we’ve spent together!” Sumia suggested softly.

“Get up, Robin! You can’t die!” Tharja begged, actually begged.

“You are not Grima, nor is he you! Remember that, Robin!” Tiki reminded him.

“Aye, awaken! You cannot leave now, with my debt to you unpaid!” Say’ri demanded, bringing a smile to the tactician’s lips.

“You don't bow to dragons. You break 'em!” Flavia roared, as gung-ho as ever.

“If you don't come back, I'm never going to forgive you! You promised me!” Severa cried.

“You're going to be okay, right? ...I need you to keep me safe.” Yarne said conspiratorially.

“No taking the easy way out! You dragged me into this, now you finish it! You don’t get to die until I tell you to!” Aversa snarled at him.

“Robin, please. You have earned my trust and my love. Now return to me,” Lucina begged, her voice little more than a whisper in his ear.

“I can hear them…” Robin said, wonder in his voice as he stared to the sky. “I can hear all of them…”

Alexia rose now, too, taking Robin’s hand in hers.

“Are you ready to go back now?” she asked. “They’re all waiting for you.”

“I was ready the second I got here,” Robin said, grinning.

Alexia let out a little laugh, giving him another quick hug.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said as she stepped back. “Now go and slay a dragon for your mother.”

“No pressure?” Robin asked, the grin widening on his face as he stepped back.

“None at all,” Alexia promised, giving him a little wave.

“And be nice to your sister!” she added. “You two were so close as children; it really is a shame for you to fight now!”

“I will, Mom!” Robin promised her.

“Oh, and Mom?” he added as an afterthought, looking up again. “I see it now. I can see my friends; my family. I’m going to save them, and everyone else.”

*

Robin opened his eyes again, this time to an alien inky darkness. All around him he felt constricting, claustrophobic warmth clinging to his flesh as he lay prone. He was awake now, though. He was still alive, and he could still fight.

Operating on sheer willpower alone he forced one hand to move, bringing it back towards his shoulder. Around him the darkness writhed as if surprised, his movements causing more and more violent reactions.

The darkness tried to calm him, tried to lull him back to his sleep again, but he rejected it. Forcing himself up to a position on all fours, Robin created space around himself.

He couldn’t breathe in this darkness, but he didn’t have to. His lungs burned, but oxygen was being supplied directly to his muscles by some ancient magic.

Robin continued to struggle, reaching upwards…

*

With a catastrophic crashing a hand reached up through one of the scales on Grima’s back, shattering it to pieces and sending shards flying in all directions. The black flesh beneath the scale rippled like liquid as the arm groped around for a handhold, finding one and finally pulling a gasping Robin out and back into daylight.

“What!?” Grima’s avatar shouted, awestruck at the spectacle. “No! This isn’t possible! It’s… no!”

Grima let out a pained roar, the scales beneath the Shepherds shuddering as he did.

“Stop this at once!” Grima demanded. “Silence those wretched voices! You are all powerless! Frail! Insignificant! You are _nothing_!”

The avatar moved to carry out his master’s bidding, freezing mid-stride when Robin pulled himself almost fully out of the hole he’d made, standing straight on unsteady feet. His eyes were wide and wild, black and infinite as he turned a withering glare on his future self.

As Robin pulled himself to freedom a green glow suffused the Fire Emblem again, Naga’s voice reaching each of the Shepherds as they watched the tactician’s struggling.

“Children of man, take my power! Rise now and finish what you have begun! Face the fell dragon!”

The green glow spread, blanketing all of the Shepherds on Grima’s back. As the green touched them their wounds miraculously closed and, with Naga’s blessing, the warriors all felt rejuvenated. Slowly rising to their feet as the green glow faded, they looked to Chrom for direction.

“Argh, that was so gross!” Robin moaned, climbing up and out of the hole he’d magically created in the dragon’s back and shaking the wet hair out of his face.

As his last foot emerged the rippling stopped and Grima’s flesh became whole and solid once more, leathery and coarse.

“Robin-” Chrom started, cutting off when he watched the other man sway dangerously.

The white-haired tactician let out a little laugh as he caught himself, holding one hand to his chest and grinning a little. There was a soft dripping sound that the Exalt wasn’t sure if he imagined or not, but when he looked there was an alarming amount of blood running from Robin’s wounds and dripping off him.

“I’m fine,” he said, backing towards the Shepherds slowly, never breaking his gaze from the Risen barring their path to Grima’s avatar.

Lissa and Tiki both rushed forwards, grabbing him underneath the arms and dragging him back as he fell. Lissa slowly let Robin back into a sitting position, holding him up with one arm around his back while her other held her staff over him.

“Shepherds, form a line!” Chrom shouted.

The Risen rushed forward, more climbing up from beneath Grima behind the Shepherds. Flavia, Vaike, Yarne, Severa and Say’ri moved forward, meeting the charging horde while Frederick automatically turned to guard their rear. Tharja and Virion both stepped forward, too; the archer beginning to shoot slowly, making sure every shot of his limited ammunition counted while Tharja cast spells with a wide area of effect, trying to funnel the Risen and keep them from overwhelming the flanks of the line.

“Why wasn’t he healed?” Lucina asked, looking at the shield strapped to her father’s arm.

“I wasn’t here,” Robin laughed, Lissa already beginning to work.

“We’ll just have to do it conventionally,” Tiki said, glancing over her shoulder.

Behind them Sumia had taken up position with Frederick to watch their rear, the slight woman looking almost comically undersized next to the Knight Commander as she thrust her lance with deadly accuracy.

Lissa sighed roughly, the blonde woman shaking her head irritatedly and redoubling her efforts.

“This would go a lot faster if there wasn’t so much dark magic blocking me,” she complained, shaking her staff over Robin a little.

“We are literally sitting on Grima’s back,” the tactician laughed. “I don’t think we can do much about the dark magic at this point.”

“You’re in good spirits for someone full of holes,” Aversa pointed out, suddenly behind Lissa.

Robin glanced up at her, grinning sheepishly. Lissa and Lucina both sucked in a shocked breath when they saw how much red was coating Robin’s teeth.

“What can I say,” he said, shrugging. “I just broke out of a mind-arm-lock I was sure I’d never break. I’m in a good mood.”

Aversa sighed and shook her head, kneeling down next to him opposite Lissa. The blonde princess stopped attempting to heal Robin but didn’t relinquish her hold on him.

“You owe me for this,” she said to Robin.

“Yeah, can we skip right to the healing part, please?” he replied, his voice beginning to sound weaker. “We can tally up… who owes who what when we’re not at risk of being thrown off the back of an angry god.”

Aversa scoffed, holding both hands flat above Robin’s chest. After a few seconds a faint purple glow suffused her fingers, spreading to Robin and sinking through his clothes. The tactician let out a relieved sigh as some of his pain was alleviated. He could tell without looking that at least his wounds had closed on the surface; healing them entirely could wait until he wasn’t about to die from an imminent Risen attack.

“Alright, I’m good; let’s end this already,” Robin said as he started climbing to his feet.

Lissa moved slightly to let him up, Aversa just clicking her tongue before moving back to join Tharja in clearing away the Risen for-

“My sentiments exactly!” Grima’s avatar snarled, dropping from above them scythe first.

The group scattered, Chrom leaping one way and shielding Lissa while Lucina dragged Robin the other. With barely a thought Robin reached forward while Lucina was still holding onto his scruff and brushed his fingertips on his future self’s sleeve. In an instant they were further up Grima’s back, behind the Risen line now and alone.

Robin was the one that pushed a disoriented Lucina back this time, opening space between the duo and a laughing avatar.

“Moving us won’t save you,” the future-Robin pointed out, spinning his scythe in a figure-eight to bring it back to the ready.

“I just wanted to make sure no-one would get in our way,” Robin shrugged, reaching behind him and drawing both daggers, one in each hand.

Lucina nodded at Robin, catching on to his meaning.

“We just have to get him close to death,” Robin muttered to her. “Don’t hold anything back, though; I’d rather take the chance of accidentally killing him than him getting away.”

“Again with the talking!” the avatar shouted. “Don’t I ever shut up!?”

Robin’s brow twitched in irritation as he glanced at Lucina.

“Go high,” he instructed, before disappearing in a flash as he activated his teleporting ring.

The avatar blinked for a moment before Lucina darted forward, the parallel Falchion’s point flashing towards his face. The older man stepped back, Robin suddenly behind him kicking out at his legs. The avatar had been expecting this, though, and hopped. Spinning in the air he dragged his scythe along the front of Lucina’s armour, tearing the strong silver metal into two distinct pieces before he landed gracefully to one side.

“You really thought I needed my Risen to kill you?” the older man laughed.

Robin frowned as Lucina discarded her ruined breastplate before pulling off the loose pauldrons so that they wouldn’t get in her way. The avatar waited, watching her the entire time until the Princess stood wearing her normal blue tunic and light armour, the silver gauntlets and greaves the only traces left of her delicate silver plate mail.

“You know, you grew up to be a very beautiful woman,” the avatar said conversationally as they started circling each other. “It’s almost a shame that I have to kill you. I mean it’s not as bad as having to kill myself but…”

Lucina and Robin stuck together, moving one way while the avatar went the opposite. Robin had to watch his footing every time he stepped. He was still hurting, not to mention a little groggy with the aftereffects of that ‘dream’ or whatever it was that he’d seen inside of Grima. Lucina had noticed this, too, and was doing her best to interpose herself between the two Robins, much to the frustration of the younger man.

“Is it just me, or is talking to time-travellers really confusing?” the avatar laughed when neither Shepherd answered.

Robin growled and lunged, ducking low beneath the avatar’s scythe and coming up inside his guard. Striking with a vicious headbutt the tactician knocked him off balance before stepping back and opening the way for Lucina. The Princess lunged, Falchion slicing through the future-Robin’s coat and carving a chunk from his ribs.

Just as Lucina stepped back and Robin made to move forward again the avatar lashed out with dark magic, sending both Shepherds flying a small way through the air as he laughed.

“Oh, now things are getting fun, aren’t they!?” Grima’s avatar asked with a grin, resting his scythe across his shoulders again.

Robin and Lucina both glowered as they leapt back to their feet, readying their weapons. Robin hated to admit he was moving far, far slower than Lucina was.

“Now who won’t shut up?” Robin asked, quirking a brow as he held his daggers at the ready.

*

Chrom cursed, glaring at where Robin had teleported with Lucina.

“Shepherds!” he shouted above the howling wind and the screams of the Risen. “Get to Robin! Keep formation tight and watch each other’s backs! A whole keg of ale goes to whoever kills the most Risen!”

Vaike and Flavia both let out a happy roar at this, lofting their weapons before crashing into the Risen with renewed vigour, each determined to outdo the other’s kill-count. Virion simply smirked and shook his head, his arrows beginning to fly in every direction again as he steadily walked to keep up with the frontline’s progress. Tiki roared and transformed, her draconian form bent low to avoid the worst of the wind tearing her from Grima’s back as she swung her tail around, knocking a large swathe of Risen climbing up from beneath Grima to attack the Shepherds’ flank backwards into the open sky. Frederick and Sumia continued to backpedal, watching the rear with grim expressions, the Risen climbing up from behind them increasing in number with every step the Shepherds took. Say’ri saw this, and disengaged from keeping the flanks clear with Severa and Yarne, adding her own ferocious skill to maintaining a safe middle-ground for Lissa and the mages.

Chrom stomped forward on Grima’s scales, spinning Falchion in a figure-eight before holding the ancient sword ready. With speed he knew was being supplied by Naga’s power he darted forward between Flavia and Vaike, Risen actually flying into the air from his passing.

Where the Shepherds around him were making steady progress before, Chrom became a battering ram that cleared the way for them.

Falchion shined like a torch as he swung it through Risen, the weakest of the dark creatures being turned to ash just from looking upon the holy blade’s shining surface. The strongest of the Risen, armoured in glistening black plates with matching weapons and full-faced helms, were creatures no doubt on par with the Deadlords that Grima had crafted for the express purpose of destroying the fleas on his back; even they barely managed to stand against Chrom’s wrath for more than a few seconds, falling beneath his blade like wheat during the harvest.

He spun, shattering weapons and armour with his progress, and suddenly he was clear of the Risen, panting and faced with Grima’s avatar trading blows with Robin and Lucina.

“Grima!” Chrom roared, smashing Falchion against the Fire Emblem to get the avatar’s attention. “Come and get it!”

The older version of Robin glanced up, his bruised and bloody face twisting into a smile as he swept the exhausted Robin and Lucina aside with the back of his scythe in one smooth motion.

“I was wondering when you’d get here,” the deranged man said lightly as he began to advance on Chrom. “You know, I’ve never had to kill someone twice before. This is turning into a good day for me after all.”

“Kill me first before you say that,” Chrom growled, readying his sword and shield.

“If you can, that is,” the Exalt added with a confident grin.

Grima’s avatar darted forward, flying through the air so fast that Chrom could barely track the movement. The Exalt deflected the other man’s charge with his shield, beating him hard down towards the scales. The avatar landed on his hands and knees and spun, desperately kicking out at Chrom’s legs before rolling back into a standing position. Chrom was already bringing Falchion down in an overhand arc, simply stepping around the avatar’s kick. The older man barely got his scythe up in time, sparks flying off the weapons before the two combatants separated.

“You know, you may talk big,” Chrom said with a superior smirk, “but when it comes right down to it you’re just Robin. You may have a big, scary scythe, but you still fight the exact same way he does. And he’s never once beaten me in single combat. Never.”

“I’m standing right here!” the tactician in question said indignantly.

Lucina let out a quiet laugh at Robin’s expense, making him roll his eyes. For his part, the avatar gnashed his teeth and glared at Chrom. The older man knew that Chrom was right; it had been exactly the same in the future. Even with his limp the future-Chrom had been unstoppable, and this one was in his prime, half the age of his older self on top of awakened. There would be no surprise attack this time…

“Just give up,” Chrom pleaded suddenly. “It doesn’t have to be this way. We can figure out a way to save you, just let us save our home first! I know Robin would-”

“Stop,” Grima’s avatar said, pinching the skin between his eyes in frustration. “Just… stop. Your bleeding-heart routine pissed me off in the future, and it’s pissing me off now. I don’t want to be saved, Chrom! Not everyone wants to be saved! You never did get that! And I may not be able to stop you like this, true, but Grima and I are one! And I just so happen to be standing right on top of him!”

The scales beneath their feet rippled again as Grima shuddered, pouring more and more energy towards his avatar. Robin and Lucina both moved to Chrom’s side, and behind them the Shepherds continued keeping the Risen at bay.

“He’s already dedicating a lot of energy to keeping the Risen operating,” Robin said, breathing heavily. “He’s not going to be able to give much more to future-me. If we all rush him we should be able to take him.”

Chrom glanced over at his friend in concern as the tactician continued to pant.

Any other thoughts were cast aside as Grima’s avatar let out a loud scream, falling to his knees and clutching at his chest as his flesh rippled beneath his coat. A black pall of smoke sprung up from his feet, surrounding the man as he screamed and reducing him to little more than an outline.

“Crap,” Robin groaned, sagging a little. “I hate it when I’m wrong.”

“Quick, while he’s distracted!” Chrom urged, moving forward.

The Exalt stopped after barely a step, holding his shield up as a blast of purple fire flew at him. Grima’s massive head had turned around to protect his avatar, three of his eyes glowering at the Shepherds as fire billowed around the corners of his maw.

“It won’t do you any good,” the dragon’s avatar warned, his silhouette standing up in the cloud of smoke.

The black cloud cleared, whisked away by the roaring wind as the avatar stepped out of it. Horns sprouted from his temples now in much the same fashion as Grima’s, and his skin had taken on a distinctly scaled pattern, having turned a pale grey in colour. Two extra sets of eyes blinked in tandem with his main pair on his forehead, all six glowing red as he gave a fang-filled smile.

“Okay, so I guess headbutts are out,” Robin muttered.

“Grima and I are one!” the avatar declared, holding his scythe up in one hand threateningly. “Your end has come! See if you can match me now, Avatar of Naga!”

Chrom bared his teeth, charging forward again and meeting the transformed avatar blade for blade. Lucina ran after her father, intent on helping however she could and striking around him whenever the opportunity permitted. Robin hung back, channelling what little mana he had left and shooting small, precise Flux spells designed to distract the avatar more than anything else.

The transformed avatar laughed gleefully as he traded blows with Chrom, ignoring Lucina altogether as her blows bounced off of his shoulders and flanks.

“See!?” the monstrous avatar shouted happily. “Isn’t this much more fun!?”

He lashed out with his scythe in a lazy backhand, the point cutting through Lucina’s lighter armour and splattering blood across Grima’s scales in a red arc. She shouted more in frustration than pain as Robin darted forward, grabbing her and dragging her back before interposing himself between her and the avatar while he traded blows with Chrom.

“Wait here,” Robin said.

The tactician teleported across Grima’s back, grabbed a startled Lissa by the arm and teleported back to where Lucina was attempting to figure out a way to close the hole in her tunic half her midriff was showing through.

Lissa went to work instantly and without a word, holding her staff out to her niece and letting healing magic flow through the wound, leaving only a line of pale flesh puckered atop the top of her stomach. Robin nodded, teleporting Lissa back to safety before returning to Lucina’s side. She nodded gratefully, reaching out to stroke his shoulder briefly before turning back to help her father. With a jerk the princess tore the ruined cloth of her tunic away, casting it aside and hefting her sword again.

Robin watched the two blue-haired Ylisseans duck and weave around the transformed avatar’s blows, Chrom striking back and landing a few glancing hits but not managing to hit him square.

Grimacing, he watched as Lucina tore back into the older version of him, striking from the monster’s flank and distracting him momentarily. Chrom took advantage of this and brought Falchion down from above, severing one of the avatar’s horns in a mist of blackened blood. With an outraged bellow the transformed man kicked Lucina clear across Grima’s back before smashing the heel of his scythe into Chrom’s face, twisting the blade up and over his shield.

Robin watched with a sinking feeling as the Exalt stumbled, swinging blindly. The avatar ducked low to avoid the wild swing, bringing his scythe around in a blow that would take Chrom’s head off.

They wouldn’t win like this, Robin realised. Before, the avatar had been weaker, but now even Chrom and Lucina together couldn’t stop him. There was nothing else they could do.

Making up his mind, Robin sheathed his daggers and sent a flare of mana into Excellus’ ring, appearing just behind the avatar. Grabbing onto his future-self’s coat with both hands he sent another flare out, giving Chrom one final sad smile over the monster’s shoulder before they both disappeared in a flash of ancient teleporting magic.

Chrom stood, rallying and looking around as he waited for Robin and the avatar to reappear. Seconds went by, Chrom picturing that smile that his friend had given him…

“He didn’t…” the Exalt muttered breathlessly, looking over his shoulder to the ocean rushing by beneath them.

“Awakener, there is no time to waste,” Naga whispered into his ear, her tone carrying an unmistakable note of regret.

“Slay Grima; attack the weak point by his neck. Do not let the Fell Blood’s sacrifice be in vain.”

*

“There’s just no end to these things!” Kellam complained loudly.

The armoured soldier rammed his lance forward through the chest of another Risen to illustrate his point; by the time he’d drawn the weapon back another Risen had already taken the place of the one he’d felled.

“Keep fighting!” Morgan shouted, swinging Sol around in a wide arc and ignoring the pain in her ribs.

Basilio laughed raucously as he surged through another knot of the weaker Risen, throwing them aside and leaving a trail of ashes and discarded weapons in his wake.

“I haven’t felt this young in years!” the Khan laughed, spinning lithely and decapitating the nearest Risen. “I’ll be feeling it tomorrow, but right now I’m unstoppable!”

The Ylissean army had finally managed to secure a breach into the Risen-held plateau, forming a line at the top of the mountain path. This was thanks in no small part to the timely arrival of Mustafa and the heavily armoured Plegian shock-troops he had brought with him; the desert-dwellers had surged forward in perfect formation, taking over the frontlines and giving the terrified and wounded Ylissean soldiers the chance to rotate with fresh men from the beach, being led by Lady Azolla herself.

“Move up and keep formation tight!” the stern-faced duchess roared over the battle to her blue-armoured soldiers. “I’ll not have the Plegians be stealing all of our glory!”

“Now, now, Duchess,” Mustafa laughed. “There’s plenty of Risen for the both of us to kill!”

Morgan had to grin a little at the two leaders’ banter, their soldiers fighting all the harder beneath their watchful gazes. She also noticed that the Jagen troops had been the first ones to reinforce the Plegian line, replacing the Ylisstol Regulars and taking up their positions.

“You’d think those two were married or something,” Amir muttered from Morgan’s shoulder.

Noire let out a stifled giggle from her other shoulder, having adopted the position of Morgan’s ‘third shadow’.

The Grandmaster grunted noncommittally, too busy watching the ebb and flow of the Risen horde. Kellam was right; there was literally no end to them. Roark had taken control of the Knights when Frederick had left, too, and was running the heavily-armoured Ylissean Knights with the lighter Themis Cavalry around the periphery of the battle, attempting to keep the Risen centralised. Cordelia did the same from above, her Pegasus Knights occasionally swooping over the Risen horde to wreak havoc on their undead enemies.

But it still wasn’t enough. For every Risen they killed, more rose to take its place. They needed something to tip the scales; something big. Morgan recalled how her father had said that the Risen would be susceptible to Dark Magic, half a plan springing to mind. She would just have to improvise the other half on the fly.

“Noire, Kellam, I’m going to try something,” she declared, stepping forward and creating a little space around herself. “It’s time to tip the scales.”

Morgan flicked her wrists, establishing a glowing dark magic circle around her feet. She ran through the incantations for her spell beneath her breath, distastefully adding a few lines she’d picked up off ‘Nergal’ back in Ylisse. Then, as the spell began to take shape Morgan reached out to the mana suffusing the mountain again. In an instant she felt the spell’s strength almost triple, expanding to the point where she very nearly lost control of it.

She was exhausted, pushing herself to the brink and channelling more magical power than any sane mage would ever even think to attempt. However, Morgan’s father had been bred over generations to be able to contain the essence of the fell dragon Grima, and much of this magical resilience had been passed on to her, too. Where an ordinary mage would break and suffer magical backlash so potent it would burn out their mind, Morgan held strong on the energy using her body as a conduit.

The effects were instantaneous.

As the purple lines flashed along Morgan’s flesh and her eyes burned black, a creeping miasma sprung up around the feet of the Risen. This mist grew into a thick fog, reaching the mindless creatures’ knees. With a few whispered commands in an ancient tongue Morgan called on the very essence of what the Risen were, creating grasping claws from the cloud beneath them. The human soldiers hesitated as the Risen were torn apart from beneath in the same fashion they had assaulted the Ylisseans earlier, watching in stunned and fascinated horror as their foes’ number was greatly reduced in a heartbeat.

Morgan let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, gently releasing her link to the mana on the mountain. All at once the black cloud dissipated, leaving discarded weapons and scraps of Risen armour in its wake.

“I really need a bath,” she groaned, feeling the clinging sensation of the power she had been wielding.

With a mighty roar the combined Ylissean-Plegian line surged forward, carving into the remaining stunned Risen with renewed vigour.

*

Robin and Grima’s avatar blinked back into existence a hundred yards beneath the dragon, flying in free-fall through the air towards the ocean beneath them.

“Madness!” the avatar shrieked. “What-”

“Shut up already!” Robin roared, head-butting the man in the nose and slicing open his face on the avatar’s remaining horn.

Grima’s avatar’s grip slipped in his terror and the ancient scythe went flying from his hand, tumbling end over end out of reach. Robin leaned back from the stunned man, wrapping his legs around his future self’s hips and holding onto him as they fell. The tactician drew and held the dagger that had been forged from Chrom’s old rapier high, preparing to plunge it into the avatar’s heart. With wild eyes the older man caught Robin’s wrist one-handed, his other lashing out in a fist and smashing into the side of Robin’s jaw once, twice, three times. Before he could pull it back a fourth time Robin turned his head, tearing into the tendons of his future self’s wrist with his teeth as it flashed at his face.

Screaming in as much terror as pain now, the avatar withdrew his bleeding and useless hand as the other struggled to hold Robin’s dagger at bay, the wind still whipping by them. Blood followed both of the wounded men like the trail of some sick comet, streaking the sky behind them red.

Magic flared and Grima’s avatar struck Robin with his ruined hand, a weak fire spell impacting the tactician in the face and finally forcing the two men apart as the younger of the two roared in pain and frustration.

Robin shook the stars out of his eyes, blinking his vision clear as he flew away from his foe. With a quick wind spell Robin launched himself back towards the avatar, dodging between hasty thunder and fire spells that his future self was desperately launching in his direction.

The younger tactician reached behind his back as he flew through the air, groping blindly for the smaller dagger, Raziel, that he hoped was still in its sheathe.

With a wordless howl Robin found the dagger and barrelled into the avatar, both of them tumbling end over end as they fell, struggling for possession the small weapon. Robin pulled back a little, freeing his hands enough to tear them from the avatar’s weakened grasp. Robin looked into his future self’s eyes for a moment, wondering what exactly could drive him to this…

With a vicious jerk he slashed his future self’s throat before pulling back and plunging the dagger into the stunned man’s heart.

Pain blossomed in Robin’s own chest, the tactician roaring wordlessly into the shocked face of Grima’s avatar, the waves rushing up to greet them as the light left all six of the future-Robin’s eyes. Robin twisted in mid-air, ignoring the burning sensation spreading through his body and leaving numbness in its wake as he angled the corpse of his future-self to take the brunt of the impact.

Robin found himself grinning, his burned and ruined face resisting the movement. At least the numbness was making his wounds a little more bearable, he found himself idly reasoning. By killing his future-self with one of the weapons made from Grima’s fang he had effectively severed the link tethering the fell dragon to this realm. Above him he heard the dragon shriek, Chrom no doubt having hit its sweet spot with Falchion.

So… he would die now.

A sad smile rose unbidden to his lips as he plummeted towards the ocean.

At the very least this way Grima wouldn’t darken the skies again. Lucina and the others would likely hate him for leaving them like this, but… in the end, it was worth it to know they would be safe. They could all finally live in peace now, and that was enough.

Even if he had wanted to he couldn’t teleport with the ring, either; he’d exhausted his mana again, and even the ring had been stressed to breaking point from constant use. Tiny fractures lined the gem, and the gold band had become tarnished and prematurely aged. It wouldn’t get him anywhere near close enough to land, or even far enough down to slow his current speed.

Above him he saw Grima’s giant body convulse in the air, flipping over and thrashing around, his neck and tail coiling like serpents in the air. The tactician guessed that Chrom must have found some sort of sweet-spot at the same moment Robin had killed his future-self. Robin’s smile widened as the dragon reared up and tore at his own scales, Naga’s magic pulsating within him and tearing him apart from the inside. Whatever Naga had said about not having the power to create or destroy, she sure was doing a good job of proving herself wrong. With a blast of green mana Grima’s scaled chest burst open, the shockwave propelling the tactician faster towards the water.

With a crack like thunder the two bodies finally hit the surface of the ocean, and as icy water reached up and enveloped him Robin knew no more.

*

Morgan spun in a deadly arc, forgetting to compensate for Sol’s extra length compared to her old sword and accidentally decapitated three extra Risen besides the one she was aiming for. She grinned a little to herself, coming back to a ready stance as the soldiers around her rushed forward into the gap she’d created.

Morgan had to admit, despite its drawbacks the ancient sword was growing on her.

While the Ylisseans and their allies weren’t exactly gaining ground, but they were maintaining their hold on the peak, killing Risen by the dozens. Every few minutes the squads were rotated to avoid exhaustion from the heavy fighting, the average soldiers not being able to keep up with Morgan or the rest of the Shepherds. Even Amir and the last of his Royal Guard, despite being a level above the average soldier in strength and endurance, were currently taking a break somewhere in the rear ranks.

Morgan brought herself back to the battle at hand, flipping the oversized sword around in her grip and pirouetting in a move that Lon’qu had taught her-

And striking nothing but air.

She blinked, realising that the Risen weren’t advancing anymore.

All at once the Risen on Mount Origin stopped whatever they had been doing and stared eastward into the sky, many being struck down by the humans they had been facing in that moment.

The Ylissean and Plegian soldiers hesitated now, waiting to see what the Risen were doing.

Slowly, the creatures began to evaporate into dust, as if they had been struck down and killed.

Morgan watched this spectacle with wide eyes, the soldiers around her letting out a mighty cheer as their enemy began to disappear.

“Did they do it?” she wondered out loud, squinting up into the afternoon sky and trying to catch a glimpse of… anything in the distance.

*

Chrom took a quick breath as his boots suddenly met solid ground again, still not used to the sensation of teleportation no matter who did it. The Exalt and the other Shepherds all looked around, stunned to see the almost empty plateau at the top of Origin Peak. Scores of Ylissean and Plegian soldiers were cheering and celebrating closer to the mountain path, but-

“Mother!” Noire cried from the press of revelling soldiers, pushing free of them and rushing over.

Chrom looked over his shoulder at the Dark Mage, the usually confident woman staring at the dirt as her shoulders shook. At her side Aversa seemed lost, the older mage looking at the Shepherds around her with blank eyes. Noire pelted into her mother, gripping her tightly, as if afraid to let go.

All around him the Shepherds were beginning to collapse, some falling into sitting positions and collapsing physically, others simply breaking emotionally as they recalled Robin’s sacrifice.

Lissa fell to her knees, quietly sobbing as the shock started to wear off. Frederick, standing over her like a stone-faced gargoyle, stared off into the distance with a complex expression. Yarne looked like he was about to throw up, obviously looking around for Morgan. Say’ri just looked confused as she tried to sort through her emotions. Tiki moved to Say’ri’s side, pulling the woman into an embrace where they both broke down. Vaike collapsed to the ground, the strong man sniffling and doing nothing to hide the tears running down his face. Virion fell to all fours, clenching his eyes shut and willing himself to wake up from this nightmare. Severa moved over to stand next to her father dry-eyed, grabbing his gauntleted hand in one of hers. The Knight Commander didn’t resist, gripping her hand as they both stared out into the horizon. Flavia planted Priam’s massive sword into the ground, leaning on it as she panted in exhaustion. Basilio appeared from within press of soldiers, wiping something off his hands as he spotted the other Khan. With a knowing look in his one good eye he strode over, clapping a comforting hand on the smaller woman’s shoulder. She looked up at him gratefully, and they stood there like that for a time.

All around the edges of the plateau the soldiers grew quiet, speaking in hushed whispers as they realised something had happened, unsure what exactly was wrong but able to see from the stances of the Shepherds that something had happened.

Morgan followed the big Feroxi Khan out of the now-quiet soldiers a few moments later. Her face went slack at first, taking in the expressions on her friends and allies faces, before it hardened and she strode over to Chrom. Lucina moved to his side, her face a careful mask as she faced the Grandmaster.

“What happened?” Morgan asked without preamble in the sudden silence, ever the Grandmaster.

“Robin… fell,” Chrom said helplessly. “He fell from Grima’s back, taking the avatar with him. He… was the one that delivered the final blow. Not me. I’m so sorry, Morgan.”

The young Grandmaster reeled as if struck, her eyes widening again as she took a shuddering breath.

“No…” she whispered brokenly.

Morgan swayed, catching herself and forcing herself to think calmly. It was true that she couldn’t feel Grima’s power any more, but she would have felt it if her father had died, too. His magical resonance had always been so clear to her; they had always had that connection. No matter how much interference Grima’s residual energy gave off, she would have noticed if that connection had been cut.

She would have noticed if he’d died!

Chrom stepped forward, pulling Morgan into his arms. She didn’t look like the Ylissean Grandmaster at that point; she looked like a scared teenager that had just lost her father, and he couldn’t help himself.

Morgan shuddered, stepping back and wiping at her eyes.

“Did you see his body?” she asked quietly.

Chrom blinked, taken aback by her direct question.

“Well… no, but-”

“Morgan, there’s… no way he could have survived that,” Lucina said gently, her voice breaking a little as she cut Chrom off.

“Until I see a body I’m operating under the assumption my father’s still alive,” Morgan said, spinning on her heel and slipping back into the Grandmaster mask. “Remember; he’s cheated death before.”

“Signal all available units!” she shouted to the closest soldiers in Ylissean livery. “I want the beach scoured! Leave no stone unturned! We’re looking for the hero-tactician of Ylisse! Have the Pegasus Knights fly over the beach and then out to sea, widening their search pattern periodically! Go!”

As if someone had poured ice-water over their heads the soldiers snapped into action, the men and women rushing towards the beach down the mountain path. Sergeants began issuing search instructions to individual squads, while higher-ranked officers hung back, organizing a search pattern for the island starting from the beach.

“I-I’ll fly down to the beach and give those orders to Cordelia,” Tiki said, a slight hic in her voice as she stepped back from Say’ri and transformed.

She bent low, offering to take the Queen of Chon’sin with her, who gratefully accepted. In a gust of wind they were off, racing towards the beach at the base of the mountain.

“Let’s go already!” Vaike urged, racing after them. “Morgan’s right, dammit! He’s still out there!”

“Let it go!” Severa snapped, her voice cracking. “He’s-”

“Still alive,” Lucina interjected softly.

Morgan nodded at her, beginning to move towards the path back to the beach. The Princess of Ylisse followed her, leaving Chrom standing awestruck. Shaking his head the Exalt jogged to catch up with them.

“The girl needs this,” Frederick explained to his daughter softly. “We should help them look.”

Severa’s lip quivered as she nodded, the two of them jogging after the group.

*

Cordelia sniffled, pulling on her pegasus’ reigns and causing it to drift a little closer to the shoreline. She forced her emotions back down, knowing that she needed to present a strong face in the presence of her Knights. The five women whose mounts weren’t too exhausted to fly were spread out in a wide v-formation behind her, scouring the shoreline of the island for even a hint as to Robin’s presence.

The day was growing late now, and the red sun was starting to set into the ocean.

The Ylissean, Plegian and Feroxi troops had long ago given up the search; not being prepared to spend the night on the island they had been forced to return to their ships and begin the journey back to the Plegian mainland.

Still, though, the Shepherds searched. They wouldn’t give up until they either found Robin or dropped dead from exhaustion.

Still, though, the Wing Commander found herself wondering; how long could a wounded man survive like this? By all accounts Robin had been clinging to the last threads of life when he had taken Grima’s avatar by surprise. Everyone was trying to be optimistic, but logic would state that he would have bled to death a long time ago.

A small black shape drifted through the air before Cordelia, Tharja’s familiar raven having joined in their search as soon as Tiki and Say’ri had given the orders.

Everyone in the assault team had been a mess; covered in blood and exhausted to the point of collapse, Naga’s healing magic having done nothing for their fatigue. The Devine Dragon was silent again now, too, despite all of Tiki’s pleas that she lend them her power in locating the missing tactician.

_Missing…_

Cordelia repeated the word over in her head, clinging to it and refusing to admit that Robin could be dead. After all this time it beggared belief that the tactician that had brightened all their lives could be dead. It simply didn’t make sense to any of them.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the raven take off for the shoreline like a shot, angling for-

“Oh Naga,” Cordelia breathed, her voice being stolen by the wind. “We… we’ve found him!”

*

As evening was starting to fall they gathered around him, the tactician washed up and face-down on the shore of the far side of the island.

His coat was in tatters, and dark arterial blood coloured the sand around him, slowly washing away in the tide.

Cordelia stood not far away, having been the first one on the scene, sobbing fitfully as she held on to her mount’s neck. The Wing Commander had been too stricken to actually even move the body into even a more dignified position, simply keeping watch over him until the others arrived.

Morgan approached, slowly at first and moving a little quicker until she was standing over him. Lucina moved up next to her, the princess falling to her knees next to Robin. Chrom had stopped a small way away, holding back the remainder of the search party that had accompanied them.

“No…” the blue-haired woman denied softly. “Not again…”

“Dad?” Morgan asked quietly, kneeling next to him. “Dad… wake up…”

Suddenly the Grandmaster turned, tears streaming down her face.

“Healer!” she cried, breaking into a sob. “Somebody get a healer!”

Lucina shook her head, her mask slipping as her own tears started to fall.

“No!” she shouted, throwing herself forward to cling onto Robin’s back as she sobbed. “Not again! I won’t be alone again! No!”

Someone coughed, and Morgan closed her eyes, trying to control herself and failing utterly as her shoulders heaved and her tears kept falling.

Her father was gone. She felt lost. Torn. She was broken…

Lucina let out another strange cough, making Morgan open her eyes again out of concern.

Lucina shot up, her tear-stained eyes wide.

“That’s not me,” she said hesitantly.

Both women looked down at the body of-

“Ow…” Robin moaned weakly, slowly rolling over onto his back.

“Robin!” Lucina cried.

“Dad!” Morgan shouted, her walls crumbling as tears started to fall.

“Robin!?” Chrom asked, running forward. “Healer! Someone get a healer! Lissa!”

Cordelia was already moving forward, pulling the healing staff off her saddle and skidding to her knees on the opposite side of the tactician, holding the staff out over him.

“You know…” Robin said weakly, smiling up at Lucina. “You’re… kinda heavy…”

“Y-you ass…” she sobbed, smiling back at him.

“Dad!” Morgan shouted, throwing herself on him in a desperate hug.

“Argh! Morgan! Armour!” Robin shouted, breaking into a coughing fit.

“Morgan, I need you to stay back,” Lissa said, sniffling as she arrived and knelt by Robin’s head.

Lucina gently pried the other girl off of the tactician by the shoulders, Morgan sniffling pathetically.

“I’ll be fine,” Robin sighed as the healing magic began to take effect and eased the incredible amount of pain he was in.

“How?” Tharja asked, standing behind Lissa and voicing the question on everyone’s mind. “How are you still alive? Grima’s dead. You… you should be too.”

“Unless he’s still alive,” Aversa said sourly from Robin’s feet.

“He’s gone,” Robin said, smiling as he closed his eyes. “I… saw it. Quite the… light-show, actually.”

“So then, how?” Chrom asked, leaning over Cordelia. “Naga said that it would kill you.”

“I don’t care right now” Robin said, his smile growing wider until he burst into a weak fit of laughter. “I just… really don’t care.”

“I’m curious now as to what it would actually take to kill you,” Aversa muttered, hiding her relived smile by pretending to stroke her chin.

“Hey, I’ve been dead or near enough twice now,” Robin said. “Let’s not push things by trying a third time.”

Chrom started to laugh, crossing his arms. His laughter spread, and soon the entire group were all laughing uproariously, Lissa actually falling backwards onto her rear in her hysterics. Even the usually stoic Tharja and Aversa doubled over in their mirth.

Robin attempted to sit up as the laughter died down, failing miserably with a pained groan before smiling sheepishly up at everyone.

“So who’s carrying me back to the ship?” he asked.


	67. Chapter 67

Robin let out a sigh, enjoying the feeling of the soft grass beneath his hands as he slowly rose back to consciousness.

There was some soft giggling from above him, prompting the tactician to lazily crack one eye as two familiar shadows loomed over him.

“Oh, hi there!” Lissa smiled at him. “We didn’t mean to wake you.”

“There are better places to nap than a field, friend,” Chrom said down to him with a cheeky grin on his face.

“Bite me; this bit stopped being funny a long time ago,” Robin groaned, closing his eyes again.

The two royals burst out laughing as they sat on the grass on either side of him, Chrom flopping back to lie down next to Robin as Lissa rested with her arms stretched out behind her.

“I can see why you keep sneaking out here,” she said conversationally after a few moments of companionable silence. “It’s nice. Calming.”

“And doesn’t smell like a hospital,” Robin added with a grin.

For the last month Robin had been confined to a bed in the small hospital for the wounded Shepherds that Libra had set up in Southtown, whiling away his days with reading, the occasional visit from the other Shepherds and waiting to have his bandages changed. For nearly a week before that he’d been all but comatose as his ruined body had fought to remain among the living. The second that Libra had cleared him to move about he had disappeared for the entire day, only to reappear at sunset with a sheepish smile as he explained how he’d fallen asleep in a field, much to Lucina and Morgan’s chagrin.

“You are far too overly-familiar with this field,” Chrom laughed, giving a stretch and repositioning himself to be more comfortable.

Chrom was wearing a high-quality blue long-sleeved tunic and pants emblazoned with House Ylisse livery, a far cry from the usual training gear he wore when relaxing. Robin had joked that it actually made him look almost like the Exalt he was supposed to be. Lissa, too, had opted for more casual dress, wearing a plain yellow sleeveless sun-dress rather than her usual battle-dress. Robin felt out of place, lying there in his sterile white hospital clothes; the only saving grace to them was the coat he insisted on putting over them.

The tactician let his hand wander, running his fingertips over the scars his beloved coat had acquired in the final fight. At Chrom’s urging the coat had been repaired by the finest tailors in Ylisse, and the spells on it had been re-applied while Robin had still been sleeping. This time, however, the entire Ylissean College of Mages had assisted Miriel with her spells, and Tharja had been assisted by Aversa, Henry, Morgan and Noire for her hexes and curses. The garment was lighter than ever, and so strong that he’d actually stood there and ordered one of the guards to stab him as hard as the man could, to no effect.

It was like wearing a feather, and it was so tough that the poor guard had tried all afternoon to stab Robin and achieved nothing.

“So what are you two doing so far south?” Robin asked casually. “Are the victory celebrations already over?”

“While there has been some ‘unofficial’ revelling, we have yet to hold the victory celebration,” Chrom said lazily.

“We can’t have a party while the guest of honour is still in the hospital,” Lissa added.

“Besides, it’s my kingdom,” Chrom added defensively. “I can go wherever I want in it.”

Robin snorted with laughter, finally sitting up. It was a slow process, considering just how hard it was to move when wrapped in thick bandages, but he finally made it up without aid.

“So what?” he asked mischievously. “You have to suffer through long and boring victory speeches, so I do to?”

“It’s not that bad,” Chrom insisted. “Roark is a man of few words, and Cullen’s not much different…”

“Yes, but I know you’ll invite all the others that helped us beat Grima,” Robin pointed out. “And I know for a fact how long-winded Maribelle can be; Mustafa’s going to want to make some massive speech about building bridges between the nations, and we’ll be lucky is Basilio and Flavia don’t start a fist-fight on stage.”

“Which is exactly why I need my tactician there to help me maintain order,” Chrom laughed.

Robin sighed and ran a hand through his hair, careful not to disturb the bandages still wrapped around his forehead.

“Chrom we’ve been over this-”

“I know, I know,” the Exalt assured him, sitting up now, too. “But you can at least back me up one last time.”

The first words out of Robin’s mouth when he’d woken up in Southtown had been “I quit”.  He’d repeated those two words until Chrom had actually started to take him seriously, and the two had had a very long conversation about it. A conversation about how Robin was sick of being hurt; about how, now that the threat of Grima was over, he needed to find his own place in the world; about how there was no way Lucina could stay in the capital with him, having her own Mark of Naga. Chrom had listened quietly to all of Robin’s reasons before nodding and standing.

_“As the Exalt of Ylisse I hereby relieve Tactician Robin of his rank and standing in the military, and all of his authority.”_

That’s what Chrom had said. The moment had been spoiled when Chrom had given him a grin and a wink promising that he wouldn’t be getting off that easy, but at that moment Robin had become a free man.

“It’s just politicians,” Robin assured him. “How scary can they be for the man that slew the Dark Dragon?”

Chrom looked at Robin silently, one eyebrow raised.

“Okay, point,” Robin sighed after a moment.

Lissa snickered as the two men both sighed and leaned back, propping themselves up.

“It never ceases to amaze me just how you two communicate without actually talking,” she said, playing with some of the grass at her side.

“It comes from telling your brother what to do every second of every day for the last three or four years,” Robin deadpanned.

“Excuse me, but I believe I married Sumia, not you,” Chrom interjected.

“I’m telling her you said that,” Lissa said.

There was a brief moment of silence before all three of them burst into laughter, the two men falling onto their backs while Lissa held her sides. Chrom sighed once their laughter died down, sitting back up and squinting at the position of the sun.

“We should be getting back soon, before Frederick sends out a search party,” he said as he stood, dusting off his pants before offering a hand to Lissa.

Robin made no move to follow them to his feet, instead placing his hands comfortably behind his head and letting out a contented sigh.

“Are you coming?” Chrom asked him.

“I’ll catch up later,” he said lazily. “I just found the sweet spot, so I’m not moving again anytime soon.”

Chrom rolled his eyes as Lissa giggled again, moving to Robin’s side and dropping a small bag on his stomach.

“I thought you might say that, so I brought you a snack,” she explained.

Robin nodded, reaching into the bag and pulling out a piece of crystalized honey.

“Lissa, I love you,” Robin said, popping the candy into his mouth. “Marry me. Let’s elope.”

Chrom snorted, giving the ex-tactician a light kick as the princess burst out laughing.

“You’re not getting away from my daughter that easy,” the Exalt muttered darkly, spinning on his heel and marching off towards Southtown again.

Lissa grinned and followed her older brother, giving Robin a playful wink over her shoulder as she followed the blue-haired man. He grinned, popping another of the candies into his mouth and settling in for another nap.

*

Robin snorted as he snapped back to wakefulness, the sound of nearby footfalls interrupting his second nap that day.

“Go away,” he groaned, laying a hand over his closed eyelids.

Aversa scoffed at her brother as she stood over him.

“And to think that Mustafa actually wanted a lump like you to lead our nation,” she said, baiting him.

“I am a man that belongs to no one nation,” Robin sighed, accepting the fact he wasn’t about to get back to his nap any time soon. “And that’s ‘Prime Minister Mustafa’ now, by the way. What do you want?”

“The latest correspondence from Plegia has come through,” she said irritably. “And might I add that I don’t appreciate being your clerk.”

At Robin’s request Mustafa had taken up stewardship of Plegia. He’d never had any plans of being a monarch like Chrom or Say’ri, especially not with the way that his father had come to power. He’d abdicated his throne and given up any claim to it, installing Mustafa as the country’s Prime Minister with trust that the big bearded man would do things right by the remaining citizens. It hadn’t been a popular move for any level of Plegian society, but Mustafa knew that if Robin didn’t want to rule there was no point in trying to force him.

Robin shrugged on the ground, glancing up at Aversa through his fingers.

 “How’s ‘Offensive Magic Instructor’ for a new generation of tacticians sound?” he asked.

“I… what?” Aversa said, stumbling over her tongue at this unexpected question.

“Will you sit already?” Robin laughed. “You’re making me antsy.”

Aversa silently sunk down to a sitting position next to Robin. She seemed tense, he noticed.

“I’m thinking of making good on my idea to start a school that trains tacticians like me,” he explained. “I had initially wanted to ask Tharja to take the position of mage instructor, but she seems busy with her plans in Plegia rebuilding the Dark Mages.”

“And I don’t have plans for the future?” Aversa asked defensively.

“Firstly, you’re still technically a war-criminal, and that kinda limits your options,” Robin reminded her. “Secondly, I’m actually giving you a second free pass here. Take it, or live the rest of your life in exile off in some cave. Your call.”

Aversa shifted uncomfortably, glancing away from him.

“I do not want your pity,” she said after a moment.

“It’s not pity,” Robin said, finally sitting back up. “I haven’t told anyone else about this besides Lucina and Morgan, okay? So don’t go repeating it. But… when I was sucked into Grima I saw… the people we’d lost. They helped me get back to the rest of you.”

Aversa’s eyes went wide at Robin’s admission, and she grew perfectly still as the ex-tactician continued.

“I… I saw mom. I promised her that I’d be nice to you; that we’d try to get along again. Aversa, I don’t remember my old life or my childhood, but, and I can’t believe I’m about to say this… I want you to be a part of my future life. So… come and help me start a school.”

Aversa was silent for another moment before she exploded into a fit of laughter so intense it made her roll onto her back, clutching her sides and rolling about like a child.

“Okay, wow,” Robin said, watching the older woman rolling side to side as she laughed. “I so retract my offer. Go live in a cave somewhere. You’re adopted and no one loves you.”

“Oh, but I know somebody that still loves me!” she laughed right in Robin’s face, making the tactician scowl.

“You know, I was having a nice, peaceful day until you showed up…” he muttered darkly.

“I am… so… not… sorry!” Aversa gasped between laughs.

“Do you want the job or not!?” Robin shouted, losing his patience.

This only served to increase Aversa’s laughter, the woman breaking into a new fit of hysterics.

“I will hex you into silence if I have to,” Robin warned, starting to go red from embarrassment. “I’ve spent the last four years around Tharja, so I’ve picked up quite a bit that she doesn’t know about.”

“Okay… okay…” Aversa gasped, holding her sides as she rose up onto her knees. “My sides… oh, they ache… I haven’t laughed like that in… why are you glaring at me like that, brother dear?”

Robin simply sat there, glaring and fingering Raziel’s hilt as Aversa continued snickering.

“Well?” the ex-tactician prompted.

“Oh, were you being serious?” Aversa asked sweetly, her voice still tinged with the final notes of her laughing fit.

“I’m not going to ask a third time,” Robin growled.

“Then if you believe you can make me laugh like that again, I will accept your offer,” Aversa said, flipping around and sitting on the grass next to Robin.

“I really hate you sometimes,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“And I, too, find you rather abrasive at times,” Aversa admitted.

“Why, because I outsmarted you at every turn in Plegia?” Robin asked goadingly.

“Don’t push me,” she warned, giving him a gentle shove.

Of course, considering the current state of his body even a well-placed nudge was enough to make Robin hiss in pain and clutch his side.

“Alright, alright,” he said soothingly, holding his hands up in surrender.

Silence reigned between the two for a time as they simply sat there in the sun, watching the trees in the distance swaying in the wind.

“What…” Aversa started, breaking the silence. “What else did mother have to say?”

Robin quirked a brow at the question, watching his sister cautiously out of the corner of his eye.

“Just that we should try to get along,” he said. “We didn’t really have a lot of time. I was kinda busy trying not to die.”

Aversa nodded, remaining silent.

“But,” Robin went on. “I did get some second-hand memories from my future self before I… ya know…”

Aversa glanced up at Robin’s admission, watching him curiously.

“The night Mom and I escaped from the Dragon’s Table,” he said, his voice growing serious. “Mom went back for you. We both did. We tried to get you out, too, but Validar had already moved you. He attacked Mom and drove us out. I… think we spent the next few months trying to catch you on the road, but… we never did.”

Aversa went silent again, before giving a weak laugh.

“I thought she would have done something like that,” the sorceress said softly. “When I found out you had been taken, I honestly waited for her to come back for me. But…”

“I’m sorry, sis,” Robin said, laying an arm across her shoulders.

Aversa nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Thank you for telling me that,” she said, reaching into one of her robe’s inner pockets. “Now I have something for you in return.”

She pulled out a small red velvet pouch and handed it to Robin. The tactician pulled his arm back to accept the gift, opening the bag curiously.

“It was mother’s wedding ring,” Aversa explained as Robin pulled a small golden ring out of it. “She told me… that Fa- Validar never bought her one, so she bought it herself. To… make us feel more like a real family. So it bears no ties to that man, at the least.”

Robin nodded, looking wordlessly at the delicate yet simple gold band in his grip, a single perfect diamond set in the clasp atop it.

“I believe you have more pressing need of a wedding ring than I do,” Aversa said, her tone returning to the more familiar teasing one she usually used.

Robin groaned, realising what she was saying.

“Wanna be a groomsman?” he asked defeatedly, falling backwards onto the grass again.

Aversa just laughed, shaking her head at the question.

“Thanks,” Robin said softly, holding the ring up to the light to look at it again.

Aversa just nodded silently, staring out into the distance again.

They sat in silence for a while, having finally come to an understanding, before Robin broke it by snickering.

“Did you really name your creepy black pegasus ‘Malice’?” he asked, still snickering a little.

“Oh, shut up, you,” Aversa muttered, giving him a sideways glare.

*

The sun was already starting to set by the time that Robin wandered back into Southtown, fresh from another day spent lying in a field. It seemed to be becoming a favourite pastime of his; at least until he could lift a sword again.

Aversa had left him sometime after he’d fallen asleep a third time, leaving him to wake up alone when the evening chill started to descend. And having stolen the bag of sweets that Lissa had left with him, too.

“There you are!” an irritated voice called out behind him. “What did Libra say about moving around so much?”

Robin shrugged as his daughter rushed up to him, glaring at him from under her fringe. She was still wearing her own battered black coat, but beneath it was a crisp and neat Ylissean Army Tunic. Now that Robin was officially stepping down, or rather because he was stepping down, Morgan had decided to permanently accept the role of Grandmaster.

“Don’t overdo it?” Robin offered. “You can relax, Morgan; I spent all day sleeping.”

The girl huffed, crossing her arms and giving Robin a good hard glare. He smiled in response, and after a few seconds Morgan’s glare broke and she looked away, the corners of her mouth turning up a little, too.

Just to see how far he could push her mood Robin flopped an arm over her shoulders, leaning heavily on her.

“Mooorgaaaaaan, I’m still wounded,” he moaned plaintively. “Carry me back to my room?”

The brown-haired girl snorted with laughter as she tried to get out from under her father’s arm, failing and simply leading him through the small village back towards the old house that had been converted for the wounded Shepherds. A few of the others had taken serious injuries during the final battle, and for the last month Robin had had Lon’qu, Lissa, Owain, Severa, Inigo, Tharja and Henry as room-mates, along with Libra and Olivia running things. It had been… an interesting month.

And, Robin mentally reminded himself as Morgan dragged him through the door and face-to-face with another important woman in his life, that he’d been living with Lucina as well.

“Hello, Robin,” she greeted, taking his arm off of Morgan and draping it over her own shoulders. “You over-did it again today, didn’t you?”

“Nah, just faking it to spend some quality time with my daughter,” he snickered as Lucina led him towards their room.

“I heard that!” Morgan shouted indignantly as she beelined for where her friends were no doubt waiting for her.

Robin and Lucina both laughed as they left the small entryway and went further back into the house, past the room that Libra had claimed as his surgery/clinic. The blonde priest glanced up from whatever book he was reading, giving Robin and Lucina a warm smile before going back to his reading. It appeared that he and Olivia would be permanently settling into this house and using it as a regional hospital.

“How was your day?” Robin asked as he allowed himself to be led through the halls.

They passed Owain’s room, where he and Severa were talking animatedly about what they could do with their lives now. The redheaded girl looked up and spotted a grinning Robin as he passed, her face instantly going the colour of her hair before she was out of Robin’s sight.

“It was… good,” she said, a smile rising to her face. “I spent the morning training like usual, and then spent the afternoon with Father and Aunt Lissa.”

Robin smirked a little as they went passed Inigo’s closed door, making him wonder just which village girl the silver-tongued boy had roped into ‘helping with his physical recovery’ that night.

“Did your dad mention anything about the upcoming peace summit?” Robin asked conversationally.

“No… he was more interested in any upcoming weddings,” Lucina said innocently.

Robin choked on his own tongue, stumbling a little and making Lucina laugh at his side.

“I swear… your mother must have gotten to him…” Robin muttered darkly.

“He also mentioned that Little Lucina has begun to take her first steps,” she went on.

“Yeah, it must be strange being in the same timeline with yourself,” Robin mentioned offhandedly.

“I am not her,” Lucina said as they finally arrived at their room. “She will have… a far better life than I did.”

Robin snorted, finally standing up on his own again.

“Okay, I’ll admit that I have some work cut out for me in making a perfect life for you now,” he said, stretching out his stiff joints. “I’m almost well enough to travel again. Where do you want to start?”

Lucina smiled as she lit the oil lamp in the corner and Robin hobbled to their bed.

This was something that they had spoken at length about in the last month; what to do with their lives now. Robin was an amnesiac who knew nothing but war. Lucina was a time-travelling hero, who also knew nothing but war. They had been lost at first, lying there after Robin had proposed the question one night and staring at the ceiling, mulling it over. Now, they had an entire list of things that they wanted to do.

“Let’s start with the thing that’s farthest away, and work our way back,” Lucina suggested, sitting down next to Robin on the edge of their bed.

The ex-tactician nodded, reaching over to where his pouch was hanging next to the bed and drawing out a heavily-written-on sheet of paper.

“Okay, so… going back to Imperial Valm as a tourist would probably be the furthest away… but the Garden of Giants off the southern Valmese coast will probably be the hardest to get to…”

Lucina chuckled, plucking the paper out of Robin’s hands and setting it aside.

“Why don’t we decide when we get there?” she asked, nuzzling up to Robin. “After all, we have all the time in the world now.”

Robin nodded, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer. As they sat like that in comfortable silence a thought occurred to him.

“You know… I _am_ pretty much healed now…” he said suggestively, trailing off as Lucina glanced up at him.

It took a moment for her to catch onto his meaning, a seductive grin appearing on her face as the other foot dropped.

“What has Inigo been calling it?” she asked, gently extracting Robin from his coat.

“’Assisting with his physical recovery’,” Robin repeated, grinning at Lucina. “And I have to tell you, I’m still _really_ wounded…”

Lucina chuckled, her voice husky as she pushed him down onto his back and swung one leg up and over him, sitting on his lap and grinning down at the ex-tactician now at her mercy.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you…”

*

Robin frowned the next morning as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. A criss-cross of fresh scars covered his chest and stomach, and no doubt his back, too. Two puckered circles on his chest and one on his stomach marked where Grima’s weird beam attack had hit him. All his old scars added into the equation, and Robin was surprised he couldn’t just turn a blow with his bare flesh.

His eyes flicked up to the bandages around his forehead. Libra had told him it would be okay to remove them…

Slowly and carefully he peeled the gauze away from his face, letting his hair fall freely for the first time in weeks. There on the left side of his forehead, starting at his eyebrow and disappearing into his hairline, was a pink, leathery burn scar. At least Libra had healed the damage around his eye and jaw. The damage to the majority of his face had just been from the periphery of the spell; the brunt of the spell had still grazed his forehead, though. There was nothing anyone would be able to do. He’d just have to grow his fringe over it.

“Well, at least it adds character,” he muttered, leaning towards the mirror to get a closer look.

Robin frowned as he drew back again, slowly tensing his muscles. Thinking back four years when his journey had begun he didn’t recognize the scrawny tactician in his memories. He was still thin, but wiry limbs had given way to whipcord muscle. In fact, he was usually more muscular than he currently was, having lost a decent amount of mass during his bed rest.

“What in Naga’s name are you doing?” a familiar voice deadpanned from behind him.

“Severa!” Robin shouted, blushing hard as he spun.

The redhead looked at him as if he was something she’d scraped off the bottom of her boot, her face softening somewhat as she registered the scars coating him.

“I… was just thinking that I’d changed a lot over the last few years,” Robin admitted, desperately hoping she’d take the bait.

The redhead nodded in his doorway, frowning in thought.

“I think we all have,” she admitted after a moment, in which Robin pulled on a light cream coloured shirt.

“Though I don’t think there’s enough of you left to be saying you’ve changed,” Severa added with a cruel grin.

“That’s harsh,” Robin laughed. “I seem to recall… getting this one saving your life.”

He pulled down the collar of his shirt and pointed to the scar near his right shoulder that had been caused by a cutlass, back on the boat to Valm.

“Did you honestly memorise every one?” Severa asked, sounding unimpressed.

“Nah, just the important emotional-blackmail ones,” Robin shrugged, throwing his coat on over his clothes.

“Lucina was looking for you,” the redhead sighed, rolling her eyes. “She said something about her father planning a ball for all the Shepherds, now that everyone’s up and moving again.”

Robin froze halfway through strapping his spellbook to his hip, looking up at Severa with terror in his eyes.

“Oh please dear sweet Naga tell me you’re still just teasing me,” he pleaded in a trembling voice.

*

A week later Robin found himself sighing as he strode through the hallways of Ylisstol’s palace, tugging at the neck of the fine ruffled shirt Virion had loaned him.

“I hate parties,” he muttered.

Lucina chuckled on his arm, prompting him to look down at her.

“I would assure you that you are not the only one uncomfortable right now,” she said, squirming uncomfortably.

She was wearing a beautiful form-hugging white dress that Sumia and Cordelia had picked out for her, laced up the sides and reaching down to her ankles.

“I wish my figure was not so masculine,” she complained softly, prompting Robin to smirk.

He had to grin and shake his head. One of the things he’d learned about Lucina in the recent peacetime was her low opinion of her body. She was certainly more muscular than most women, and not quite as well-endowed as some of the other female members of the Shepherds, but she still had a lithe grace about her that all of said other women would probably kill to have. It was hard to reconcile the peerless, confident warrior with the woman she presented to him sometimes, but it made Robin beyond happy that she trusted him enough to let him in on that kind of secret.

“As long as you don’t grow arms like Sully, I don’t think it’s going to be an issue,” Robin laughed. “Besides, I love you just the way you are.”

Lucina tightened her grip on his arm happily as they entered the ballroom, all of the other Shepherds there and already celebrating. A few still moved stiffly or with a slight limp, but everyone was happy and mostly healthy.

“Robin!” Virion called out happily as he spotted the ex-tactician, waving him over.

The archer’s smile dropped a little as Robin and Lucina approached, the man actually clicking his tongue when they arrived. He was standing with Cherche, Tiki and Say’ri, the four of them obviously discussing the future of Valm. Say’ri was wearing some ornate kimono-thingy from her homeland, while Virion and Cherche had opted for more traditional formal wear. Strangely enough Tiki was wearing flowing white robes similar to those of the Naga Church’s clerics, but somewhat more ornate.

“I loan you a magnificent suit, and still you insist on wearing that coat,” Virion half-laughed, half-sighed when they arrived.

“Don’t even bother,” Lucina sighed. “It is not as if I didn’t try before we came.”

Virion and Cherche both looked surprised for a moment before bursting into laughter. Even Say’ri and Tiki chuckled a little at Lucina’s joke.

“I see you are adjusting well to your hard-won peace, Princess,” Virion said with a shallow bow.

“Former Princess,” Lucina reminded him with a small smile. “I am merely Lucina now.”

“Yes, Lucina the hero,” Tiki pointed out. “Stories of your journey will be passed down for generations. I’ll see to it personally.”

Lucina blushed at the compliment and looked down, unused to such flattery. Robin chuckled as the song the band was playing ended and another started, one with a faster tempo. A large number of the Shepherds were already dancing, laughing and smiling happily as they stepped and spun.

“Robin, why not take the lady to the dance floor?” Virion suggested.

The tactician gave a sad grin, indicating his left leg.

“Still wounded,” he said. “It’s hard enough to walk normally. Why don’t you dance with her?”

Lucina’s eyes went wide at Robin’s suggestion, and Virion let out another laugh.

“A brilliant idea!” the archer said, offering his hand to Lucina with a flourish. “Milady, may I have this dance?”

“I… uh… regretfully cannot dance…” Lucina stammered as Robin extracted his arm from her grip.

“It is very easy,” Virion assured her as he took her hand and led her to the dance floor. “I have often been told I am a very good teacher…”

Lucina gave Robin one final, pleading look before Virion pulled her onto the floor with the other Shepherds. Robin gave her a bright wave, making sure she saw him put all his weight on his ‘wounded’ left leg as he turned to the three women he was left alone with.

He didn’t dance. Period.

“That man is dangerous,” Say’ri said in a low tone.

“Yes,” Cherche agreed laughingly. “However he also has a healthy fear of Minerva, so I do not worry.”

Robin snickered at that, recalling just how often Virion complained about the wyvern.

“So is everyone ready to go back to Valm?” Robin asked conversationally, accepting a glass form one of the House Ylisse servants wandering around with trays.

The three women nodded, and Say’ri gave Robin a knowing look.

“We are,” the Queen of Chon’sin said. “However I was not expecting the two of you to be joining us so soon.”

Robin shrugged in response, taking a sip from the glass of delicate wine he’d taken.

“What can I say, I don’t like to sit still.”

“Yeah, you must really hate to sit still if you’re planning to get on a boat voluntarily with your seasickness,” Tiki pointed out mischievously.

Robin’s face fell as he sighed and slouched a little.

“Dammit, I knew I was forgetting something,” he muttered, much to the amusement of the women around him.

They lapsed into silence, and Robin turned to watch the dancing with them. Surprisingly, Virion seemed to actually be doing a good job of teaching Lucina the more basic dance steps on the edge of the floor. She looked a little flustered, but was obviously enjoying herself. Robin watched as Chrom and Sumia moved about, the big man showing a lot more grace than he had on the dance floor at his own wedding. Cynthia seemed to have Gerome in a vice-grip, leading the masked boy around the floor rather than the other way around. Robin actually found himself giggling a little, imagining the slight Pegasus Knight dipping the bigger wyvern rider. Apart from that there were all the usual couples; Miriel and Vaike, Olivia and Libra, Cordelia and Frederick, Nah and Laurent, funnily enough Severa and Owain, Tharja and Henry…

Robin blinked in surprise at the last couple, spinning in time with the music and the rest of the dancers, perfectly in sync.

“Wow,” he breathed, watching the two Dark Mages flow about the floor. “I… didn’t think either of them had it in them.”

“I know,” Cherche agreed wistfully.

Robin grinned as Tharja slipped up and smiled a little, filing that information aside in case he ever needed a favour from the woman.

“Is Morgan packed?” Say’ri asked conversationally.

Robin nodded.

“She is,” he said. “She told Chrom she was taking some leave to re-connect with her roots. Cullen was almost in tears when she told him that he had to come out of retirement again.”

Robin glanced over to where his daughter was chatting with Panne, Gaius and Yarne across the room, the young Grandmaster looking striking in her Dress Uniform. Say’ri followed Robin’s gaze, letting out a disappointed sound.

“I would have preferred she wore a dress,” the woman admitted.

“She’s just excited about her new position,” Robin said with a smirk. “I hear rumour of her being an ambassador now, too.”

Say’ri cleared her throat, blushing a little as she shifted her weight uncomfortably.

“It was… the most logical choice,” she excused lamely.

“And obviously has nothing to do with the fact it would mean travelling to Chon’sin a lot more often. I got you,” Robin said in a mock serious tone.

Tiki and Cherche both had a quiet laugh at Say’ri’s expense as Robin could have sworn he heard the woman growling under her breath. As the other two women returned their attention to the dancing couples Robin leaned over to Say’ri.

“Quite frankly, I think it’s a brilliant idea,” he whispered to her. “Keeping her busy keeps her away from a certain half-Taguel.”

Say’ri grinned over to Robin, who shared a conspiratorial wink with her.

Virion and Lucina chose that moment to make their reappearance, the princess breathing heavily and flushed from her exertions. Of course, Virion had barely broken a sweat.

“My dear, would you care to finish this dance with me?” he asked Cherche, bowing and offering her his hand.

Robin rolled his eyes as the pink-haired woman curtseyed and joined the archer back on the dance floor.

“I don’t know how he does it,” Lucina said once she’d caught her breath.

“You’re just not used to using those muscles,” Robin said. “Trust me; he uses them far, far more than any normal man should. Him and Inigo both.”

The four of them shared a laugh before lapsing back into comfortable silence and watching the other dancers. Lucina reached out, holding Robin’s arm and leaning against him as they watched the spectacle, a rare show of public affection for the Princess.

The song finally ended, and the floor began to empty. Chrom moved to a small podium on one side of the room, standing tall and clearing his voice.

“Shepherds!” he called out, and all at once the room went silent. “My staunch allies! My friends! Tonight, we celebrate our victory!”

“And it’s about damn time!” Sully called out, lifting her mug of ale high.

“Here-here!” Robin agreed, and the room erupted into laughter.

Chrom held his hands up after a few moments of laughter, grinning ear to ear as the room quieted again.

“I wanted to say a few words tonight,” the Exalt went on. “But it didn’t feel right. This was my fight, yes; this was all of our fight. But one man led us above me…”

“Oh Naga please don’t,” Robin groaned, already knowing where this was going.

Lucina laughed at his side, giving him a knowing smile as she removed herself from his arm.

“Robin, if you would like to say a few words?” the Exalt offered, grinning as he moved to one side of the podium.

The room erupted into cheers and clapping, Robin wincing before taking a deep breath and approaching the small stage.

“Chrom, the reason it doesn’t feel right for you to be speaking is that you’re not drunk enough yet,” Robin said loudly as he climbed up onto the stage, to great approval from the crowd.

The Exalt howled with laughter, too, slapping Robin on the back so hard he almost fell off the small stage.

“What can I say?” Robin asked when the laughter died down.

He looked out over his assembled friends and family, meeting everyone’s eyes and smiling at them in turn. He fingered the small ring in his pocket for a moment before releasing it, deciding now wasn’t the right time.

“I may have given the orders half the time,” he improvised. “But honestly, how often did you lot actually follow them?”

More laughter rippled through the room, Robin grinning along with them. He let out a small sigh, growing serious.

“I’m sure word’s already gotten out about my retirement,” he said as the room fell silent again. “The last four years have been the best in my life. Well, they’ve been the only years in my life, considering the whole amnesia thing, but hey! I’m not going to split hairs. What I want to say is thank you all. Thank you, all of the Shepherds who stood by me. Thank you, all of the future-children that came back to help us. Thank you to all of the world leaders that gave me entire country’s armies to play with. Without any of you, none of us would be standing here tonight, drinking all of Chrom’s fanciest booze and celebrating the fact that, in the end, we proved the strength of humanity in the face of certain doom!”

The loudest cheer yet rose up, rattling the windows in their panes and making Robin wince. Chrom clapped him on the back again, nodding in approval from behind him.

“Now, as nice as this is,” Robin added once the noise died down, “I want to announce that I’ll be picking up the tab tomorrow night at the Drunken Goat near the merchant quarter for some real drinks!”

If the roar before had shaken the windows, Robin was surprised that this time they didn’t shatter. Chrom just smiled and laughed behind him, saying something about Robin being about to regret that decision, but he didn’t hear it. He was too busy being dragged off the stage by the people that wanted to talk to and drink with him.

*

Robin grinned to himself as he managed to pick up four mugs of ale at once, carefully navigating the crowded bar to bring them back to the table and his waiting family. All around him the Shepherds and their allies were drinking and relaxing in the casual surroundings, the Drunken Goat being the same place that Vaike had brought them to four years ago when Robin was just getting used to the original Shepherds. Now they filled up the entire bar, two generations of soldiers and warriors, heroes one and all.

“I don’t see what was so wrong with my party,” Chrom mumbled, feigning at being hurt as Robin placed one of the mugs in front of the Exalt.

“It was a lovely party, dear,” Sumia soothed from her husband’s side, sipping on a glass of wine.

“I don’t see why you made me come tonight,” Aversa muttered darkly as Robin plonked a mug in front of her.

“Welcome to the family, Auntie Aversa!” Morgan laughed, once more wearing her casual clothes as she snatched the mug out of Robin’s hand before it could even make it to the table.

Aversa and Say’ri both made faces at Morgan’s statement on either side of the girl, Say’ri’s face falling even more as she beheld the mug Robin placed in front of her.

“Must I… honestly drink this?” she asked.

“Tradition,” Chrom said simply, relishing the ale he was drinking.

“You will get used to it,” Lucina said with a grin, taking Robin’s last mug.

“Okay, hold on while I go and get-” he started to say, cutting off when he noticed a full mug sitting on the edge of the table.

The occupants of the corner booth looked at the mysterious mug for a moment before Robin noticed movement out of the corner of his eyes and spotted Kellam walking away from the table.

Grinning, he sunk down into his seat next to Lucina and lifted up his mug.

“To our future!” he toasted.

“To our future,” everyone echoed, raising their own mugs and each taking a deep drink.

Say’ri coughed, nearly spitting the harsh ale all over the table. Aversa grimaced as she placed the mug back down, eying both it and Robin with a certain level of contempt. The other four people at the table grinned at the two women, placing half-empty mugs and one wine glass down.

Someone cleared their throat behind Robin, and he turned to see an entire room full of faces looking at him expectantly.

“Oh relax, I was getting to you lot,” he laughed, climbing up on his chair and holding his mug aloft.

“Here’s to all of us!” he toasted loudly. “For being so awesome and kicking so much ass over the last four years!”

“To us!” the entire bar echoed, lifting their individual drinks before the revelry began again.

Robin shook his head, grinning as he stepped off his chair and re-joined the others at the table.

“So a school, huh?” Sumia asked him, grinning excitedly.

“Eventually,” Robin nodded. “After we get out and see the sights a little. It’ll be nice to travel without an army behind me for a change.”

“Have you put any thought into where you’re building it?” Chrom asked over his mug.

“Flavia’s offered me a nice fort in Eastern Regna Ferox,” Robin said. “Aversa’s going on ahead with a few others to get it ready.”

“Because Naga forbid _I_ get to do any travelling,” the sorceress muttered darkly into her mug, making Robin laugh.

“You don’t like people, why would you want to travel?” he asked with a grin. “Besides, this way you get first pick of classrooms and offices.”

Aversa grumbled into her mug, seemingly somewhat mollified.

“She’s going to be a teacher?” Chrom asked incredulously.

“Battle and Applied Magics,” Robin said proudly. “Lucina’s on-board too, as my fencing instructor. And I’m still trying to poach Frederick as my riding instructor.”

The blue-haired woman at his side nodded, blushing a little as Robin beamed at her.

“Yeah, good luck with him,” Chrom scoffed.

“It’s going to be so great!” Morgan said excitedly. “I’m gonna help him come up with curriculum and everything!”

“Aren’t you going to be a little busy, dear?” Say’ri asked.

“We have an entire boat-ride to Valm for me to work on it!” Morgan pointed out undaunted.

Robin and Say’ri both let out a moan, the ex-tactician actually letting his head fall to the table.

“I hate boats,” he groaned.

“I hate water,” Say’ri agreed, taking another long sip from her mug.

Aversa let out a cackling laugh, grinning at Robin.

“All of a sudden I am glad I’m staying here,” she chuckled.

Robin rolled his eyes, and the group descended into a comfortable silence. Sumia was the one that broke it, looking over to Robin questioningly.

“So… if you don’t mind me asking… but… did you ever figure out… when you killed Grima you didn’t…”

“Stay dead?” Robin asked her, cutting right to the point.

He shrugged, looking to Aversa. Both she and Tharja had sat working with him on various theories when he’d woken up, coming up with nothing in the end.

“Honestly, we don’t know,” he sighed. “It could be any number of reasons. Maybe I’d absorbed enough of Grima’s essence on Origin Peak to maintain my own life-force. Maybe I’m a lot fitter than the other me was at this age. Maybe a certain Dark Mage forgot to remove the hex that stops me from taking my own life. We’re not entirely sure. I think it has something to do with the timing when Chrom killed the dragon, but I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, though. Libra says I’m healthier than ever, so all’s well that ends well.”

“Yes, and now we have to spend the rest of our lives hearing about how he ‘slayed the dragon’,” Aversa sighed.

“Actually, Chrom slayed the dragon,” Morgan pointed out brightly. “Dad just killed the dragon’s avatar.”

“Yes, thank you for clarifying that,” Aversa deadpanned.

Morgan just smiled brightly, completely missing her aunt’s sarcasm.

Robin just grinned and shook his head. Here, sitting with him, was everything that was important to him. His past, both his own and his future self’s in the shapes of Aversa, Say’ri and Morgan, currently all discussing the finer points of their respective teaching styles; his present, in the form of Chrom and Sumia where were laughing at the conversation going on next to them; and his future, in the form of the woman sitting at his side, holding his hand beneath the table.

He took a deep breath, grinning from ear to ear as he stood up.

Putting two fingers in his mouth he made a high-pitched whistling sound, catching the entire room’s attention again as he reached into his pocket.

“I’ve got one more thing I forgot I needed to say!” he said in a clear voice.

Turning on his heel the ex-tactician looked down at Lucina, a curious look on her face as she stared back up at him.

“Lucina,” he started, taking one of her hands in his. “You were with me from the very beginning in one way or another. You’ve been at my side this entire time, you’ve saved me from myself and taught me so much over the course of these last few years. I can’t imagine my life without you, so…”

The crowded bar let out a collective gasp as Robin dropped to one knee, presenting the princess with his mother’s old ring, cleaned up and reflecting the torchlight in the bar on its gleaming surfaces.

“Lucina, will you marry me?”

The entire room held their breath, silence looming as Lucina blinked in shock. After a moment that stretched on long enough to make Robin sweat, she let out a laugh and accepted the ring.

“What took you so long?” she asked, leaning forward to kiss him.

“Of course I will.”

The Shepherds all roared their approval, surging forward as one to congratulate the happy couple.

Robin just grinned and bore with it as he was pulled back up to his feet.

It would be sad to see this life end, but his new life was just beginning.

And he couldn’t wait for it.

Another mug of ale was shoved into his hands, making his grin widen.

Perhaps he could wait one more night, though.

*

**_~fin~_ **

**Author's Note:**

> So now that the Invisible Ties Audio Drama project has started I wanted to advertise that here. Check out our channel ‘Neckties You Can’t See’ on YouTube and give us a listen! We’re awesome, and you can be awesome too by checking us out! Peace!


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